In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

"That screams in his head. It makes his blood swim, pump, boosts the adrenaline. He turned the corner now, no going back. He swings the second time, into the face. It's good to see Kohli's face, the pain and the shock in it when he takes him out. The third swing does the job, cracks his head wide open. Blood and brains. But it's not enough."
    She lifted her hands, fisted them one over the other like a batter waiting for a clutch pitch. "He wants to obliterate. He strikes again and again, and the sound of snaps and crunches when bones go is like music. Raging through him. He tastes blood. His breath's whistling. When he pulls himself back, pulls back just enough to think again, he gets Kohli's shield out of the pocket, tosses it down in the blood. That means something, blood on the shield, then he rolls the body on top of it."
    She stopped a moment, thinking. "He's covered with blood. His hands, his clothes, his shoes. But there aren't any signs of it in the rest of the club. He changed. He had the sense to clean up first. The sweepers found traces of Kohli's blood, skin, brain matter in the drain of the bar sink."
    She turned, looking at the bowl, covered with powder now, under the bar. "He washed up right here, with the body behind him. Cold. Stone cold. Then he took care of business, went around smashing everything. Made a real party out of it. Celebrate. But he's still got his wits. He tosses the bat with Kohli behind the bar. Here's what I've done, and here's how I did it. Then he takes the security discs and walks away."
    "Do you know what it takes to put that kind of image inside your own head, Lieutenant? Courage. An amazing level of courage."
    "I'm just doing what has to be done."
    "No." Roarke laid a hand over hers, found it cold. "You do a great deal more."
    "Don't sidetrack me." She drew away because she was cold, and faintly embarrassed. "Anyway, it's just a theory."
    "A damn good one. You made me see it. Blood on the shield. If you're right about that meaning something, he was probably killed because he was a cop."
    "Yeah. That's what I keep circling back to."
    She glanced over as the door opened. She recognized Mills right away, though he was bigger than she'd assumed, and most of the big had run to fat.
    Didn't take advantage of the department's physical fitness program, she thought, or the break they were given on body sculpting.
    The woman beside him was small and lean, built for action. Her skin had the olive cast that always made Eve think of sun-baked countries. Her hair was black and glossy and tamed back into a long sleek tail. Her eyes were nearly as dark and seemed to snap with vibrancy.
    Beside her, Mills looked like an overfed, sloppy mongrel.
    "Word came down it was bad." Martinez's voice was clipped and faintly exotic. "But it's worse." Her eyes skimmed over Roarke, lingered an instant, then locked on Eve. "You'd be Lieutenant Dallas."
    "That's right." Eve moved back across the room. "Thanks for coming down. The civilian's the property owner."
    With barely a nod in acknowledgement, Mills lumbered to the bar. He moved like a bear. An overfed one. "Bought it back here, huh? Shitty way to die."
    "Most ways are crap." Martinez turned to the door, fingers dancing a little too quickly for Eve's taste toward her side arm.
    "My aide," Eve said when Peabody stepped in. "Officer Peabody, Detective Martinez and Lieutenant Mills." With a slight shift of her body, she tapped a finger to her collar, then turned back to follow Martinez to the bar.
    Recognizing the signal, Peabody clipped on her recorder and engaged.
    "How long did you know Kohli?" Eve asked.
    "Me, a couple of years. I transferred to the One two-eight from Brooklyn." She looked down at the mess murder had left behind. "The lieutenant knew him longer."
    "Yeah, since he came in rookie. Spit and polish and by the book. Did some military time and brought that with him. He was a one-shift wonder."
    "Give him a break, Mills," Martinez muttered. "We're standing in his goddamn blood here."
    "Hey, just saying it like it was. The guy did his shift, clocked out. Couldn't get an extra minute out of him without it being a direct order from the captain. But he did his job while he was on."
    "How'd he get picked for the Ricker team?"
    "Martinez wanted him." Mills shook his head at the mess behind the bar. "Last cop I'd've figured for getting taken out. I'da made book he'd have done his twenty-five and spent his retirement building birdhouses or some