Part 21 (2/2)
She stepped off the glide, turned to switch to the next, barely registering the weeping behind her. Crying, cursing, whining, shouting were all ambient noise in a cop shop. But she caught the move, the man directly in front of her drawing a hand from his pocket. She saw the eyes, the baring of teeth, the hot rage.
She laid a hand on her weapon, s.h.i.+fted to block him.
The knife was out of his pocket before she could clear her weapon, and slicing out at her. She felt the sting of the tip across her forearm. Heardthe weeping turn to high, terrified screams.
She said, ”G.o.dd.a.m.n it,” and kicked the a.s.sailant hard in the b.a.l.l.s even as she yanked her weapon clear. ”You son of a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h.”
Since he was curled on the floor, retching, he didn't respond.
”Lieutenant. Jesus, Lieutenant, he cut you.”
”I know he cut me. I 'm the one bleeding. Why is she screaming?” Eve demanded as she lowered, put a knee in the small of the retching man's back, then restrained him. ”Let me repeat: I 'm the one bleeding.”
”He was going for her when you got in the way. Way it looks. Detective Manson,” he said, ”Special Victims. The a.s.shole on the floor is her ex, who paid her a visit last night, beat the c.r.a.p out of her, raped her, and told her he'd cut her heart out if she left. He went out for brew, she left. He must've trailed her here or something. We'll find out.”
”How the h.e.l.l did he get a knife through?” As she asked, Manson used a pair of tweezers to pick it up off the floor.
”Christ, it's one of those plastic deals from the Eatery. He sharpened it with something. I 'd say he was waiting out here to go at her. In G.o.dd.a.m.n Cop Central. Crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”
”Get him the h.e.l.l in a cage. Make sure you charge him with a.s.sault with a deadly on a police officer.” She crouched down to push her face close to the knifer's. ”You can get life for that, a.s.shole. Put in the other charges, and you're done. You cost me a pretty nice jacket.”
”You need to go to the infirmary, sir.”
Eve looked down at the ripped sleeve, the blood. ”c.r.a.p.”
Instead, she slipped into a restroom, ripped the sleeve off the jacket, and fas.h.i.+oned a quick field dressing. Then, with some regret as it had been a nice, serviceable jacket-shoved what was left of it in the recycler.
The steady pulse of pain from her arm joined the head throb. Home, she thought, as soon as she gave Whitney her report, she was going home, cleaning up, shutting down. Two hours' sleep would do the trick.
At home.
At his desk when she walked in, Whitney held up a finger for silence as he finished reading a report. Eve stood where she was while behind his window a blimp lumbered through the sky with its flas.h.i.+ng ad, a couple of shuttles zipped in a crisscrossing path, and a tram carried a payload of tourists.
Whitney tapped the index finger of his big hand on the screen, then s.h.i.+fted his eyes, dark, intense, to her.
”How were you injured?” he asked her.
”I t's just a scratch.”
”I asked how.”
”Sir. Some mope on the tenth level, east, lying in wait for his ex, who'd come in to SVU after he beat and raped her. He'd copped a plastic knife from the Eatery, sharpened it up. I got in the way. A Detective Manson has him in custody.”
”That's not a proper dressing.”
”I 'll get one. I was on my way to give you my report, so-”
Again, he held up a finger, turned to his com to tag his admin. ”Send a medic in here for the lieutenant. She has an injury, left forearm. Knife wound.”
”Sir, I really don't need-”
”Report.”
”Sir.” d.a.m.n it.
She reviewed the facts, the steps taken, the various avenues of investigation addressed.
”You've yet to find any connection between the victims.”
”No, sir, we've found nothing that intersects them other than the killer.”
”And you believe both victims were killed by the same individual.”
”Detective Peabody and I have just completed first interviews with Winston Dudley and Sylvester Moriarity. I believe the result of those interviews opened another avenue of investigation. I consulted with Doctor Mira on the-”
She broke off at the knock on the door.
”Come,” Whitney ordered.
Eve eyed the medic with instinctive distrust. ”Commander, if I could conclude before-”
”Sit down. You can give me the rest while he works on you.”
”Carver, sir,” the medic said cheerfully. ”Let's have a look-see.”
She didn't care for the idea of a medic named Carver, but under direct orders sat.
”Good field dressing,” Carver told her as he removed it. ”Nasty little slice. We'll fix it up.”
Several sarcastic remarks came to mind, and she swallowed them as Carver began to clean the wound she'd already d.a.m.n well cleaned in the bathroom.
”There's a connection between Dudley and Moriarity,” she began. ”They're friends, of the same social strata, and both head large corporations that came down to them through birth. Each has a-s.h.i.+t.”
She jerked a little, and aimed a hard glare at Carver as he replaced the pressure syringe in his kit.
”Always a little sting, but it's better than an infection.”
”Each,” Eve said through her teeth, ”has a strong alibi for the night his employee's ID was used to lure the victim. And each has no alibi for the alternate night and time.”
”You think they're working together? For what reason?”
”Motive may come to light as we s.h.i.+ft angles, take a closer look at the vics with the alternate company, company head, both personally and professionally. Or it may be exactly what it appears to be on the surface. Thrill kills.”
She did her best to ignore the faint buzz of the suture wand, the vague and persistent discomfort of her skin drawing back together.
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