Ceremony in Death (22 page)

She drew her weapon. “Peabody?”

“Here, sir.” Though her voice was muffled against Eve’s shirt pocket.

“The door’s unlocked here. I’m going in.”

“Do you want backup, Lieutenant?”

“Not yet. Stay on me.”

She slipped inside, soundlessly, shut the door at her back. She kept to her defensive crouch, sweeping her weapon and her gaze through the room.

Fancy furniture, ugly and overdone in her mind, a rumpled suit jacket, a half-empty bottle. Drapes drawn. Quiet.

She stepped farther into the room, but kept near the wall, guarding her own back as she circled. No one hid behind the furniture, behind the drapes. The small kitchen was empty and apparently unused.

She stepped to the doorway of the bedroom, again crouched, again sweeping her weapon. The bed was made, heaped with decorative pillows and apparently hadn’t been slept in. Her gaze moved to the closet, the firmly shut carved doors.

She sidestepped toward it, then heard the sounds from the bathroom. Quick, heavy breathing, grunts of effort, a distinctly female chuckle. It passed through her mind that Louis might be having a quick roll with the LC of his choice, and she gritted her teeth in annoyance.

But she didn’t relax her guard.

She stepped left, shifted her weight, and swung to the doorway.

The smell hit her an instant before she saw it.

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“Lieutenant?” Peabody’s voice, ringing with concern, piped out of her pocket.

“Back off.” Eve leveled her weapon at the woman. “Drop the knife and back off.”

“Sending backup now. Give me your situation, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve got a homicide. Really fresh. I said back the hell off.”

The woman only smiled. She straddled Louis, or what was left of him. Blood pooled on the floor, splattered the white tiles, coated her hands and face. The stench of it, and the gore, was thick as smoke.

Louis, Eve noted, was well beyond hope. He’d been gutted and disemboweled. And he was busily being eviscerated.

“He’s already dead,” the woman said pleasantly.

“I can see that. Put down the knife.” Eve took a step closer, gesturing with the weapon. “Put it down and move away from him. Slow. Face down on the floor, hands behind your back.”

“It had to be done.” She slid her leg over the body until she was kneeling beside it, like a mourner over a grave. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Yeah.” Even through the mask of blood, Eve had made the face. And she’d remembered the voice, the sweetness of it. “Mirium, right? First-degree witch. Now, drop the fucking knife and kiss the floor. Hands behind you.”

“All right.” Obligingly, Mirium set the knife aside, barely glancing at it when Eve trapped it under her heel, sent it skidding across the room well out of reach. “He told me to be quick. In and out. I lost track of time.”

Eve tugged her restraints from her rear pocket, snapped them in place over Mirium’s wrists. “He?”

“Chas. He said I could do this one all by myself, but to be fast.” She let out a sigh. “I guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

With her mouth thin, Eve looked down at Louis Trivane. No, she thought I wasn’t fast enough. “You copy that, Peabody?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pick up Charles Forte for questioning. Do it personally, and take two uniforms for backup. Don’t approach him alone.”

“Affirmative. Do you have the situation under control there, Lieutenant?”

Eve stepped back from the blood running in a rivulet toward her boots. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

She showered and changed before the interviews. The ten minutes it took was necessary. She’d all but bathed in Louis Trivane’s blood before she’d released his body to the ME. If anyone in the lockers noticed the elegant little flower on her ass, there was no comment.

The buzz on the state of this particular crime scene had already swarmed through the station.

“I’m taking Mirium first,” Eve told Feeney as she studied the dainty woman through the one-way glass.

“You could take a break, Dallas. Word is, it was pretty rough over there this morning.”

“You always think you’ve seen it all,” she murmured. “But you never do. There’s always something else.” She blew out a breath. “I want to do it now. I want to close this.”

“Okay. Duet or solo?”

“Solo. She’s going to talk. She’s on something…” Eve shook her head. “Maybe she’s just plain crazy, but I think she’s using. I’m going to get her to sign for a chemi-scan. The PA doesn’t like confessions given under the influence.”

“I’ll order one up.”

“Thanks.” She moved past him, walked into the room. Mirium’s face had been washed clean of blood. She wore a baggy disposable shift in police station beige. And still managed to look like a young, eager fairy.

