Thankless in Death (28 page)

“You think Reinhold—the new client—tagged Asshole Joe on his personal ’link, so no record there. And if Asshole Joe did any checking, he also did that on his personal PPC.”

“That’s just what I think, but McNab—who damn well better be okay with it—will make sure.

“He’s not dead yet.”

It wasn’t a question, Roarke noted, not even a supposition. She said it with absolute certainty.

“Because he’d want to prolong the power and excitement.”

“And the pain. He’s added time with each kill.” Thinking it through, sticking with logic, with pattern, she paced off the tension. “From the time line, Asshole Joe probably got to the location after eighteen hundred. About then anyway. Reinhold would want time. A day, maybe two. And he’d know, unless he’s cut himself off, and I don’t buy that, that today’s a big holiday. That Joe would be expected somewhere. Given the notifications, the media, the investigation, when he doesn’t show up today, we’d start looking.”

She paced around, gulping coffee. “He’d enjoy that. Having Joe tucked away, hurting him and watching reports on a search. We’ve got some time. Some hours, maybe, maybe a day. Then that’s it. He won’t have enough control to stretch it longer.”

She looked at Roarke then. “I’m going to screw up your big family holiday.”

“Ours,” he corrected. “And there’s not a single person who’ll be here today who doesn’t value a life more than your presence at a turkey carving. Not a single person who doesn’t understand what’s at stake.”

“Okay. Okay.” The sheer casualness of the support lowered her guilt threshold. “I’m going to go into my office. I have to keep the doors shut. I don’t want some kid wandering through and getting traumatized for life by my murder board. I’ve got Peabody coming in within an hour, and McNab will be in as soon as he clears Asshole Joe’s office equipment. I told him to come straight to you.”

“I’ll be happy to have him.”

“Roarke, as soon as you have anything I can use on new tenants, anything on that damn code—”

“You’ll be the first to know it. I’m close,” he told her again. “If I’m
reading this right it won’t take more than an hour or two. If that. Give me some space now, and some precious quiet.”

“Yeah.” She took the rest of her coffee with her.

She dug in for a while, trying to retrace Joe’s steps—hitting holiday disinterest from cab companies until fear of her wrath won out.

If he’d taken a cab, he hadn’t caught one in front of his workplace, or within a block either way.

She put the Transit Authorities on it, requesting they search their recordings on the chance he’d taken a subway. Spotting him could narrow the area.

Then she tagged Mira. Rather than her usual stylish do, Mira wore her hair in a short little ponytail. The style, or lack of it, made her look younger to Eve’s eye.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been up nearly an hour. I have a lot of cooking to do.”

“You’re cooking?”

“Dennis and I are cooking, and my daughters threatened—that is, promised,” she amended with a smile, “to be here by eight to pitch in. What can I do for you?”

“He’s got another. Joe Klein. I’m trying to pare down the possible locations. I think he’s got his own place by now, in or very near his old neighborhood. He’d go for swank. We’re working on getting lists of new tenants, but there are a lot of possibilities.”

“An apartment or condo,” Mira said immediately. “Not a detached or semi-attached home.”

“Why?”

“He’s sociable, and wants to show off. He’s not a loner. Under it all, he wants a hive. He just wants to be important in that hive.”

“Okay.”

“Look first at newer buildings—shinier, if you understand me. His parents valued tradition, the old, the histories. He’ll want the opposite. And the most exclusive first.”

“I leaned that way for the same reasons, but factoring in the cost—”

“He won’t concern himself,” Mira interrupted, and firmly. “He has more money than he’d ever imagined, and he’s certain he’ll continue to bring in more. A place near clubs, arcades, bars, good shops, or that provides them. Status. He’s always wanted it, but lacked the ambition or the ethics to attain it. He believes he’s found it now.”

“Okay, yeah, I see that. It helps. Appreciate it.”

“I hope you find him, Eve. I’m going to say Happy Thanksgiving, because I believe you will.”

“Thanks. Same to you.”

She jumped on the map, shadowed out the detached and semis, any building more than a decade old unless it had been completely rehabbed in modern style.

“That’s better,” she murmured, studying the results.

She started to cross-reference with the tenant lists Roarke trickled to her.

