"It wasn't a civilian, Captain." Phoebe spoke quietly as his furious face turned toward her. "It was one of us."
It all blurred, but Phoebe counted that as a blessing. The paramedics, the ambulance, the ER. There were a lot of voices, a lot of movement, more pain. Then less, blessedly less. She let herself drift while people poked and prodded, lifted. While cuts and scrapes were treated, she kept her eyes closed. When pieces of her were X-rayed, she shut down her mind.
There would be tears, she knew. There would probably be floods of them, but they could wait.
Liz stepped into the exam room. "They said you wanted to talk to me now."
"Yeah." Phoebe sat on the exam table. Her ribs ached, that rottedtooth throb she already knew would give her trouble for days if not weeks. But the sling around her arm eased the pain in her shoulder. "Mild concussion, bruised ribs, sprained shoulder."
Liz stepped closer. "Nasty cut on your forehead and a shiner coming on. Split lip. Your jaw's swollen. Son of a bitch did some work on you."
"He didn't kill me, there's that."
"Always a plus. Your captain was in. He left after the docs gave him your status. I'm to tell you he'll come back to take you home when you're ready."
"It's better if he stays at the house, finds… I don't know what there'll be to find. I was coming down from my office to the conference room for my training session. That's habitual. I use the stairs habitually." "Claustrophobia? "
"No, vanity. I don't always have time to work out, so I go for the stairs instead of the elevator. He was waiting for me."
"You said you didn't see him."
"No." Cautiously, Phoebe touched her fingers to her face, just under her eye. She'd never had a black eye before, never appreciated how much it hurt. "I was going down pretty fast, and I caught just a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye-on the right. Thanks."
She took the ice bag Liz offered, laid it gently on the side of her face. "He had me before I could even turn my head, before I could reach for my weapon. He knew what he was doing. Disabled me immediately with the blow to the head. Rapped me face-first into the wall, stunned me. Taped my mouth and cuffed me quick. He's used cuffs before. Anticipated my defensive moves, such as they were, and had the hood on me, or whatever it was."
"Laundry bag. It's in evidence. You're thinking you should have been quicker, fought harder. Don't."
"I didn't get a single lick in. I realize, intellectually, that I was stunned, physically outmatched, and still… My weapon?"
"It hasn't been recovered."
The look between them held for a long moment. It was a hard blow when a cop was disarmed. It was a harder one when the cop was female. "No one's going to blame you for that, Lieutenant. Not under these circumstances."
"Some will. You know it, I know it. He knows it. That's why he took it."
"Some are idiots. Did you get an idea of height? Build?"
"Not of height. He shoved me and I went down. But he was strong. He choked me at first…" Her fingers traced over the bruises on her throat, and she remembered the feel of those hands cutting off her air. "Choked me when I was down, put his hands around my throat and choked me. He had big hands. Big, strong hands. He wore gloves. I f e l't… I felt gloves-thin, probably latex-when he groped me. And a knife, maybe scissors, but I think a knife to cut through my clothes."
"He touched you."
"He…" Facts, Phoebe ordered herself. Think of them as facts. "He squeezed my breasts. He pulled my nipples, hard. He laughed. Just kind of a wheezing laugh, like he was real tickled and trying to hold it back. He pushed his hand- Shit. Oh shit."
Anticipating, Liz grabbed a bedpan, shoved it under Phoebe's face. Held it steady while Phoebe was sick.
Sheet white under the bruises, Phoebe leaned back. "God. God. Sorry."
"Just take a breath, take your time. Here." Picking up the plastic cup and straw on the table, Liz offered it. "Drink some water."
"Okay. Thanks. I'm okay. He put his fingers inside me. Rammed them in. It wasn't sexual. He just wanted to hurt me, humiliate me. Then, I think he leaned down because his voice was close to my ear. He whispered. 'Don't worry. I don't fuck your kind.' Then he hit me in the face. And he left me there."
"Do you have a gauge how long the attack went on?"
"It seemed like forever, but probably two, maybe three minutes. No more than that. He had his plan in place, and he executed it efficiently. It probably took me longer to get the hood off and get down to the door. Altogether, it was probably six or seven minutes."
"Okay. Did he say anything else? Anything at all?"
"No, he only spoke that one time."
"Did you notice anything else about him. A scent?"
"No. Wait." Phoebe closed her eyes again. "Baby powder. I smelled baby powder."
"How about his voice? Would you recognize it again?"
"I don't know. We're trained to pay attention to details, but I was so scared, and the blood was pounding in my head, and the hood. He was local," she said suddenly. "There was enough of an accent that he sounded like a local."
"Have you had trouble with anyone? Anyone you think would want to hurt you?"
"You know I have. We may not work the same division, but we work in the same house. You know I have."
"Do you think it was him? You think it was Arnie Meeks who attacked you?"
"Yes, I do. I can't prove it, but yes, I think it was. I reported an incident on Saturday morning."
"What incident?"
She told Liz about the doll.
"I'll touch base with Detective Sykes on that. And I'll make some discreet inquiries as to Meeks's whereabouts this morning."
"I appreciate it."
"You weren't raped, Lieutenant, but you were violated sexually. If you want to talk to a rape counselor, I know a good one."
"No, but thanks. You're good at what you do, Detective. I appreciate you being the one to take my statement, to be here."
"I'll be following up. I promise you."
"For now, can you steal me some scrubs so I can get out of here?"
"Why don't I call someone for you. If you don't want the captain, someone else. Have them bring you some clothes, take you home?"
Phoebe shook her head. "I don't want to go home until after I've had my breakdown, which is going to come along pretty soon now."
"Anyone else I can call for you?"
"Actually… " Phoebe touched her fingertips to the trio of butterfly bandages that closed the wound on her forehead. "There's a friend, if he's around."
The old building had potential. Of course its current owner was giving the deal what Duncan thought of as the pitch-and-wish. He let that play in one side of his brain while the other side played with the possibilities. The warehouse was currently a dump, and no question about it. But it could be transformed into very decent apartments-close enough to the plants and the docks to fill up with blue-collar families. Reasonable space for a reasonable rent. Well off the tourist track, of course, well apart from the green elegance of the historic district. But toss maybe a bakery or a coffee shop on the first floor, a deli or a small family restaurant, and you'd get a return on your investment. Eventually.
Good thing he wasn't in a hurry for it.
The rank and file of the city needed good, safe housing as well as the rest. He should know. He'd been one of them most of his life.
Phin stood with the owner, shaking his head as Duncan wandered. That was Phin's fine skill, in Duncan's opinion. Just putting on that dour, disapproving look could lasso the pitch-and-wish and yank it back toward reality.