In Death 22 - Memory in Death

either,” Peabody began. “She’s clueless about the fact that it may have been a deliberate attack.”
    “We’ll see what Bobby says. The record?”
    “Baxter was taking it to the lab personally and I got the homers off the coats.”
    “Good thinking.”
    “I’ve got his list of wits, and copies of statements taken on-scene. The cabbie’s holding at Central. His license is valid. Been hacking for six years. Few traffic bumps. Nothing major.”
    “Head down there now. Get his initial statement, and his particulars for follow-up. Spring him. Write it up, copy to me, copy to Whitney.” Eve checked the time. “Shit. Nothing more to be done. I’m sticking here until I interview Bobby. Get it wrapped back at the house, then go home. Merry Christmas.”
    “You sure? I can wait until you report in.”
    “No point. If there’s anything, I’ll let you know. Finish packing, go to Scotland. Drink … what is it?”
    “Wassail. I think it’s wassail, especially over there. Okay, thanks. But I’ll consider myself on call until
    the shuttle takes off tomorrow.
    “Merry Christmas, Dallas.”
    Maybe, she thought, and looked back toward the break room as Peabody walked away. But some
    people were going to have the crappiest of holidays.
    She waited an hour while Bobby was tested, transferred, and set up in a room. When she walked in, he turned his head, tried to focus with glassy eyes that were rimmed with red. “Zana?” he said in a voice slurred with drugs.
    “It’s Dallas. Zana’s fine. She’ll be here in a minute.”
    “They said …” He licked his lips. “I got hit by a cab.”
    “Yeah. So how’d that happen?”
    “I dunno. It’s mixed up. I feel really weird.”
    “It’s the meds. The doctor says you’re going to be fine. Got some broken bones, and took a good crack on the head. Concussion. You were waiting for the light. To cross the street.”
    “Waiting for the light.” He closed his bruised eyes. “Packed in on the corner like, what is it, sardines.
    Lots of noise. Zana made a noise. Scared me.”
    “What kind of noise ?”
    He looked up at her. “Like, ah …” He sucked in his breath. “Sorta. But she just spilled some coffee. Coffee and dogs and bags. Arms loaded. Gonna get a hat.”
    “Stick with me here, Bobby,” she said as his eyes fluttered closed again. “What happened then?”
    “I… she gave me that smile. I remember that smilelike, ‘Oops, look what I did now.’ And I dunno,
    I dunno. I heard her scream. I heard people yelling, and horns blasting. I hit something. They said it
    hit me, but I hit, and I don’t remember until I woke up here.”
    “You slip?”
    “Musta. All those people.”
    “Did you see anyone? Did anyone say anything to you?”
    “Can’t remember. Feel weird, out of myself.”
    His skin was whiter than the sheets that covered him, so that the bruises and scrapes seemed to jump outand slapped straight into her guilt.
    Still, she pressed. “You’d been shopping. You bought a tree.”
    “We had the tree. Cheer ourselves up some. What happened to the tree?” His eyes rolled, then
    refocused on her. “Is this really happening? Wish I was home. Just wish I was home. Where’s Zana?”
    Useless now, Eve decided. She was wasting her time and his energy. “I’ll get her.”
    Eve stepped out. Zana stood in the corridor, wringing her hands. “Can I go in? Please. I’m not going to upset him. I’ve got myself settled down. I just want to see him.”
    “Yeah, go on in.”
    Zana straightened her shoulders, put a smile on her face. Eve watched her go in, heard her say, in cheerful tones, “Why, just look at you! You got some way of getting out of buying me a hat.”
    While she waited, she tried the lab. Bitched when she was informed she couldn’t have what she wanted until the twenty-sixth. Apparently Christmas overrode even her wrath.
    She might not be able to make a dent there, but Central was another matter. From there, she ordered up uniforms in rotation to stick with Zana at the hotel, with Bobby at the hospital, twenty-four hours.
    “Yes,” she snapped. “That includes Christmas.”
    Irritated, she tagged Roarke. “I’m going to be late.”
    “Aren’t you cheerful. What are you doing in the hospital?”
    “It’s not me. Fill you in later. Things have just gone to shit, so I have to shovel it clear before I clock
    out.”
    “I have a considerable amount to clear myself in order to take time off. Why don’t I meet