Eve set the recorder, entered standard, then sat. “You know I’ve got you tagged, Mirium, so we don’t have to take that dance. You murdered Louis Trivane.”

“Yes.”

“What are you on?”

“On?”

“Doesn’t look like straight Zeus, you’re too mellow. Will you agree to a drug scan?”

“I don’t want to.” Her pretty mouth pouted; her dark eyes sulked. “Maybe later I’ll change my mind.” She pursed her lips and plucked at the thin skirt of the shift. “Can I get some of my own clothes? This thing’s itchy, and it offends the eye.”

“Yeah, we’re real worried about that right now. Why did you kill Louis Trivane?”

“He was evil. Chas said so.”

“By Chas you’re referring to Charles Forte.”

“Yes, but no one calls him Charles. It’s just Chas.”

“And Chas told you Louis was evil. Did he ask you to kill Louis?”

“He said I could. Other times I just got to watch. But this time I got to do it myself. There was a lot of blood.” She lifted a hand, studied it carefully. “Gone now.”

“What other times, Mirium?”

“Oh, other times.” She moved her shoulders. “Blood purifies.”

“Did you assist or witness other murders?”

“Sure. Death is a transition. I got to do this one. It was a very powerful act. I cut the demon out of him. Demons exist, and we fight them.”

“By killing the people they inhabit.”

“Yes. He said you were smart.” Mirium beamed at her out of slanted black eyes. “But you’ll never touch him. He’s too far removed from your law.”

“Let’s go back to Louis. Tell me about it.”

“Well, I have a friend on staff at the Luxury. All I had to do was screw him, and that was okay. I like to screw. Then I slipped one of the master codes in my pocket. You can get in most anywhere with a master. I put on one of the maids’ dresses, so no one would bother me, and I went right on in Louis’s suite. I took him towels. He was in the bathroom. He’d been sick, I could smell it. Then I stabbed him. I went for the throat, just like I was supposed to. Then I guess I got into it.”

She moved her shoulders again, sent Eve a mischievous smile. “It’s kind of like punching a knife through a pillow, you know. And it makes this sucky noise. Then I cut the demon out of him, and you came. I guess I’d finished, anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess you had. How long have you known Chas?”

“Oh, a couple of years. We like to make it in the park, in the daytime, because you never know if somebody’s going to come along and see.”

“How does Isis feel about that?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know.” Mirium rolled her eyes. “She wouldn’t like it.”

“How does she feel about the murders?”

Mirium’s brows knit and her eyes unfocused for a moment. “The murders? She doesn’t know. Does she? No, we wouldn’t tell her about that.”

“So it’s just between you and Chas.”

“Between me and Chas.” Her eyes fluttered, stayed blank. “I guess. Sure.”

“Have you told anyone else in the coven?”

“The coven?” She laid her fingers on her lips, tapped them. “No, no, it’s our secret. Our little secret.”

“What about Wineburg?”

“Who?”

“In the parking garage. The banker. Do you remember?”

“I didn’t get to do that.” She bit her bottom lip now, shook her head. “No, he did that. He was supposed to bring me the heart, but he didn’t. He said there wasn’t time.”

“And Lobar?”

“Lobar, Lobar.” Her fingers kept tapping. “No, that was different. Wasn’t it? I can’t remember. I’m getting a headache.” Her voice turned petulant. “I don’t want to talk anymore now. I’m tired.” She laid her hands down on her folded arms and closed her eyes.

Eve watched her for a moment. There wasn’t any point in pushing now, she decided. She had enough.

Eve signaled a uniform. Mirium murmured sulkily as Eve slipped the restraints back into place. “Take her down to Psych. Get Mira to do the evaluation, if possible; make a note to request permission for a drug scan.”

“Yes, sir.” Eve stepped to the door behind them, pushed a call button. “Have Forte brought to Interview Room C.”

It occurred to her that she would like to lay her head on pillowed arms herself. Instead, she turned down the corridor into the observation area. Peabody stood beside Feeney.

“I want you in on this, Peabody. What did you think of her, Feeney?”

“She’s whacked.” He held out his bag of nuts. “Whether it’s psych or induced, I dunno. Looks like a mix of both to me.”

