Portrait in Death (43 page)

She shoved through the door Roarke opened. "Stairs. Uniforms, elevator. Peabody with me." She continued to toss orders as she pounded up. "Baxter, Trueheart is your priority."

"You don't have to tell me that."

"You will find and safely secure Officer Trueheart. I want a medic up here," she barked into her communicator. "I want a medi-van on site. Now. Leave the suspect to me unless directly engaged. Is that clear?"

"I got it."

"He's put music on, Lieutenant," Peabody reported, huffing a bit as they hit the fourth level. "I can't hear anything else now."

"Roarke, on the door. Give me two units on emergency evac. He isn't going to rabbit on us. Get this building surrounded. Two men stationed on each floor at stairway. Disengage the elevators."

The next boom of thunder shook the floor under her feet as she rushed to 5-B.

Her weapon was in her hand, her blood cold, her head clear.

"I go in low," she stated, rocking onto her toes as Roarke finessed the locks.

He worked fast, elegant fingers flying. She kept her eyes on them, focused, focused, and watched them lift clear.

"Go."

She kicked it open, surged through, and had her weapon trained dead between Gerry's startled eyes.

"Police. Drop it. Drop it now and step back, or I will shut your lights down permanently."

"You don't understand." His voice remained reasonable as he clutched the long, thin knife. "I'm going to make him live forever."

"Drop your weapon," she repeated, and refused to let herself be distracted by the sight of Trueheart, shirt open, as he stood unconscious, at parade rest.

"But-"

"Screw this." Baxter was already rushing across the room. To save them all the trouble, Eve lowered her weapon. And shot a stunning stream into Gerry, mid-body.

The knife hit the floor seconds before he did. The clever lights and shadows streamed over him on the white floor.

"Okay, kid, okay." Baxter's hands trembled visibly as he pressed his fingers to the pulse in Trueheart's throat. "He's breathing. We're going to get you down from here." His voice thickened as he fought with the wires. "I need some wire clippers. Goddamn it-"

"Here." Roarke handed him a tool. "Let me help you."

"Scene and suspect secure," Eve announced into her communicator and set her boot on Gerry's back in case he came out of it before she had him restrained. "Officer Trueheart appears to be unharmed. Where's my medic?"

She turned, found the loft full of cops. She gave it a minute, catching her breath, letting the adrenaline rush dissipate. She understood their need, wanted to give them this moment.

But...

"Too many cops in here. This scene is now secure, Code Red is ended. I need this area cleared. Officers, I imagine there's some crime somewhere in the city that needs dealing with. Good job," she added. "Thank you."

"Damn good job," Feeney told her and laid a hand on her shoulder as they watched Roarke and Baxter lay Trueheart on the floor. "You okay, kid?"

"A little shaky in the knees now. That was awful damn close."

"Close don't mean shit." He swiped at his forehead with his arm. "I'm getting too old to run up five flights of stairs. Want me to take this asshole in for you, book him?"

"Yeah. Appreciate it. I want first crack at him, though. So put him in one of the cages, and if he says anything about lawyers-"

"I've been having a little trouble with my ears. Gotta get them checked." He grinned viciously, then crouched down and pulled out his restraints.

She walked over to kneel by the medic.

"Just buzz juice," she was told. "Pulse is strong, bp's low, but not dangerously. He's going to need a lot of fluids, and he'll have one bitch of a headache, but he's young, strong, and fit."

"He's coming around." Baxter pushed a hand through his still dripping hair. "Look at that. Hey, kid, come on back. Can't have you lying down on the job, making me look bad."

Trueheart's lashes fluttered. His vision was blurry and his mind confused. "Sir." He tried to swallow, coughed a little. "Lieutenant? Am I dead?"

"Not even close." She couldn't resist, and took his hand. Baxter already had his other one. "You did the job, Officer Trueheart. You did good. Suspect is in custody."

"'Kay. Pretty tired now," he said, then conked out again.

"He'll go in and out for a while," the medic said cheerfully. "We'll get some fluids in him, take him overnight for observation. He'll be good as new by morning."

"Dallas, I want to stick with him."