Cursed when her desk ’link signaled. “Dallas,” she snapped just as Peabody hustled in.

“Lieutenant Dallas, this is Officer Stanski outta Fraud and Financial Crimes?”

“What do you want, Stanski?” she demanded, and seeing Peabody’s puppy dog plea, jabbed a thumb toward the kitchen and the AutoChef.

“We got an auto-alert came in about midnight, and it just got passed through. Not a lot of people working due to the holidays and all.”

“Move it along, Stanski, for God’s sake.”

“Well, sure. What I’m saying is we just got the notification, and it don’t make much sense altogether. It’s on an Anton Trevor, with this code we don’t get—not one of the standards—and it says to notify you asap. So I’m notifying you asap.”

“I’m Homicide, Stanski, not Fraud.”

“I got that, LT, sure.” Stanski’s round face transmitted utter earnestness just as her voice transmitted Queens.

“But it says you, Lieutenant Eve Dallas, Homicide, clear on it. You want us to go ahead and shut down this Anton Trevor’s card, go through the process, or what?”

“I don’t … Hold on.” Something tingled at the base of her neck as she did a quick run.

“Computer, search and display ID for Anton Trevor, New York, New York. Age between twenty-three and twenty-eight.” That should cover it.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”

“LT?” Stanski said, doubtfully.

“Don’t shut it down. Where was the card used?”

“Got that right here for you. Place called Bar on M, and another, few minutes later—Handy Mart. Both in the New York West, condo center. That’s at—”

“I’ve got the address.” It was one of her buildings. It was one of
Roarke’s
buildings. “You hold, Stanski. Don’t notify, don’t shut down. Don’t do a damn thing until you hear back from me.”

“No problem here.”

“Send me everything you’ve got, and hold,” she said, and clicking off jumped up just as Roarke pushed open her office doors.

“I’ve got him,” they said together. Both frowned. “What?”

Then Roarke held up a hand. “Go.”

“She—Farnsworth—must’ve tagged a fraud alert onto his new ID. It flagged for me when he used it. She saw the media reports, knew I was primary. He’s going by Anton—”

“Trevor,” Roarke finished. “I pieced that name from the codes she embedded in the transfers. He’s the newest tenant in—”

“New York West,” she finished in turn.

“And there we are.”

“We’ve got him!” Eve announced as Peabody came out with coffee and a bagel.

Peabody said, “What?”

“Reinhold’s using the aka Anton Trevor. Notify McNab. I want to move fast, but we’re going to do this smooth. Get him, Baxter, Trueheart—”

“Baxter left for his sister’s in Toledo last night,” Peabody interrupted.

“Shit. Make it Carmichael and Sanchez.” She paused a beat in case one of them was having breakfast in goddamn Toledo. “We’ll do a ’link briefing,” she continued. “I want six uniforms, seasoned, Peabody. Roarke, I need you to—”

“Notify building security,” he said. “I know this drill very well. I’ll take care of what you need. And to start.” He ordered the computer to display new data.

“That’s his level, and the blueprint of his apartment. I have all the building specs, so you’ll have the points of egress.”

“Makes it easy.” And rolling her shoulders moved to operation strategy. “Okay, private elevator—we’ll shut that down. Two other
exits. We’ll close them off. He’ll be armed, and God knows with what, so we go in protective gear. I want eyes and ears in there asap. And I don’t want him looking over that terrace and seeing a bunch of cops moving in on the street. Let me see the big picture,” she asked Roarke, “so I can put this op together.”

As he did, she pulled out her ’link to update her commander.

M
cNab made it there just as she began the ’link briefing.

Straightforward was how Eve saw it. By the book. Tight and right.

She paced as she ran it through, wanting to move, to move, knowing she had to cover every contingency. She had her weapon strapped over the soft sweater—the same vivid blue as Roarke’s eyes—Sinead had knitted for her. She wore rough trousers and old boots, all the first to come to hand before dawn. And the flat, dangerous glint of cop-on-the-hunt in her eyes.

