She said, “Seriously?”
“I’ll cut you to pieces!”
“Okay. Hey, don’t look now, but my partner has a stunner aimed at you.” His head swiveled to where Peabody stood, stunner in hand. “Told you not to look. Now I’ve got a stunner aimed at you, too. Let’s do the math here, Ethan,” she said as his eyes wheeled back and forth. “Two police-issue stunners in the hands of trained officers. One pair of scissors in the hand of a delusional fuckwit. What do you figure that equals?”
She gave Peabody the barest head shake to signal her to hold fire. “Put those down.”
Instead, he lunged toward her. When she blocked his arm, brought her elbow up to tap his chin, the scissors clattered away. He dropped to the floor again. Though he didn’t bang his fists, kick his feet, he did cry like a baby.
“I’m not going back there. You can’t keep me from her, you can’t keep us apart, she needs me!”
“Who needs you?”
“Eliza!”
“How do you know she needs you?”
“She told me!”
“Yeah? Did she tag you on your ’link, maybe come by to pay a visit?”
“She speaks to me.” He lifted his tear-drenched face and his crazy eyes. “We’re connected. Our minds and hearts are one. He had to die, you see. He was keeping her prisoner, keeping us apart. She’s so brave! She’s waiting for me to go to her, to find the way. And we’ll go away together.”
“Okay, Ethan, you need to put some shoes on.” Eve hauled him to his feet. When he shoved against her, she ignored it, swung him around to cuff his hands behind his back. “Find him some shoes, Peabody, and get those scissors. Ethan Crommell, you’re under arrest for violation of conditions of parole, for assaulting an officer with a deadly weapon. You have the right to remain silent,” she began, and read off the Revised Miranda.
“Got shoes under the bed, and a scrapbook. Lots of Eliza Lane in here.”
She held up the book so Eve could see it.
He’d drawn a big heart on the cover, and inside had merged a headshot of himself, one of Lane, so they appeared to smile out, cheek to cheek.
He’d titled the book E&E 4 EVER.
She debated: Pathetic or pathological? And concluded it could be both.
“Bring it.”
When Peabody brought out a pair of what Eve thought of as institutional shower slides, she ordered Ethan to slip them on.
“Peabody, make sure we’ve got an open Interview room, and check to see if Mira’s free to observe.”
“You won’t keep us apart!”
Pretty sure we will, Eve thought.
He wept all the way to Central.
He blubbered on the elevator. Since he’d exhibited violent behavior, she didn’t feel justified in yanking him out and onto the glides. She let him blubber and wail as cops shuffled on, shuffled off.
“What’s his problem?” one asked her.
“Love,” she said. “Mad, mad love.”
“It’ll get you every time.”
When they reached Homicide, he was down to snorting sniffles.
“Set him up, Peabody. Let’s give him a few to compose himself. I’ll contact his parole officer.”
That set off another round of wailing. “I’m not going back! You can’t keep us apart!”
“Christ,” Eve muttered, and escaped to her office.
She contacted the parole officer, who looked weary, frazzled, and unsurprised. She grabbed coffee as she reviewed Ethan’s file.
And rolled her eyes at the conclusions and recommendations of his facility shrink.
“Conquered his obsession with Eliza Lane, my ass,” she muttered. “Cooperative, productive, nonviolent. Oh yeah? Try saying that after he stabs you in the throat with his scrapbook scissors. Parole recommended with conditions of continued weekly talk therapy, gainful employment. No contact with Ms. Lane, blah blah blah.”
Peabody tapped the doorjamb.
“Interview B. I got him some ginger ale and a bunch of tissues. Mira’s on her way.”
“Great. I think we’ll have her in the interview instead of observing it.”
“Can I?” When Peabody pointed at the AutoChef, Eve waved an affirmative. “It’s hard for me to see the crybaby we just hauled in having the skill and smarts to pull off Fitzhugh’s murder.”
“The crybaby who tried to punch a hole in me?”
“Yeah, he’s got a violent streak, but poison’s not. Not physical violence.”
“You’ve got a point there. And while it may be hard to imagine him having the skill and means to pull this off, crazy can fool you. He managed to convince his shrink and the parole board he was okay to resume his place in society. Had freaking conquered his Eliza Lane obsession.”
She pushed up. “And what do we find? A shrine, a scrapbook in progress, and unless I’m very much mistaken about the contents of the basket beside his bed, a guy spending his day jacking off in his socks to her vids.”
“Eeww.”
“You can repeat that when we go back after the interview and toss his place.”
“I’ll just repeat it now. Eeww. But … the commander said we’d have any extra manpower we needed. He could authorize another team to do that.”
Eve debated handling it personally, which would include handling what she knew damn well would be several cum-soaked socks, or delegating. And pointed.
“Yeah. Oh yeah, that’s a fine idea. Set that up. He had a tablet, his ’link. Unless he has other electronics tucked away, that’s it. The search team should bring those in. And contact the locals, give them the rundown. They can have uniforms do the knock-on-doors. Let’s see if anyone saw him go out or come in last night, early this morning. Also check if he had a locker at work and search that. If he had any kind of bank box, storage unit.”
Then she shrugged. “If he did it, or knows who did, we’ll get it out of him. He’ll be proud of it. He already said Fitzhugh had to die. Let’s see if he’s stopped crying.”
When she walked to the bullpen, Jenkinson and his tie hailed her.
“Closed the Dobson case, LT. The vic’s brother-in-law. The vic’s good at his job, see. Pulls in solid tips waiting tables. The sister’s husband keeps hitting him up for loans on the sly. Twenty, fifty, a hundred, until the vic cuts him off. Can’t keep shelling it out.”
“Gambling, illegals, or sex issues?”
“Sex. A lot of virtual sex at fifty a pop. So the sex freak son of a bitch goes after him after his shift, says he’s gotta have some cash, says how he knows he’s got plenty on him. Vic says he’s got his own bills to pay, his own wife and kid. Says to stop hounding him or he’ll tell his sister. So the fucker pulls a sticker. To scare him, he claims, and things just got out of hand.”
Jenkinson bared his teeth. “Got out of hand so he had to stab his wife’s brother fifteen times before he took the hundred and twelve dollars the vic pulled in cash tips that night. Took his ’link, his wrist unit, his damn wedding ring.”
“Comes off as a mugging.”
“So he figured. Greedy bastard couldn’t toss the ’link and such. Thought he’d be smart and pawned them up in the Bronx. Got a lousy hundred for them.”