Shelby cleared her throat. “I secured the prisoner while Franco immediately moved to Officer Minx to assess and treat his injuries. I did demand, in harsh terms, for CS rep Gromer to stop screaming. Gromer made it very clear once we had the situation under control she would report me for same.”
“What were the harsh terms, Officer?”
“Ah, sir, I believe I may have, in the heat of the moment, told her to shut the fuck up or I’d stun her, too.”
“Good. Your lieutenant advises you not to give another thought to any bullshit report filed by obvious moron Gromer.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“What was Willow Mackie doing in the infirmary?”
“Sir, I questioned both Gromer—who was not initially cooperative—and Franco, as Officer Minx needed to be transported. I haven’t yet written up my report.”
“Spell it out, Officer, write it later.”
Eve stepped off, nodded to the guard on the steel door of the containment area.
“The prisoner had availed herself of the rep from CS, who, apparently sympathetic to her age and situation, has already filed an objection regarding her classification as an adult.”
“That’s going nowhere. Keep going.”
“During their interview, the prisoner claimed to be in pain from injuries incurred during arrest—resulting from police brutality.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“The prisoner collapsed, stated she couldn’t breathe. The rep called for assistance, and Officer Minx escorted the prisoner and, by her request, the rep to the infirmary. Franco instructed Officer Minx to help the prisoner onto the exam table and restrain her to it, at which time Gromer argued that the prisoner was in pain, and only a child, and should be treated with more care and compassion. The prisoner stumbled forward, as if dizzy or light-headed, knocking over a tray of tools. Pitched forward again, making sounds of acute pain when Officer Minx attempted to assist. From the statements it would appear, at this time, the prisoner grabbed a scalpel from the drawer of the counter—though neither Gromer nor Franco saw the move. But when Minx again went to assist, she slashed his face. She nearly got his eye, sir, then stabbed him—his throat, his chest—kicked him back and down, then turned on Franco. It was, sir, about this time that I entered the room.”
“Okay. Good work, Officer. Hold here.”
She went to the cop on the door, and though they knew each other, offered her badge for scanning. “Log us in. Dallas, Shelby, and Roarke.”
“Who you going to pay a Sunday visit to?”
“The Mackies. Both of them.”
He logged them in, gave Eve their sectors and cell numbers.
He opened the door—palm plate, retina scan, security swipe, and a code that changed twice daily.
Inside, more cops, another scan, another door.
It wasn’t Rikers, Eve thought, but it wasn’t a pink-and-white dollhouse, either.
Through that door, and into the cages lining the sidewalls.
And plenty of people in them. Some grouped together in more basic holding. Others, in one- or two-person cages, waiting for transfer elsewhere. A few waiting for their turn before a judge on Monday morning.
For the hard cases, like Willow Mackie, there was yet one more door. The cop on this eyed Eve, eyed Shelby. “How’s Minx?”
“They said he’d be okay,” Shelby told him, and he shook his head.
“Barely out of the Academy. Needs a year or two on the beat, in Traffic, in a cube before they plug them down here. She’s third cage, left.”
Eve walked down to where Willow sprawled on the single bunk in a cage. It held a toilet—no lid—bolted to the floor and a small sink bolted to the wall.
“I don’t have to talk to you.”
“Not interested in anything you have to say,” Eve returned. “Just wanted a look before you take up housekeeping at Rikers—later today.”
“I’m not going there.”
“You don’t seem to get your days of choices are finished. Officer, I also wanted you to have a look at someone you’ve helped put where she belongs.”
“CS is getting me out. Gromer told me. And when I get out—”
“Gromer’s going to be reprimanded, if she’s lucky. And if I get my way, she’ll be out of a job come tomorrow. And you will now be further charged with attempted murder of a police officer, with assault with a deadly on same, with attempting to escape, with attempted assault with a deadly on a medical. Just adds weight.
“Rikers max security until trial—you just bought that. And, oh boy, they’re going to love you there. Fresh, really fresh meat.”
“I’ll get out!” Tears leaped into Willow’s eyes as she shoved to her feet. “I’ll get out, and I’ll come for you.”
“Now I’m bored.”
Satisfied, Eve signaled to Shelby, to Roarke, and walked away with Willow’s curses echoing.
“Go on up, Officer. Write it up, and file. Then find your friend and go to the vids. You did good today.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“I put you in Homicide. I didn’t put you in that infirmary. The psychopath back there gave you the opportunity, and you handled it. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You choose well,” Roarke murmured when Shelby headed out.
Eve gave him a fierce smile. “I like to think so. One more stop.”
More steel doors, more scans, then Eve stood outside the cage holding Reginald Mackie. He didn’t sprawl on the bunk like his daughter, but paced, back and forth, from wall to wall.
She imagined him pacing a cage for the rest of his life.
“Has word traveled down here that we took your daughter alive?”
He stopped pacing, turned, stared at her with his ruined eyes. “You can’t try her as an adult. We had a deal.”
“Terms were not met, not even close to met. Let me be the first to pass along the fact that she just tried an escape—used the infirmary, an idiot CS rep, and a green officer. The officer is now in the hospital, with his face slashed, with stab wounds. She’s going to Rikers, Mackie, and there she’ll stay until her trial. Then it’s Omega for the next century. Give or take a few years.”
“I helped you.”
“You didn’t. She wasn’t where you said, where you probably really thought she’d be. She was at your ex-wife’s, lying in wait. And on the record, she bragged about how she intended to kill her stepfather, then gut her brother while she made their mother watch. Then she’d finish her. She wanted to rack up a hundred bodies at the school. Kids, teachers, parents, bystanders. Didn’t matter as long as she hit the number.
“That’s what you spawned, Mackie. I figure maybe she was born wrong. Maybe she had that twist in her right from the jump. But you nurtured it. You stoked it, educated it, brought it along. She had choices, sure, but you made the choices she made easy for her. You made them righteous.”
She felt nothing for him when he began to weep. Nothing.
“I want you to think about that for the rest of your life.”
When she walked away, his sobs echoed as Willow’s curses had.
“We are done down here now?” Roarke asked her.
“Absolutely.”
“There’s good news, as this place is starting to make me twitchy.”
“Not a cage that could hold you, ace.”
“I’d rather never find out.”
“I just have to go up, make the arrangements for her transfer, and I should contact Whitney, just bring him up to speed. Then we’re done.”
As they moved back—the correct way, in his opinion—through the doors, he ran a hand down her back.
“On home then?”
She started to nod—home sounded excellent—then she thought: Choices. To kill, to train t
o kill. To move into trouble, or turn away. To share a precious new gift. To give thanks.
Wherever you came from, however you grew up, it always came down to the choices you made. Even when you only had one year on the planet.
She made one of her own, and took his hand.
“Let’s go back to the party.”
“Voluntarily?” he said, making her laugh.
“Let’s go back to the weird and the happy. Let’s go have some fucking birthday cake.”
He made a choice of his own, cupped her chin, and kissed her. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”
They rode up, away from the cages, from the curses, the tears, from those who chose to shed blood. And made their way back to the weird and the happy.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. D. Robb is the pseudonym for the number one New York Times bestselling author of more than two hundred novels, including the futuristic suspense In Death series. There are more than five hundred million copies of the author’s books in print. Visit the author at JdRobb.com and Facebook.com/JDRobbAuthor.
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J. D. Robb, Apprentice in Death
(Series: In Death # 43)
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