“That’s how it’s going to work,” she finished. “McNab, eyes and ears, Roarke security, and between you you’ll shut down all electronics and power to that unit on my go. Team A—me, Peabody, Officers Carmichael and Prince, main-level door. Team B—Detectives Carmichael and Sanchez, Officers Rhodes and Murray, second-level door—enter on my go. Officers Kenson and Ferris will hold position here, block and disperse any and all civilians from entering the hot zone. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No lights, no sirens, and no black-and-whites within a block of the target building. Protective gear is worn. This is not optional. Again, if the subject is seen exiting the building before this op is in
place, take him down. If he’s seen inside the building, track but do not engage. We’re moving,” she added. “Go in soft, wait for my orders. All weapons, medium stun.”

She turned, snagged the coat Roarke had brought in, then her stride forward hitched when she noticed Sinead standing in the doorway someone had neglected to secure. She had a baby on her hip, a hand on a gleefully fascinated Sean’s shoulder.

“Ah, we have to go out. Sorry. We’re in a hurry.”

She left it at that, double-timed it out and down the stairs. Roarke paused, just for a moment. “We’ll be back before too long, and I’ll let you know.”

Then he was gone, too, rushing out with the rest.

“Nan!” Sean sent Sinead a look of awe and joy. “They’re after the bad guy.”

“They are, yes. Well then, let’s go down, have a little tea.”

R
einhold slept the sleep of the satisfied, and woke to Joe’s harsh, sobbing screams.

“Jesus.” Reinhold rolled, stretched, yawned. “What a pussy.”

He hit the bedroom AC for hot chocolate—extra whipped cream—and stood at his window wall, looking out at New York, at the city he knew feared him, while he drank.

When Joe didn’t show up at his mother’s by about noon, Reinhold calculated, to hang out with his stepfather, his brother, and his brother’s ugly wife and uglier kids, his fat cousin, Stu, who’d have his piss-faced grandmother in tow, they and the city would fear him more.

All around the Thanksgiving tables he’d be the talk. Jerry Reinhold, a killer who did what he wanted, who he wanted, when he wanted.

Taking his time, he dressed—crap clothes again because holiday or not he was
working
—then went into the spare room to activate the droid.

“Good morning, sir. Someone appears to be in distress.”

“Don’t worry about him. Don’t talk to him or listen to him. Got it, Asshole?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go down and fix me, what is it, yeah, eggs Benedict, a couple slices of toast with strawberry jelly, and whatever ought to go with it. Then come up here and clean up my bedroom, take care of my clothes. I’ll let you know when to come down again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before he went down himself, Reinhold checked himself out in the mirror. He thought he might dress up later, catch some football—which reminded him to tell the droid to get him some prime Giants tickets. Maybe he’d have some fancy drink out on the terrace, too.

He’d planned on keeping Joe around another night, having some fun there. But if the fucker was going to keep screaming …

He strolled down.

Joe looked worse for wear, that’s for sure. His face—and he’d always been a conceited fuck—all bloody and bruised. A lot busted in there. The shallow cuts had stopped bleeding, something he’d fix after breakfast. And the burns looked like circles and streaks of charcoal.

Reinhold picked up the sap, gave Joe an absent smack. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll slit your throat and be done with it.”

“Please, God, please.” The words came garbled through broken teeth. “I think I’m dying. I’m hurt bad. Don’t hurt me anymore, please, man, please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Oh yeah? That’s something maybe. You’ve got some money, Joe. The Vegas money, and more. Maybe if you give me your passcodes so I can take it, I’ll let you go.”

“Anything. You can have it. I—I’ve got my uncle Stan’s passcodes, too.”

“Is that so?” With a smile, Reinhold gestured to a nearby chair. “Set me up there,” he ordered the droid.

“I found them when I was helping him out with some stuff. He’s got some real scratch, Jerry. I’ll get it for you. Just let me go. Promise to let me go, and I’ll get you all of it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Please. I need water. Can I have some water, please?”

Easing into his seat, Reinhold took his knife and fork from the tray the droid gave him.

“Can’t you see I’m having breakfast? Shut up before you piss me off. You,” he said to the droid. “Turn on the screen. It’s got to be about time for the parade.” He smiled, cut into his eggs. “I’d hate for us to miss the parade, Joe. Just lie back and enjoy.”

