All she had to do was keep him from saying those words, steer him in the direction she was already heading, and she had a wrap. She didn’t want Bonning to lawyer himself and gum up the works. With a sigh, Eve sat down at the little metal table in Interview A. “Never touched him.” Bonning folded his oversized lips, tapped his long, fat fingers. I hear they’re serving pasta surprise in lockup tonight.” A confession, and you can go for self-defense and diminished capacity. “Come on, Boner.” It was her veteran cop talking to veteran bad guy. She had Bonning in Interview and calculated that it would take another twenty minutes tops to shake a confession out of him, another fifteen to book him and file her report. It was the last of these, in Eve’s mind, that had led one John Henry Bonning to throw one Charles Michael Renekee out a twelfth-story window on Avenue D. All too often a life was taken on impulse, in rage, for amusement, or simply out of stupidity. She knew the act of murder required none of these. The business of murder took time, patience, skill, and a tolerance for the monotonous. Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. Vengeance is mine I will repay, says the Lord.
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