Rikers Island

10 am Wednesday 29 October 2003


"You can walk out at any time," McCoy said, not for the first time. "He's restrained to the chair and the chair is bolted to the floor. You can just get up and walk to the door —"

"I know, Jack," Jessica said. She adjusted her hair. "Are you sure the ear-piece isn't visible?"

"Don't do that," the N.Y.P.D. technician in charge of the monitoring and recording equipment said. "Don't touch your hair at all. If you move the ear-wig, it interferes with our connection."

"It's completely hidden," McCoy assured her. "Jess, you don't have to do this —"

"Ah, but I do," she said lightly, so lightly he might have been convinced if he hadn't been able to see her pulse beating at the hollow of her throat as rapidly as a hummingbird's.

"Emil will be —"

"I know," she said. She looked past him to where Emil Skoda sat, headphones ready in his hand. "Any last minute advice, Dr Skoda?"

Skoda shook his head. "You know it all. He's a monster, but you've dealt with monsters. He's careful, but the longer he talks, the more he'll let slip. Stay in the room as long as you can. Make him work for it."

She nodded, straightened her jacket with a decisive jerk, and made her way out of the room.

McCoy took the seat beside Skoda. He couldn't listen in on the conversation, but he could watch the TV screen. "Make him work for what?" he asked Skoda.

"Her fear," Skoda said. "Her distress. You know this guy, Jack. He likes to hurt people."

"Maybe this is a mistake," McCoy said, watching Bruner look up as Jessica stepped into view on the screen.

Skoda put on the headphones. "What are your options?" he said, and shrugged. "Wait and see if someone uncovers these girls' bodies, or take a chance."

"Worse than that," McCoy said. "If Jess can't get what we need from Bruner, she's prepared to break privilege. And her ethics won't allow her to get away with it."

"Mine wouldn't either," Skoda said. He pulled the microphone toward him a little and pressed the button. "Let him ramble," he said to Jessica. "I know it's hard to listen to, but the more he talks about what he'd like to do, the more chance he'll let something slip about what he did do."

Oh, Jesus Christ. On the screen, Bruner was leaning forward as far as his restraints would allow, growing more animated. McCoy couldn't see Jessica's face, but she was sitting still, hands resting on the table. He didn't know what would be worse — to be able to hear what Bruner was saying to Jessica, or to only be able to imagine it, as he could now.

The minutes stretched. On the screen, Jessica leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. Bruner talked. She shrugged, shook her head. He got more agitated, shouting —

And then lunged out of his chair.

The restraints brought him up short before he'd even half-way risen to his feet as Jessica sprang back, her chair tumbling to the floor. Bruner was grinning at her, saying something —

"Get her out of there," McCoy said to Skoda, and without waiting for an answer, went to the door and told the corrections officer there the same thing.

It was unnecessary — McCoy heard the door of the interview room clang even before he'd finished speaking, and a second later Jessica came into view at a fast walk that was only just not a run. She was holding her hands stiffly away from her sides and when she came closer McCoy saw her jacket was splattered with spittle.

"Get it off me," she said tightly when she reached him. "Get a cloth, or —"

"Turn around," McCoy said, and when she did he slipped the jacket from her shoulders and drew it off her arms. He bundled it together, lining out. "There. We'll get this —"

"Send it to Goodwill," Jessica said. "I don't ever want to see it again, I don't — I need some air. I have to get some air."

"I'll walk you out," McCoy said, taking her elbow with his free hand. He tossed the jacket through the door into the observation room as they passed it and steered Jessica down the corridor to the gate. She signed out with a shaking hand, tossed her pass on the desk and headed for the exit.

McCoy signed out as well and caught up with her on the steps. Jessica took a few deep breaths as if the smell of car exhaust and concrete was an alpine meadow. "He didn't give me anything," she said.

"You don't know that," McCoy said.

"I was in the room, Jack," she snapped. "He didn't give me anything. Nothing I can — nothing I don't have to redact."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Let the detectives decide that. It'll take a few days for them to finish the transcript. Come on. I think you and Emil both deserve a drink."

Jessica looked at her watch. "Jack, it's —"

"Eight pm somewhere in the world," Skoda said as he came down the steps to join them. "If necessary, Ms Sheets, I'll write a prescription. I don't usually recommend alcohol for therapeutic circumstances, but today I think I'll make an exception."