“That was my take. How come she seemed so damn normal the other night?” Then she pulled her hands through her hair and laughed. “I can’t believe I’m saying that. She was standing naked in the woods letting Forte kiss her crotch.”

She lowered her hands, pressed them to her eyes, then dropped them. “His father never used a partner. That was never hinted at. He worked alone.”

“So, he’s got a different style,” Feeney said. “Whacked or not, the girl pinned Forte.”

“It doesn’t feel right to me,” Peabody murmured, and Eve turned to her with a mildly interested glance.

“What doesn’t feel right, Officer?”

Detecting the light trace of sarcasm, Peabody lifted her jaw. “Wiccans don’t kill.”

“People kill,” Eve reminded her. “And not everybody takes their religion seriously. Had any red meat lately?”

The flush worked up from under Peabody’s starched uniform collar. Free-Agers were strict vegan and used no animal by-products. “That’s different.”

“I walked in on a murder,” Eve said shortly. “The woman with the knife in her hand identified Charles Forte as her accomplice. That’s fact. I don’t want you to take anything but fact into that interview room. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Peabody stiffened her shoulders. “Perfectly.” But she stood in place a moment longer when Eve strode off.

“She’s had a rough morning,” Feeney said sympathetically. “I got a quick scan of the first crime scene shots. It doesn’t get any rougher.”

“I know.” But she shook her head, watching as Charles Forte was led into the room behind the glass. “But it just doesn’t feel right.”

She turned away, headed around the corner, and stepped into the interview room just as Eve was reading Forte his rights.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand your rights and obligations?”

“No, no, I understand them. I don’t understand why I’m here.” There was puzzlement and a vague sense of disappointment as he turned his gaze toward Peabody. “If you’d wanted to speak with me again, you had only to ask. I would have met you, or come in voluntarily. It wasn’t necessary to send three uniformed officers to my home.”

“I thought it was necessary,” Eve answered shortly. “Do you want counsel or representation at this time, Mr. Forte?”

“No.” He shifted in agitation, tried to ignore the fact that he was inside a police facility. Like his father. “Just tell me what you want to know. I’ll try to help you.”

“Tell me about Louis Trivane.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Do you usually send your handmaids out to murder strangers?”

“What?” His face went white as he pushed himself to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

“Sit down.” Eve snapped the order out. “Louis Trivane was murdered two hours ago by Mirium Hopkins.”

“Mirium? That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.”

“It’s very possible. I walked in while she was cutting out his liver.”

Chas swayed, then sank onto his chair. “There’s a mistake. It couldn’t be.”

“I think the mistake was yours.” Eve rose, wandered over, then leaned over his shoulder. “You should pick your weapons more carefully. When you use defective ones, they can turn on you.”

“I don’t know what you mean. May I have some water? I don’t understand this.”

Eve jerked a thumb to Peabody, signaling her to pour a glass. “Mirium told me everything, Chas. She told me that you were lovers, that you neglected to bring her Wineburg’s heart as promised, and that you’d allowed her to execute Trivane herself. Blood purifies.”

“No.” He lifted the glass in both hands and still slopped water over the edge as he tried to drink. “No.”

“Your father liked to slice people up. Did he show you how it was done? How many other defective tools have you used? Did you dispose of them after you’d finished with them? Keep any souvenirs?”

She continued to hammer at him while he sat, just sat, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“Was this your version of a religious war, Chas? Eliminate the enemy? Cut out the demons? Your father was a self-styled Satanist, and he’d made your life a misery. You couldn’t kill him, you can’t get to him now. But there are others. Are they substitutes? When you kill them, are you killing him, hacking him to pieces because of what he did to you?”

He squeezed his eyes tight, began to rock. “God. My God. Oh God.”

“You can help yourself here. Tell me why, tell me how. Explain it to me, Chas. I may be able to cut you a break. Tell me about Alice. About Lobar.”

“No. No.” When he lifted his head, his eyes were streaming. “I’m not my father.”

Eve didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from the desperate plea in his eyes. “Aren’t you?” Then she stepped back and let him sob.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

She worked him for an hour, relentlessly pushing, then backtracking, then shifting directions. She kept the death photos on the table, dealt out like grisly playing cards.

