Witness in Death by J.D. Robb

Author:J.D. Robb [Robb, J.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2011-12-26T05:00:00+00:00

TO BE OPENED IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH

Yes, that had a nice ring, a dramatic touch. One never wants to lose one's sense of style, even under pressure. Particularly under pressure. The pills are where they can be easily reached, should they be needed. A last resort, of course, but they'll be quick. They 'll be gentle.

"Do not go gentle into that good night." Well, what the hell did he know? If it comes down to Witness In Death – Eve Dallas 11

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death or prison, death is preferable.

Life is a series of choices. One twists into the next, and the path shifts. It never really rides straight, unless there are no joys, no sorrows. I would always prefer the road that wanders. I made my choices, for better or worse, they were mine to make. I take full responsibility for the results of those choices.

Even Richard Draco. No, especially Richard Draco. His life was not a series of choices, but a compilation of cruel acts, small and large. Everyone he touched was damaged somehow. His death does not weigh on my conscience. What he did, knowingly, deliberately, viciously, deserved extermination.

I only wish there had been pain, great waves of pain, huge sweeps of knowledge, of fear, of grief in that instant before the knife pierced his heart.

But in planning his execution, I had self-preservation in mind as well. I suppose I still do. Should I be given the opportunity to do it over again, I would change nothing. I will not feign remorse for disposing of a leech.

I have some regret for luring Linus Quim to his death. It was necessary, and God knows he was an ugly, cold-hearted little man. My choice could have been to pay him off, but blackmail is a kind of disease, isn't it? Once the body is infected by it, it spreads and returns at inopportune moments. Why risk it?

Still, it brought me no pleasure to arrange his death. In fact, it was necessary to sedate my nerves and anxiety. I made certain he felt no pain, no fear, but died with the illusion of pleasure.

But that, I suppose, doesn't negate the act of ending yet another life. I thought I was so clever, staging Richard's murder in front of so many, knowing that all those surrounding him had reason to wish him harm. There was such a whippy thrill at the idea of having the knife Christine Vole would plunge into the black, miserable heart of Leonard Vole be a real one. It was so beautifully apt.

I regret and apologize for causing my friends and associates any distress, putting them, even for the short term, under any suspicion. Foolish of me, foolish to have believed it would never go this far.

No one, I told myself, cared about Richard. His death would be mourned by no one who knew him except with crocodile tears turned to glimmer on pale cheeks for the audience. But I miscalculated. Lieutenant Dallas cares. Oh, not about Richard perhaps.

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