EVE COORDINATED WITH HER TEAM EN ROUTE.
She couldn’t afford the time or the exposure for a final briefing on site. Too many people with too many ways to get the word out that cops were gathering at New York West. A leak to the media, on the Internet, might alert Reinhold.

She believed, strongly, Asshole Joe was still alive. She believed they had time. But the very fact Joe was an asshole might tip Reinhold over the edge.

She’d be damned if they’d be minutes too late this time.

When she said as much to Roarke, he touched a hand to hers. “We’ll have him locked down minutes after we arrive. And we’ll have your eyes and ears up minutes after that.”

Minutes, she thought. They had to be on her side this round.

“Luck’s turned,” she stated. “Luck’s turned our way. You’ve got to
see it that way. We hit on him, both of us, almost at the same time. It all fell together.”

“It fell together because you haven’t let up on it for three days and nights.”

“That, and Ms. Farnsworth. She pulled off a hell of a thing.”

“I admit, I wish I could have met her.”

“You wish you could’ve hired her,” Eve added, and he laughed. “You know me very well.”

“Sanchez’s on site, Dallas,” Peabody told her from the back. “Detective Carmichael’s less than a minute out. Uniforms are checking in.”

“Talking to your security head now, Roarke,” McNab announced. “They’ve cleared the parking space you directed. Have eyes trained on the hallways on Reinhold’s two floors.”

“Good enough, and here we are.”

“It’s really pretty.” Peabody craned her head to take in the tower. “Shiny, and all that glass just sparkles.”

“Head in the game, Peabody,” Eve ordered, and jumped out the minute Roarke pulled to the curb. “Record on. All records on. All teams move into position. I want all elevators but his blocked from his floor the minute Team B reaches his second level.”

“Sir.” A tall curvy brunette clipped over to Roarke. “We’re in place, awaiting any further instructions.”

“Lieutenant, this is head of building security, Veronica Benston.”

“Lieutenant.” Benston nodded at Eve. “There’s been no activity outside of the target area. Two units on the subject’s main level, and one on his secondary level are not occupied today as the tenants are out of town. In-residence tenants, as you instructed, have not been notified, as yet, of any police activity.”

“Give me the rundown as we go. We’re moving.”

“We’ve kept this elevator clear for you.” Benston led the way, explained any and all occupants and activities on the target level.

“You’re backup, Benston, and thanks for the assist and the speed of it.” Eve stepped out on Reinhold’s level. She sent Team B a thumbs-up, moved on as they rode to the next level.

“Shut down his private elevator, block all access and egress to this level. Roarke, I want him blind. I want his alarms and backups shut down.”

“Benston, would you mind?”

“It’s done, sir.” She tapped her earbud. “Blind him,” she ordered. “Kill alarms, both levels of target unit.”

“At hallway door,” Eve said into her own comm, accessing.

Since Benston offered it, she used Security’s master, then drawing her weapon, went through the door.

“Get me eyes and ears, McNab.”

“All over that deal.” He squatted, went to work on a portable. “Good filters,” he said absently. “Excellent shielding. This would take longer without the specs.” He shot Roarke a grin. “Saves me work. You got two human heat sources, LT, and one robotic charge, all main level. Nothing human or e on second level.”

Eve crouched, studied the screen. “Right in the main living area.” Seconds later, she heard sobbing, pleading.

“Got your ears,” McNab murmured.

Please, God, please, I think I’m dying
.

“Team B, in position,” Sanchez said in Eve’s ear.

“Hold there. Subject and victim are both on main living area. Single droid also on main level.”

I’ve got my uncle Stan’s passcodes, too
.

Eve held up a fist, signaling, “Wait,” watched as the heat source she identified as Reinhold moved a little farther away from Joe.

“He’s sitting down—got the droid by him. Put some space between him and the vic. Open it,” she asked Roarke. “Nice and quiet. Move in, Team B. Slow, quiet.”

Just lie back and enjoy
.

Eve held up three fingers. “On three,” she murmured.

She went through the door, fast and low, with Peabody fast and high beside her.

Reinhold squealed. There was no other word to describe it, Eve thought in disgust. He squealed like a little girl, threw his tray of food in the air, and ran for the stairs.

“Stop! Freeze! Hands in the air!”

Instead, as Team B charged down, he veered away, grabbed a vase, threw it. It missed by a mile, shattered on the floor.