"Affirmative," she said to Baxter. "Update me on his condition. Contact his mother. Make sure she knows he's okay first, then let her know he did the job."

She straightened up, and prepared to do hers.

Epilogue

"You see," Gerry explained. "They're inside me now. Not my body-the body's just a shell. My mother explained all that to me. They're in my soul. Light to light."

"Did your mother tell you to take their light, Gerry?"

"No." He shook his head, leaned forward earnestly. "I wish we'd understood it all before she died. It didn't have to happen. It never has to happen. We'll all live forever, we have the capacity. It's just the body that needs to be shed off."

"So," Eve said, just as reasonably. "You shed off Rachel Howard's, Kenby Sulu's, and Alicia Dilbert's bodies for them?"

"Yes. Their light was so strong, you see. If you really looked, really understood my portraits of them, you'd see that. My mother told me about the light, how as a nurse, she'd see the light in the eyes of the patients. It would be so strong in some, even when medically it seemed as though there wasn't a chance for them. But she'd see that light, she said, and knew they were going to beat the odds. Others, well, you'd think they were going to be fine, but the light wasn't there. And they'd die. Just slip away."

"Your mother's light was strong."

"Yes, but not strong enough." Grief shuddered over his face, and for a moment his eyes weren't mad. They were young and shattered. "Too many shadows. The shadows smothered the light. You see..." He shifted in his chair again. When his face cleared of sorrow, the madness was back over it. "I studied the work of Henri Javert. He was-"

"I know. He photographed the dead."

"It's a fascinating art. I could see what my mother meant about the light. In the dead, once the light's been taken, the shell is empty. Javert's work was brilliant, and helped show me the way. Preserve the light, shed the body."

"Take the light into yourself, through the camera."

"The lens is magic. It's not all technology, you know. It's art and magic. Through it you can see the soul. You can look into a subject and see their soul through the lens. It's amazing. I have the gift."

"Why did you use Hastings?"

"I don't understand the question."

"You took file images from him."

"Oh. I really admire his work. He's a difficult man, but an incredible artist. I learned a lot from him, in a very short time. He also photographs the dead, but for commission. Not for pure art. This is art."

"Did you assist him in photographing the dead?"

"Only once, but it was amazing. I'd been so down, you know, after my mother. Professor Browning helped get me back on track. She understood I was going through a rough patch and suggested I take the job as Hastings's assistant. Keep busy. I only worked with him for a week or so, but it brought me back. When I saw Rachel Howard at that wedding, saw the light just spilling out of her... it was an epiphany. Hastings saw it, too. I had to stop myself from just grabbing the camera from him to take her portrait, but he saw it, too. So I realized he was part of the path. Like a guide."

"And you took the discs."

"I guess it wasn't right, and I'm sorry. I'll pay the fine," he told her with an apologetic smile. "But it was for something so important-I'm sure Hastings will understand that. I went back later, once I had it all worked out. He's a little careless and disorganized about his files. I just went through them to see. And the light-the faces-just jumped out at me."

"Trueheart wasn't there."

"Trueheart?"

"My officer. The one you had in your studio tonight."

"Trueheart. It's a perfect name for him. I hadn't completed my research on him because I had someone else in mind for the last. But as soon as I saw him in the club, I knew. I just knew, and tonight it fell into place."

"About the club. Why did you change your name?"

"You have to be careful. I knew people wouldn't understand, would try to stop me. I thought I'd set up an alter ego, just as a cushion."

"You'd already changed it once, as Hastings's assistant. Were you already planning your... gallery?"

"I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was. But lots of artists take a professional name, and I was just trying that one on. I took Javert's name because I really admired him."

"When you took the job at the club," she prompted, "you had your plan in place."

"Oh yeah. But for the club, I thought I'd just keep it simple-my name, I mean. Audrey is Mom's middle name, so it was kind of an homage to her. I'm kinda thirsty? Can I get a drink?"

"Sure." She gestured to Peabody. "How'd you pick the data club?"

