Brotherhood in Death (36 page)

She could see the panic in his eyes at his own words. “Rape is an honor?”

“It was sex.”

“Keep telling yourself that. You drugged them, restrained them, you forced yourself on them when they begged you to stop. You might just find yourself in the same situation in prison, for the rest of your life. And we'll see if you think of it as just sex.”

“You can't put me in prison. Do you know who I am?”

“I know exactly who you are.”

“You work for me!” Incensed, he tried to shove up, and the restraints rattled. “For men like me.”

“I work for the City of New York, and I put people like you in cages. I fucking love my job, and tonight, right this minute, more than ever.”

“Those women are criminals. They're murderers. They're insane. They beat me. They burned me.”

“Oh, we'll let the medicals fix you all up before you go in the cage. You and the last of your brothers—that's Ethan MacNamee, who's even now being extradited to New York—are going to have a long time to think about your traditions. You got enough, Reo?”

“More than. Mr. Easterday, you've confessed, on the record and after being duly Mirandized, to the charges of multiple rapes.”

“No! It was
not
rape. I was only explaining.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I don't want to talk to you anymore. I've been hurt! I have nothing more to say.”

“That's your right,” Reo said easily. “On the other hand, Mr. MacNamee's had a lot to say. And if he continues, once he's doing that talking to Lieutenant Dallas, he'll get the deal I was about to offer you.”

“What deal?” Eve demanded, on cue, as if outraged.

“This is my job, Lieutenant. And part of my job is to save the city the time and expense of a long, ugly trial. But since Mr. Easterday has invoked his right to remain silent . . .”

“I want to know the terms.”

Reo looked back at him, nodded. “All right. If you'll excuse us, Lieutenant, Detective.”

“This is bullshit.” But Eve stormed out, then slowed when she got out the door.

“What's the deal?” Peabody asked. “I knew you and Reo had your heads together.”

“Life, no parole, but on-planet. He'd likely get that anyway. But she'll scare him into signing off. He's done. MacNamee is done—he spilled plenty to Scotland, and we'll get the rest out of him.”

She shoved a hand through her hair because she was far from done. “Let's go talk to the women.”

At Blake's request, Eve took her first, sat across from her and in the box.

Blake wore prison orange now.

“You have now suspended your wish for counsel or representation?”

“For the moment, yes. As you pointed out, I can represent myself. And though I would advise my client to remain silent, my client has a deep emotional need to make a statement. And in making it, hopes to help the three women you'll soon interview here.

“They're victims, Lieutenant.”

“I'm listening.”

“I was a student at Yale University. I worked very hard to be accepted into Yale, very hard to shine there. My ambition was law, corporate law. I wanted a high-powered job, planned to make full partner before I turned forty. I wanted a big, glamorous apartment, and glamorous friends. I accomplished all of that, and I was content. I told myself
I was content, that the nightmares that recurred were stress-induced. They had no basis in reality.

“The nightmares where I was tied to a bed in a room with colored lights. Spinning lights, loud music. Male laughter. Where I wept and raged. Where I relived that shock, that pain, that humiliation. Faceless men, forcing themselves into me. Forcing me to drink something that, after each had had me once, turned me into an animal, so I begged them to take me again. And again when they could untie me, then hang me up by the wrists in the center of those spinning lights, and take me two at a time.”

She paused, sipped the water Peabody had set on the table. Though her hand stayed steady, her breath shuddered out before she spoke again.

“In my ambitions I had imagined men—suitable men, entertaining men. Out of them I would select a mate and build a fine life. But in reality, after those nightmares began, whenever I tried to be with a man, a panic filled me. A terrible sickness. I thought perhaps I had some condition, and began to see a therapist.”

She paused a moment, steadied herself. “I thought I might prefer women, but no matter how gentle the lover I chose, that panic would grip me. For a while, I accepted I could be with no one, could not be intimate, I'd just focus on my work, on my career. But the nightmares wouldn't relent. My work began to suffer, and the nightmares raged inside me, like the men in them raged.

“And I began to remember more, see more. Their faces. Part of me refused to believe it had actually happened. How could such a terrible thing have happened to me? How could I live and work, day after day, after that terrible thing? But it had happened. I began to understand it had. I couldn't work, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. I thought of suicide, just to end it. And I took the medications my therapist prescribed, but it didn't relent. One day I attended a support group, one for rape victims.
I met CeCe Anson, the kindest woman I've ever known, and through her Lydia Su.”

“Su had the same nightmares, the same memories.”