Eve considered stunning him as he ran, basically in circles, throwing whatever came to hand while Joe screamed. God, she wanted to stun him. And because she did, she tackled him instead.

He went down in a skid, kicking, flailing, adding screams to Joe’s, until Eve pressed her weapon to his cheek.

“Oh, give me a reason, you fuck.”

“Get off me, get away from me. Kill her!” he ordered the droid, who just stood looking as distressed as a droid was capable of looking.

Eve dragged Reinhold’s arms behind his back, cuffed him. “Jerald Reinhold, you’re under arrest for murder, multiple counts, for kidnapping, for identity fraud, breaking and entering and all sorts of additional charges. You have the right to remain silent,” she began, and with Peabody’s help managed to get him to his feet.

He kept letting his legs buckle, so by the time she’d finished reading
him the Revised Miranda, she’d had enough. “Officer Carmichael. Take this asshole into custody. Put him in top-level holding at Central until I say different.”

“You’ve got it, Lieutenant.”

“And somebody call the medics and a bus for that poor bastard.”

“Already done.” Detective Carmichael tapped her comm. “On their way.”

Harnessing her weapon, Eve walked over to Joe, shook her head. “You’re a real goddamn mess, Joe, but you’ll live.”

“He hurt me. He hurt me.”

“Yeah, he did.” Eve watched as Roarke and another uniform worked on cutting through rope and tape. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe the next time you start to smirk at a cop, you’ll remember.”

“Water.” He sobbed, twisted some pity out of her. “Please. He wouldn’t even give me water.”

“Here you go.” Peabody held a cup to his lips. “Slow now. We’ve got you now, Joe. We’ve got you now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t listen.”

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Maybe it would, Eve thought, but he’d paid a hell of a price for being an asshole.

S
he didn’t rush it; let Reinhold stew and sweat awhile. With her team, she went through every inch of the apartment, passed the electronics, including the droid, to McNab—and Feeney, who’d showed up as the MTs wheeled Joe out, a little steamed they hadn’t waited for him.

She found it interesting, and a little sad, to discover Reinhold had
stocked the full, traditional Thanksgiving feast. And wondered if he’d planned on tucking into it before or after he killed one of his oldest friends.

She held up the minisaw as Roarke approached. “A new tool for him. I’d say he’d have tested it out on fingers, maybe hands, feet. Then he’d have used it to cut Joe into more easily disposable pieces—using the industrial waste bags we found to get the pieces out.”

“A lovely thought. And likely accurate. I took the droid,” he added. “Its memory loop is fully intact, going back to when Reinhold reprogrammed it—prior to murdering Farnsworth. It will be very solid evidence for the prosecution.”

“We’ve got nothing but solid evidence—and a live witness.”

“So you’ll be visiting the hospital at some point, and not the morgue.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

“For most of us. I also spoke with the realtor who arranged the rental. Easy enough now to track it.”

Idly, Roarke glanced around the main level, and even under the circumstances found satisfaction in the flow of the layout, the use of materials.

“Reinhold snapped the place up just yesterday, and made arrangements to purchase the furniture already in place.”

“Trendy and expensive. It suited him, and it saved him time and trouble.”

“Mmm. So you were right on his style, but he lucked—again—into finding a place where he didn’t have to shop for his furnishings.”

Eve’s lips turned up in a sharp, grim smile. “Luck changes, and I’m about to finish his run for good. I’m sending the electronics with McNab—and Feeney since his ass is burned I didn’t call him in away
from his wife, family, and day off. Anyway. They’ll just log and secure, then they’re sprung. Sanchez and Carmichael are going to work with Crime Scene to seal and secure, then they’re sprung, too. Peabody’s stuck with me. I have to deal with Reinhold today. Now. If it goes smooth enough, I’ll be home for dinner.”

“We,” he corrected. “I’m with you.”

“Your family—”

“You’re my family first. I’ll let them know, and if we’re not going to be back at a reasonable time, they’ll start without us.”

“Fine.” If it took too long, she thought, she’d push him out. But she needed to get started. “Peabody! Let’s go have a nice little chat with Jerry.”

“Can’t wait.”