How many more, she demanded. How many more images of the dead should there be?

Through it all, he wept and denied, wept and was silent.

When she turned him over to holding, his eyes stayed on hers until he was led around the corner and away. But it was the look in Peabody’s eyes that caught her and had her waiting until they were alone.

“Problem, Officer?”

Observing the interrogation had been like watching a wolf toy and tear at a wounded deer. Peabody drew a breath, braced. “Yes, sir. I didn’t like your interview technique.”

“Didn’t you?”

“It seemed overly harsh. Cruel. Using his father, over and over again, directing him to look at the stills.”

Eve’s stomach was raw, her nerves scraped clean, but her voice was cool, her hands steady, as she gathered up the stills. “Maybe I should have asked him politely to please confess so we could all go home and get back to our comfy lives. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I’ll make a note to try it the next time I have a murder suspect in interview.”

Peabody wanted to wince, managed not to. “It just seemed to me, Lieutenant, particularly since the suspect had no representation — “

“Did I read him his rights, Officer?”

“Yes, sir, but — “

“Did he verify that he understood those rights?”

Peabody pulled back, nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

“Can you estimate, Officer Peabody, how many interviews you’ve conducted on homicide cases?”

“Sir, I — “

“I can’t,” Eve snapped, and her eyes went from cool to hot. “I can’t, because there’s been too fucking many of them. You want to take a look at the stills again? You want to see this guy with his guts spilled out all over the tiles? Maybe it’ll toughen you up a little, because if my interview techniques upset you, Peabody, you’re in the wrong career.”

Eve strode to the door, then whirled back while Peabody stood where she was at rigid attention. “And I expect my aide to back me up, not question me because she happens to have a soft spot for witches. If you can’t handle that. Officer Peabody, I’ll approve your request for transfer. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Peabody let out a shaky breath as Eve’s boots clicked down the corridor. “Understood,” she said to herself and shut her eyes.

“A little rough on her,” Feeney commented when he caught up.

“Don’t you start on me.”

He only held up a hand. “Isis came in voluntarily. I put her in Room B.”

With a jerk of the head, Eve changed directions and pulled open the door of Room B.

Isis stopped her restless pacing and spun around. “How could you do this to him? How could you bring him here? He’s terrified of places like this.”

“Charles Forte is being held for questioning in the stabbing death of Louis Trivane, among others.” In contrast to Isis’s raised and furious voice, Eve’s was cold and flat. “He has not yet been charged.”

“Charged?” Her golden skin paled. “You can’t believe Chas had anything to do with a murder. Trivane? We don’t know any Louis Trivane.”

“And you know everyone Forte knows, Isis?” Eve set the file on the table, kept her hand on it as if to remind herself what was inside. “You know everything he does and thinks and plans?”

“We are as close as it’s possible for human bodies and minds and souls to be. There is no harm in him.” The temper drained out of her. Now her voice trembled. “Let me take him home. Please.”

Eve met the pleading eyes straight on, forced herself not to feel. “Did you know, being as close as it’s possible, that he’d decided to get equally close, bodily speaking, with Mirium?”

“Mirium?” Isis blinked once, then nearly laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“She told me herself. She smiled when she told me.” Remembering that, bringing that image back, dried up any sympathy. “She smiled as she straddled what was left of Louis Trivane, while his blood was smeared all over her hands and her face and the knife she held.”

As her legs went weak, Isis reached out blindly to brace a hand on the back of a chair. “Mirium killed someone? That’s impossible.”

“I thought all things were possible in your sphere. I walked in on her little ceremony myself.” Eve’s fingers curled on the file, but she didn’t open it. There was still pity, after all, for the woman who loved and believed. “She was very cooperative, happily told me that Forte had allowed her to kill Trivane herself. Unlike the others, where she only observed.”

Using her hand to keep her balance, Isis stepped unsteadily around the chair, eased herself into it. “She’s lying.” There was a lance in her heart, quivering there. “Chas has nothing to do with this. How could I have missed this part of her?” Closing her eyes, Isis rocked herself gently. “How could I not have seen? We initiated her, we took her in. We made her one of us.”