“Yes. We became friends, and I thought, with her . . . but even with her I couldn't bear to be touched. And it came out, what I remembered or dreamed. It came out she dreamed the same. We sat in the dark, holding each other as those memories fell out of us, twined together. It seemed impossible at first. But then . . .”

“There were too many details for it to be impossible.”

“Yes. I quit my job at the firm, sold my fancy apartment. I bought the house where you found us, thinking that one day I might create a crisis center or a school, or . . . I wasn't clear on that. I offered my legal services to the group, to the crisis center. I continued to attend the group. It was a lifeline, and I began to do pro bono work for Inner Peace because they'd helped Lydia.”

“You found Carlee MacKensie that way.”

“Yes.”

“And you realized she'd had the same experience.”

“It was weeks, months, but we became what we'll call wounded friends. We'd have coffee after group, talk. And then, yes, we began to see all three of us had the same dreams, and what had happened, somehow, to all three of us was too similar to be chance.”

Grace leaned forward. “Do you believe in fate?”

“What does fate have to do with it?”

“We met, Lydia and I, then I met Carlee, and we were three. One day I was called to assist another woman with a legal issue. Charity. She'd been in another group and had a kind of meltdown during a session. She'd gone after one of the other women—sexually. CeCe contacted me to help her with the legal issues. She told me she'd been speaking, taking her turn, and had some sort of flashback. The heat,
the need—and it had happened once or twice before. She broke down in my little office, told me about her recurring nightmares.”

“Then there were four.”

“Yes, and no possible way this could be anything other than a pattern. I began to search through the records—and that's certainly a violation—but we were desperate to know if there were more. I found Elsi.

“All the details—I'll give you all I have. The timing, the where and when, but I'd like to just give you the broad points now.”

“Go ahead.”

“Elsi was so young, and her wounds, we'll say, fresher and more intense. Maybe they'd mixed the dose. Maybe they'd experimented. I can't say. But she would have those flashes, and find herself waking up with a stranger. She'd have nightmares so violent she'd harm herself during them. She . . . she began cutting herself.”

Blake paused for more water. “It had just happened, only the previous spring, so she saw the faces clearly—as they were now.”

“And you had Charity to draw them.”

“Yes. Edward Mira, I recognized him, and that led to the others. It led, as we'd already believed, to Yale. Only Charity hadn't attended the university, but she'd been seeing a Yale man on and off, and sometimes attended parties or events. Lectures. On one of her visits, she found herself wandering the campus before dawn, with no memory of what had happened. At first she believed she'd had too much to drink and had blacked out, or possibly been roofied and raped. But she couldn't remember. None of us remembered it all, until all of us did.”

“So you planned the murders.”

“Not at first. We'd meet—at the house where you found us because it became ours. A safe place, so in a way, it was a crisis center. We talked about how we could prove it, if we'd be believed if we went to the police.

“Could I have some more water?”

Peabody rose, went out to get it.

“We were five women who'd been ripped to pieces. We wanted to find proof. We needed to find justice.”

“It's the job of the police to find proof. It's the courts who determine justice.”

“We needed to
do
something after Elsi . . . I've left that out. It's painful.”

She stopped again when Peabody returned with more water.

“Thank you. I researched the laws. I'd been a corporate lawyer, but I gave myself lessons in criminal law. And for all but Elsi and Charity, the statute of limitations had passed. We'd never reported a crime, as we hadn't known we'd been victims of a crime—until it was too late for justice. For Charity, the window was closing.”

She pressed her lips together. “I can see, and I should have seen then, we put too much weight on Elsi. She and Charity were the only ones who could file charges. We would all add our own stories, and surely that would prove they'd done this, and done it, and done it. There wouldn't just be the five of us. There would be more women, and more women would remember when it came out, but . . .”

“Elsi couldn't handle it.”

“She was so fragile, and she broke.” Tears welled up now, spilled out. “She simply shattered, and we'll live with that guilt. They raped her, they ruined her, but we broke her trying to put all of us back together again. And then, yes then, we began to plan how to get justice for her, for all of us. At first, we told ourselves we would find proof. But we didn't. Carlee and Charity sacrificed more than I can tell you, and we didn't find proof.”

“You had Carlee sleep with Edward Mira.”

“She was strong, she was willing. We'd hoped she might find something to implicate him, more victims, victims who had been more recent like our Elsi. But he was careful there. And then Charity took her place. Carlee couldn't face any more, so Charity stepped in. But we found
nothing. Then, yes, we began to plan how to get justice. For Elsi. For all of us.”