She worked on strategy as Roarke drove to Central. She had Reinhold’s number now. With Mira’s profile, her own observations, interviews with friends, coworkers, supervisors—she knew what he was, and believed she knew how he thought.

“You’re good cop, Peabody.”

“Aw, damn it.”

“He’s going to respond to bad cop—me—make excuses, try to hold a line, be a big shot as long as he can hold on to his guts there. And he’s going to respond to good cop, see someone who’s willing to give him leeway on the excuses. He’s not smart enough to understand the dynamics, the rhythm, or how that push-pull undermines.”

Roarke flicked a glance at Peabody’s sulky face in the rearview. “It’s a classic for a reason,” he reminded her. “And you always know when to slip in with the softer touch. It’s masterful.”

As Peabody perked up, Eve slid a glance toward Roarke. Talk about masterful.

In the garage, she reached for the box of props she’d brought from the crime scene. Roarke nudged her aside, hefted it himself.

“I’m going to know pretty quick how this is going to go,” she told him. “If I think it’s going to drag out, go into hours, I’m going to signal you, or step out and tell you. Let’s make a deal.”

“I do love a deal.”

“If it’s going to bog down, you go home, do the turkey thing. Then you can come back. I’ll even get word to you when I think I’m close to wrapping it up. Your aunt shouldn’t have to feel she’s in charge when she’s supposed to be a guest,” Eve added.

“That was a good one.” He shifted the box as they rode the elevator up. “All right then, that’s a deal.”

Satisfied with that, Eve got off the elevator. “Peabody takes the box. He’ll look at me as in charge. He’s going to be afraid of me, and I’ll make sure of it. He’s a coward, and fear’s going to break him. He’ll try to push me at first, then he’ll appeal to you,” she told Peabody. “You’re close to his age, you’re not the primary authority figure, and you’ll be sympathetic, to a point. Call him by his first name. That’s connection from you, lack of respect from me.”

“I get it. He’s in Interview A.”

“Then I’ll be in Observation,” Roarke said. “Good luck, both of you.”

“That’s just what we’ve got now.” Eve led the way.

As she’d instructed on the way in, he’d been put in Interview, but not in restraints—restraints indicated he was something to fear. The uniforms who’d pulled him out of holding and brought him up hadn’t spoken a word. Asked no questions, answered none.

So now he sat alone in the box, lights on full—sweating, she noted when she stepped in. Beads of sweat on his upper lip, his brow.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Reinhold, Jerald.” She read off a series of case files as she took a seat. “Reinhold, Jerald, you have been informed of your rights, on record. Do you understand your rights and obligations in these matters?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s one of your rights. Do you understand that right, and the rights and obligations as given to you in the Revised Miranda?”

He turned his head away, stared at the side wall like a petulant child.

“Okay, fine. Peabody, arrange for him to be taken back to a cage.”

“I’m not going back down there!”

Eve just stood, started for the door.

“All right, all right! Jesus, yes, I understand the stupid rights and shit.”

“Good.” She came back, sat again. “We can make this quick and easy, Jerry. I mean, for God’s sake, we walked in on you with Joe. You’d done a number on him.”

“You came onto my private property. That’s a violation of my rights. You can’t use anything you found when you violated my rights.”

“Seriously?” She eased back and laughed. “That’s your defense? If you’re going to watch fictional crime shows, you should at least pay attention. Ever hear of probable cause, Jerry? Or duly exercised warrants? You abducted and were holding an individual against his will, causing him severe bodily harm. You assaulted said individual, you committed battery, battery with intent, assault with a deadly, and so forth on this individual, and you planned to murder this individual, then saw him to pieces and dispose of him.”

“You can’t prove any of that!”

“I can prove all of it. Let’s start with the first part. You abducted Joseph Klein.”

“Did not!” His voice cracked a little as he jabbed a finger at her, twice. “He came to see me. He walked right into my place on his own. And I was just fooling around, just messing with him.”

“That’s what you call it? Bashing him in the head with a baseball bat, breaking his teeth, his cheekbones, his jaw, burning him with a torch, cutting him. That’s just messing with him?”

“He screwed with me; I screwed with him. That’s self-defense. He …” His eyes actually shifted, left and right. “He came to my place and he
threatened
me. I protected myself.”