“Can’t see everything, can you?” Eve angled her head. “I think you should be more worried about your vision as it applies to Charles Forte.”

“No.” She opened her eyes again. There was misery in them, but behind it was a steel Eve recognized. “There’s no one I see more clearly than Chas. She’s lying.”

“She’ll be tested. In the meantime, you may want to rethink allowing yourself to be used as his alibi. He’s betrayed your trust,” Eve said, stepping closer. “It could have been you, Isis, at any time. Mirium’s younger, probably more biddable. I wonder how much longer he’d have pretended to let you run the show.”

“How can you not understand what there is between us when you have it yourself? Do you think the word of some disturbed young woman would make me doubt the man I love? Would it make you doubt Roarke?”

“It’s not my personal life that’s in dire straits here,” Eve said evenly. “It’s yours. If you care for him so much, then cooperate with me. It’s the only way to stop him, and to get him help.”

“Help?” Isis’s mouth twisted. “You don’t want to help him. You want him to be guilty, you want him to be punished, because of where he came from. Because of his father.”

Eve looked down at the folder in her hands, the plain tan cover that hid the terrible images of terrible death. “You’re wrong.” She spoke quietly now, almost to herself. “I wanted him to be innocent. Because of his father.”

Then she lifted her gaze, met Isis’s. “The warrant will have come through by now. We’ll search your shop and your apartment. Whatever we find can be used against you as well.”

“It won’t matter.” Isis forced herself to stand. “You won’t find anything to help you.”

“You’re entitled to be present during the search.”

“No. I’ll stay here. I want to see Chas.”

“You’re not related or legally married — “

“Dallas.” Isis interrupted quietly. “You have a heart. Please listen to it and let me see him.”

Yes, she had a heart. And it ached to see the plea in the eyes of a strong woman. “I can give you five minutes through security glass.” As she wrenched the door open, she set her teeth. “Tell him to get a lawyer, for God’s sake.”

In the storeroom of Spirit Quest and in a workroom in the apartment above, were dozens of bottles and containers and boxes. They were filled with liquid and powder and leaves and seeds. She found organized records detailing the contents and their uses.

Eve ordered everything sent to the lab for analysis.

She found knives, carved handles and plain, long-bladed and short. She tagged a sweeper, ordered him to scan for traces of blood. Ceremonial robes and street clothes were scanned as well.

She blocked out the voices — sweepers never worked quietly — and went about her job with focused efficiency.

And there, under a neatly folded stack of robes kept fresh in a chest smelling of rosemary and cedar, she found the balled-up and bloody black robe.

“Here.” She signaled to a sweeper. “Scan it.”

“Nice sample.” The sweeper snapped her gum, ran the nozzle of her shoulder unit over the cloth. “Mostly on the sleeves.” Behind her protective goggles, the sweeper’s eyes were mildly bored. “Human,” she confirmed. “A neg. Can’t tell you much more with a portable.”

“That’s enough.” Eve slid the robe into a bag, sealed and labeled it for evidence. “Wineburg was A negative.” She looked at Peabody as she handed the bag to her. “Careless of him, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Dutifully, Peabody stored the bag in her evidence kit. “It would seem so.”

“Lobar was O positive.” She moved to another chest, hauled back the domed lid. “Keep looking.”

Twilight had settled with its dim light and fitful breezes when she climbed back in her car. Since the tension was still simmering between her and Peabody, she didn’t bother to speak but engaged her car ‘link instead.

“Lieutenant Dallas for Dr. Mira.”

“Dr. Mira is in session,” the receptionist said politely. “I’ll be happy to log your message.”

“Has she tested Mirium Hopkins?”

“One moment while I check the logs.” The receptionist slid her gaze to the side, then back. “That session has been rescheduled for eight thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Rescheduled, why?”

“The log notes indicate that the subject complained of severe head pain, and on examination by the physician on duty, was medicated.”

“Who was the physician on duty?” Eve asked through clenched teeth.

“Dr. Arthur Simon.”

“Simon Says; figures.” Disgusted, Eve whipped her car around a slow-moving maxibus packed with commuters. “He’ll give you a double tranq for a hangnail.”