Blake set the water down, wiped the tears away. “I posed as a Realtor, and made the appointment to meet him at the house he wanted to sell. Charity came in with me. We stunned him, we hurt him. We wanted him to know who we were, and what was coming. Then the other man came. We had a moment of panic, but we knocked him out. I knocked him out. He wasn't one of them, and we had no desire or reason to harm him. We forced Edward into Lydia's van, and brought him to the basement.”

“One you'd set up to replicate where you'd been raped.”

“Yes. What we did was against the law—we'll pay the price. God knows we've already paid worse. But what we did was earned, it was right, because the law protected them.”

“You're wrong. You don't get to torture and execute. You don't get to decide what payment is made. And the law wouldn't have protected them.”

“The statute of limitations.”

“They formed a conspiracy—and that changes things, Counselor. You should've stuck with corporate. A conspiracy to drug and incapacitate, to kidnap, to hold individuals against their will, to rape and cause bodily, mental, and emotional harm to same. I would have put every one of them away, if you'd given me the chance—the way I'm going to put Marshall Easterday and Ethan MacNamee away.”

“They're wealthy, powerful men, and the law is slippery, full of loopholes. They would have—”

“Look at me!” Eve slapped a fist on the table. “I would have put them away, and they'd have paid for years. Think about that. They'd have paid for years, not for one night. You decided to be judge, jury, and hangman. So now you'll pay, too. I would have stood for you, the law
would have stood for you. Now I have to stand for the men who raped you. I have to stand for the men you killed.”

“We couldn't take it anymore.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “We couldn't bear it, not after Elsi. They're monsters. Monsters. Imagine a monster forcing his way into you. Imagine revisiting that horror night after night in your dreams. We couldn't take it anymore.”

She wiped at her wet cheeks. “Each one of us will tell you the same. But they'll speak to you with counsel present. That's all I have to say until I, too, have counsel present.”

Eve nodded, rose. “Subject has invoked right to counsel. Interview end. Peabody, will you take Ms. Blake back to Holding where she'll be permitted to contact her chosen representative?”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Blake.”

Blake got to her feet. “Each one of us was on a path to a life, to work, maybe to love and family. To children. Who knows? Each one of us was ripped off that path and thrown into a dark place where there would always be nightmares. They killed who we were, Lieutenant. Who we might have been. How does the law punish that?”

“The two left will never get out of a cage—it's their turn to be the animal. You have and had a choice, to make yourself into what you could be, and you made that choice.”

“Elsi was a virgin. Rape was her only sexual experience. She never had a chance.”

As Peabody led Blake out, Eve pressed her hands to her eyes. Her throat burned, raw and dry. Her head pounded in an ugly beat.

She dropped her hands when Mira stepped in.

“So?” Eve shrugged. “Diminished capacity? Despite the calculation?”

“It's possible they'll spend their years in a facility, get treatment, therapy. But they conspired to murder, and succeeded with three.”

“But the law's slippery and full of loopholes.”

“It is. But you've done your job, and more. You stood for those women, too, Eve, and you'll stand for the rest as they're identified.”

“Harvo's come through with more names. Do I contact them? What if they don't remember, are living their lives? What good would it do?”

Mira laid her hands on Eve's shoulders, rubbed at the knotted muscles as she met Eve's eyes in the wide mirror.

“You needed to remember, or you couldn't live your life, not fully, not as you were meant. You could pass the notifications off, with no shame.”

“It would shame me.”

Turning Eve toward her, Mira cupped Eve's face. “Because you chose to take a terrible thing and make yourself who you are. You and I, we feel for Grace Blake, for all of them. But what you said to her was truth. It was truth, Eve. I'll help with the notifications. I'll offer counseling to every one you find, if they want it from me.”

“You deserve each other.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and Mr. Mira. You really deserve each other. Lucky when that happens. You'll tell him it's done.”

“I will.”

“I guess he told you I told him because I thought you'd already told him.”

Understanding perfectly, Mira nodded. “Yes, we talked. He'll be your champion. He's a quiet hero, Eve, but he's steadfast, and he's true. He'll never betray your trust, and will always be there for you.”

This time when Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes, tears pressed back. “Okay. I've got to finish this. I just want to go home and sleep for a couple days.”

“Go home. Sleep awhile.”

“No, I need to interview the rest of them.”

“Then I'll observe.”

“And then I have to go there. To where this all happened. I need to see it, document it, secure it. There will be other recordings. Goddamn tradition.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. No. You should go home. You don't look like you've slept in a week. No offense.”