In Death 19 - Visions in Death

saw her own pain reflected on his face. "He was there. I knew he'd come. He said there'd always be more. More of him, more of them. I couldn't stop it. When he reached for me, I wasn't me anymore. I mean not who I am now. I was a kid. He broke my arm, just like before, and he raped me, just like before." She had to pause, had to wet her throat with wine. "But here's the thing. I killed him, just like before. And I'll keep killing him, as long as it takes. Because he's right. There's always more of them the brutal and the battered.
    There's always more, and I can't stop it all. But I can damn well do the job and stop some of it. I have to." She let out a breath. "I can go back there. I want to go back there, because I know when I do I won't be scared or sick or if I am, it won't be as much, as bad. I'll go there because I can see what you've done, what you're doing, is another way to stop it. Her arm was broken, but it'll heal.
    So will she, because you've given her a chance." It took him a moment, a long moment, before he could speak. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever known." "Yeah." She gave his hand a squeeze. "We're a hell of a pair."

CHAPTER 6
    Eve took a detour to EDD. it was always a culture shock for her to walk into a division where cops dressed like partyoers or weekend loafers. Lots of airboots and neon hues, and as many people walking or trotting around talking on headsets as manning cubes and desks.
    Music blatted out, and she actually saw a guy dancing, or she assumed it was dancing while he worked with a handheld and porta-screen.
    She made tracks through the bull pen and directly into Captain Ryan Feeney's office, where she expected to find sanity.
    She lost the power of speech when she saw him, the reliable Feeney, with his fading vacation tan, his wiry ginger hair threaded with gray. His face was comfortably creased and droopy, but instead of one of the rumpled shirts he habitually wore, he was decked out in a stiff and spotless one the color of raspberry sherbet.
    And he had on a tie. A tie. The closest she could come to describing the color was what you might get if you electrocuted grass.
    "Jesus Christ, Feeney. What're you wearing?" The look he sent her was that of a man bearing up under a hideous emotional weight. "Wife said I needed to start wearing color. Bought this getup then hung over me, nagged my ears off until I put it on."
    "You look . . . you look like a manager for street LCs." "Tell me. Look at these pants." He shot out a leg so Eve was treated to the sight of that skinny limb wrapped in modified skin-pants in the same electric shade as the tie.
    "God. I'm sorry." "Boys out there think I look iced. What're you going to do?" "I don't honestly know." "Tell me you've got a case for me, something that's going to take me out in the field where I can get bloody." He lifted his fists, a boxer's pose. "Wife can't bitch if these glad rags get ruined on the job." "I've got a case, but I've got no fieldwork in the E area.
    Wish I could help you out. Can't you at least take that noose off?" He tugged at the tie. "You don't know the wife like I do.
    She'll call. She'll be doing a damn spot-check on me all through shift to make sure I'm suited up. It's got a jacket, Dallas." "You poor bastard." "Ah well." He let out a heavy sigh. "What're you doing in my world?" "The case. Sexual homicide with mutilation." "Central Park. Heard you caught that one. We're doing the standard on the "links and comps. You need more?" "Not exactly. Can I close this?" She gestured toward his door, got the nod. When she'd shut it, she went over to sit on the corner of his desk. "What's your stand on consulting with psychics on the job?" He pulled his nose. "Not much call for it in my division.
    When I worked Homicide, we'd get calls now and then from people claiming they had visions, or information from the spirit world. You know that." "Yeah, still do. We waste time and manpower following them up, then go along and investigate with our measly five senses." "Got some genuines out there." He pushed away from the desk to program for coffee. "Most departments these days have a sensitive attached as civilian consultant. More than a few carry badges, too." "Yeah, well. We were partnered up for a long time." He handed her a mug of coffee. "Those were the days." "We never used a sensitive." "No? Well, you use what you use when the tool fits." "I've got one claims she saw the Central Park murder in a dream." Feeney