The receptionist grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but the subject was already medicated before her scheduled testing. Dr. Mira is unable to proceed until morning.”

“Fine. Terrific. Ask her to let me know as soon as she’s done.” Eve broke transmission. “Son of a bitch. I’m going in to take a look at her, myself. Deliver the bags to the lab, Peabody, with a request for rush — for what good that does. Then you’re off duty.”

“You’ll interview Forte again tonight.”

“That’s right.”

“Sir, I request to be present during interview.”

“Request denied,” Eve said shortly as she pulled into the garage at Central. “I said you’re off duty.” She shoved out of the car and walked away.

It was midnight and her own head was aching viciously. The house was quiet when she slipped in, dragged herself up the stairs. It didn’t surprise her to see Roarke, awake and on the bedroom ‘link. She glanced at the monitor as she passed through and recognized the young, eager face of one of the engineers assigned to the Olympus Resort.

It made her think of the last few days of her honeymoon. There had been death there, as well. Big surprise, she thought as she leaned over the sink and splashed her face with cold water. There was never any escaping it.

She toweled off, then walked to the bed to sit and remove her boots. When they hit the floor, the effort of undressing further seemed beyond her. She crawled onto the bed and lay across it, facedown.

Roarke listened to his engineer with half an ear while he watched her. He knew the signs, the shadowed eyes, the pale skin, the slow, deliberate movements. She’d worked herself to the breaking point again — a habit that both fascinated and frustrated him.

“I’ll get back to you on that tomorrow,” he said and abruptly ended transmission. “You’ve had a bad one, Lieutenant.”

She didn’t stir when he straddled her and began to knead her neck and shoulders. “I know there’s been worse,” she murmured. “I just can’t think of when right now.”

“Louis Trivane’s murder has been all over the news.”

“Goddamn vultures.”

He unhooked her weapon harness, wiggled it off her, and set it aside. “A prominent attorney gets himself hacked up in an exclusive private club, it’s news.” Competently, he worked his thumbs up her spine. “Nadine’s called here several times.”

“Yeah, she’s buzzed Central, too. I don’t have time for her.”

“Mmm.” He tugged her shirt free of her slacks, and used the heels of his hands. “Did you walk in on it, or was that added for entertainment value?”

“No, I walked in on it. Maybe if that idiot droid at the desk hadn’t — ” She broke off, shook her head. “I was too late. She’d already opened him up. She was still working on him, like a kid with a science project. She implicated Charles Forte.”

“That’s out, too.”

“Of course it is,” she said with a sigh. “You can’t plug all the leaks.”

“You have him in custody?”

“We’re questioning him. I’m questioning him. He denies everything. I found physical evidence in his apartment, but he still denies everything.”

Denies, she thought, while looking shocked, dislocated, terrified.

“Oh shit.” She turned her head, pressed her face into the spread. “Oh shit.”

“Come on.” He kissed the top of her head lightly. “Let’s get you undressed and into bed.”

“Don’t baby me.”

“Try to stop me.”

She started to shift, then moved quickly before she’d realized her intent or the need. She had her arms around him, her face buried against his shoulder, her eyes squeezed tight as if to block out visions.

“You’re always here. Even when you’re not.”

“We’re not alone, anymore. Either of us.” Because he thought she needed it, he lifted her onto his lap. “Talk to me. You’ve got more than murder and evidence on your mind.”

“I’m not a good person.” She blurted it out before she could stop herself. “I’m a good cop, but I’m not a good person. I can’t afford to be.”

“That’s nonsense, Eve.”

“It’s not. It’s true. You just don’t want to see it, that’s all.” She pulled back so she could look at him. “When you love somebody, you can handle the little faults, but you don’t want to see the big ones. You don’t want to admit what the person you’ve attached yourself to is capable of, so you pretend it’s not there.”

“What are you capable of that I’m blind to?”

“I beat Forte into pulp. Not physically,” she continued, dragging her hair away from her face. “That’s too easy, that’s too clean. I ripped him to pieces emotionally. I wanted to. I wanted him to tell me what he’d done so I could finish it, close it away. And when Peabody had the balls to tell me she disapproved of my interview techniques, I trounced her. I sent her off duty so I could go back in and hammer at him again.”