Page 15 of Delusion in Death
“Already done.”
“Oh.” For a second, Peabody looked mildly put out. “Okay, I’ll match them up. They lost another. One of the ones in surgery didn’t make it. One looks good, another’s holding, but they don’t give her much of a shot. They’re working on the one they had in pre-op when you were there. The one in the coma’s still out. But I was able to talk to the one guy. Dennis Sherman. He lost an eye. He works at Copley Dynamics. That’s the same building, different floor from where CiCi Way works.”
“Small world,” Eve murmured.
“Big city, full of tight districts and neighborhoods. Yeah, small world.”
“I bet he used that bar a lot.”
“You win,” Peabody confirmed. “It’s his regular place. Tonight, he’d come in after work with a couple coworkers. They’d already left, and he was hanging a little longer, talking to the bartender. He’s a regular so they know each other, talk sports a lot. And one minute, the best he remembers, they’re bullshitting about post-season play, then next, the bartender slams a bottle down, and jabs the shard in Sherman’s cheek. He didn’t remember a hell of a lot after that, but I got it on record. He talked about the place filling up with water, and sharks everywhere, circling him, drawn to the blood from his face. How he had to beat them off, stab at them.”
“Did you get the names of the coworkers?”
“Yes, sir. I got all I could, but they wouldn’t let me talk to him long. The one who didn’t make it? The bartender.” She glanced at Roarke. “Sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Let’s get these stills up, and I want to be able to pull any I’ve printed off the disc and on screen.”
“I’ll see to that,” Roarke told her.
“Did you get anything from Morris?” Peabody asked as she and Eve finished with the boards.
“They breathed in a nasty stew of psychotic drugs and illegals.”
Peabody’s hands stilled. “It was in the air?”
“That, and some contact, some trace on the skin. We don’t have all the details. The lab’s on it. That’s the next stop when we’re done here.”
It was a long process, pinning the faces to the names, papering the board with scenes of blood and death. She’d nearly finished when the door opened.
And she came to attention for her commander.
“Sir. We’re nearly finished setting up.”
“Lieutenant. Your report was brief, but impactful.”
“I wanted to get you as much salient data as quickly as possible. We still have—”
He held up a hand, silenced her, then moved to the boards.
She saw the tension in his stance, a big man with a powerful build. And read the controlled stress on his wide, dark face. Silver threaded though his close-cropped hair. As he scanned the boards, the lines bracketing his mouth seemed to dig deeper.
Every inch of Commander Jack Whitney said command, and every inch carried the weight of it.
“This, all this in under fifteen minutes?”
“Closer to twelve, sir. Yes.”
“Eighty-two confirmed dead.”
“Eighty-three. Another died after surgery, Commander.”
He continued to study the board in silence as Mira came in. Perfectly groomed in a suit of quiet blue, she crossed the room to join Whitney at the board.
“Thank you for coming in, Dr. Mira.”
Mira only shook her head. “I read your brief, preliminary report.” She shifted her gaze to Eve. “I appreciate you calling me in.”