"Oh, I used to hang there sometimes. A lot of the college kids come into the club. Almost all of them pass through sooner or later, so taking a job tending bar was a good way to observe and select. And the data club made sense. I could get the word out on my work efficiently, privately."

"How?"

"I'd just slip back in after I'd done the portraits and discarded the shell. Slip the data disc to the dj, or dump it into an in-basket. Nobody pays attention. I knew Nadine Furst would get the story out. She's really good, you know?"

When Peabody offered him water, he took it gratefully. "And 75 has the best ratings in the city. I did my research."

"Bet you did."

Drinking, he nodded. "You've seen my work now. My studio, my gallery." Dressed in the ugly orange NYPSD jumpsuit, his ankle chained to the table, the harsh lights from the overhead in Interview Room A spilling over him, he looked proud.

"Yes, Gerry, I've seen it."

"So, you understand now. I did research on you, too. You're smart and creative. You have strong light. It's not pure, but it's strong. You'll let me finish, right? You have to let me finish the work. One more portrait and I'll be immortal. People will see. We never have to die. No one ever has to lose someone they love, ever again. No one has to suffer or have pain."

"Gerry, I'm going to ask you again, just so we're really clear. Do you understand your rights and obligations?"

"Oh yeah. Sure."

"And you've waived your right to legal representation during this interview."

"I just want to tell you what it all means. I don't want people to think I'm some kind of monster. I'm not. I'm a savior."

"And you did willingly take the lives of Rachel Howard, Kenby Sulu, and Alicia Dilbert?"

"I preserved their light," he corrected. "Forever."

"To do so, you took the aforementioned individuals to your studio on Greenwich, took them there in a drugged state that you induced, and there caused the death of their mortal bodies by inserting a knife into their hearts."

"I didn't want to hurt them, that's why I gave them the medicine they gave my mom. It made her sleep easy, took away the pain."

"You also took Officer Troy Trueheart to that same location tonight, in the same condition with the same purpose in mind."

"Yes, to shed their mortal bodies." Relief washed over her face as he nodded. "Their shells. And by taking their portrait so near the instant of death, I took their light into myself, joining it to mine, preserving it, and giving them immortality. They live in me," he told her. "With the last light joined, the work will be done. I'll know all they knew. They'll know me. Always."

"Understood. Record off."

"So I can go now?"

"No, I'm sorry. There are some other people you'll need to talk to. Explain things to."

"Oh, okay." He glanced around, blankly. "But I really need to get back to work soon."

Sanity, Eve thought, was a thin and slippery line. Gerry had tipped over it. If he could still function, still plan, still make images, he'd be doing it all in a secured room in a mental health facility for the rest of his life.

"I hope it won't take very long," he added as a uniform entered to take him back to a cage.

When Eve didn't rise, Peabody walked over, poured two cups of water. "My dad used to love these old cartoon vids. I remember this one, where this talking cat was crazy. Totally bonked. Anyway, to show it, they had these little birds flying around his head and chirping."

She drank her water while Eve stared at her own. "Anyway, that's what I'd see with him. Little birds flying around his head, except it's too sad and too awful for little birds."

"Sometimes, you do the job, you close the case, but the door just doesn't shut for you. I guess this is going to be one of those. Roarke was right. He's just pathetic. It's easier when they're vicious or greedy or just downright evil. Pathetic leaves the door open a crack."

"You should go home, Dallas. We should all go home now."

"You're right." She rubbed her eyes like a tired child.

But she wrote up the report first, and filed it, hoping to close the door a little more. The department shrinks, and whatever private ones Gerry might eventually engage, would have a field day with him.

But he would never step out of that secured room again.

She detoured by the hospital to look in on Trueheart. He was sleeping like a baby, with the monitors recording the steady beat of his pulse. In the chair beside the bed, Baxter was slumped and snoring.

Quietly, she moved into the room, stood beside the bed for a moment just looking at Trueheart. His color was good, she decided, his breathing even.

Tied to the bed guard was some sort of novelty balloon that looked like giant female breasts.

Leaning down she gave Baxter's shoulder a quick shake and his snoring cut off with a shocked snort. He jerked awake and his hand went automatically to his weapon.