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Eve’s small pleasures to despise him.
    “Let me try to get a clear picture, Lieutenant.” Fitzhugh lifted his hands, bringing his thumbs together to form a bracket. “A clear picture of the circumstances that led to you attacking my client in his place of business.”
    The prosecuting attorney objected. Fitzhugh graciously rephrased. “You did, Lieutenant Dallas, cause my client great bodily harm on the night in question.”
    He glanced back at Salvatori, who had costumed himself for the occasion in a simple black suit. Following his attorney’s advice, he had skipped his last three months of cosmetic and youth restoration treatments. There was gray in his hair, a sag to his face and body. He looked old, defenseless.
    The jury would make the comparison, Eve imagined, between the young, fit cop and the delicate old man.
    “Mr. Salvatori resisted arrest and attempted to ignite an accelerant. It was necessary to restrain him.”
    “To restrain him?” Slowly, Fitzhugh walked back, passing the recorder droid, moving down the jury box, drawing one of the six automated cameras with him as he laid a supporting hand on Salvatori’s thin shoulder. “You had to restrain him, and that restraint resulted in a fractured jaw and a shattered arm.”
    Eve flicked a glance toward the jury. Several members of the panel were looking entirely too sympathetic. “That’s correct. Mr. Salvatori refused my request to exit the building — and to put down the cleaver and acetylene torch in his possession.”
    “You were armed, Lieutenant?”
    “I was.”
    “And you carry the standard weapon issued to members of the NYPSD?”
    “I do.”
    “If, as you claim, Mr. Salvatori was armed and resisting, why did you fail to administer the accepted stun?”
    “I missed. Mr. Salvatori was feeling pretty spry that night.”
    “I see. In your ten years on the police force, Lieutenant, how many times have you found it necessary to employ maximum force? To terminate?”
    Eve ignored the jitter in her stomach. “Three times.”
    “Three?” Fitzhugh let the word hang, let the jury study the woman in the witness chair. A woman who had killed. “Isn’t that a rather high ratio? Wouldn’t you say that percentage indicates a predilection for violence?”
    The PA surged to his feet, objecting bitterly, going into the standard line that the witness was not on trial. But of course she was, Eve thought. Cops were always on trial.
    “Mr. Salvatori was armed,” Eve began coolly. “I had a warrant for his arrest in the torture murders of three people. The three people whose eyes and tongues were cut out before they were set on fire and for which crime Mr. Salvatori now stands accused in this courtroom. He refused to cooperate by flinging a cleaver at my head, which threw my aim off. He then charged, knocking me to the ground. I believe his words were, ‘I’m going to cut out your cop-bitch heart,’ at which time we engaged in hand to hand. At that time I broke his jaw, knocked out several of his teeth, and when he swung the torch in my direction, I broke his goddamn arm.”
    “And you enjoyed that, Lieutenant?”
    She met Fitzhugh’s eyes straight on. “No, sir, I didn’t. But I enjoyed staying alive.”
    “Slime,” Eve muttered as she climbed into her vehicle.
    “He won’t get Salvatori off.” Peabody settled in and, to take the edge off the furnace heat trapped inside, fiddled with the temperature control unit “The evidence is too clear cut. And you didn’t let him shake you.”
    “Yes, I did.” Eve scooped a hand through her hair, then headed into late-afternoon midtown traffic. The streets were choked enough to make her grit her teeth, but overhead, the sky was crisscrossed with airbuses, tourist vans, and midday commuters. “We limp along, getting pricks like Salvatori off the street, and men like Fitzhugh make fortunes slipping them back out.” She jerked a shoulder. “Sometimes it pisses me off.”
    “Whoever slips them