“I do, nightly, in my dreams. I’ll take one of those.”
Reminding herself he’d come in at her request, she programmed for a fourth, then glanced back. “Trueheart?”
“I’ll have a lemon fizz if it’s all the same to you, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
He looked like the lemon-fizz type with his clean-cut, boyish face. Adorable, Peabody had called him, and it wasn’t possible to deny it. An all-American boy, cute as a button-whatever the hell that meant-in his summer blues.
Beside him, Baxter was slick and smooth and cagey. Good-looking, but with an edge to him. He had a fondness for a well-cut suit and a well-endowed female.
They were good cops, both of them, Eve thought. And tucking the earnest Trueheart in as the smart-ass Baxter’s aide had been one of her better ideas.
“To the dead,” Baxter said, and tapped his coffee cup lightly to Eve’s. “What do you want with our Jane?”
“She might connect to one of mine. Foster’s doing her workup right now.”
“Let me help you with those, Lieutenant.” Trueheart took his fizz and one of the coffees.
Eve briefed them on the way back to the exam room.
“Whether she’s your maid or not, somebody wanted her dead real bad,” Baxter commented. “Skull cracked, broken bones. Had to be dead, or at least blessedly unconscious, when he lit her up. He didn’t kill her where he lit her. It was dump and fry. We coordinated with Missing Persons on the prelim data and came up goose egg. Been canvassing the area all day. Nobody saw anything, heard anything, knew anything. Guy who made the nine-one-one saw the fire from his window but not the source. Statement goes it was too hot to sleep, and he was going to go sit out on the fire escape. Saw the flames, called it in. Call came through at oh-three-sixteen. Fire department responded, arrived on scene at oh-three-twenty-gotta give those guys points for speed. She was still burning.”
“Couldn’t’ve lit her up too much earlier.”
Foster glanced up as they came in. “Thanks, Lieutenant, just set it down over there. Hey, Bax, hanging low?”
“Low and long, baby, low and long.”
Foster continued to run the scanner over the body. “Broken right index finger. That’s an old break. Early childhood. Between five and seven. Scanned the teeth already. Running them in the national bank for a match. This one? The skull injury?”
Eve nodded, stepped closer.
“You got severe trauma here. Ubiquitous blunt instrument, most likely. Bat maybe, or a pipe. Skull’s fractured. She’s got three broken ribs, a fractured tibia, jawbone. Somebody waled on this girl. She was dead before he poured the gas on her. That’s a blessing.”
“He didn’t kill her where he dumped her,” Baxter commented. “We found a blood trail from the street. Not a lot of blood. She must’ve bled a hell of a lot more where he beat her.”
“From the angle of the breaks-see on screen here?” Foster nodded toward it, and the enhanced images in blues and reds. “It looks like he hit the leg first. Did that while she was standing. When she went down, he went for the ribs, the face. The skull was the coup de grâce. She was probably unconscious when he bashed her head in.”
Did she try to crawl? Eve wondered. Did she cry out in shock and pain and try to crawl away? “To keep her from running,” she murmured. “Take the leg out first so she can’t run. He doesn’t care how much noise she makes. Otherwise, he’d have gone for the head first. It’s calculated, calculated to look like rage. But it’s not rage. It’s cold-blooded. He had to have a place where it wouldn’t matter if she screamed. Soundproofed, private. He had to have private transpo to get her to the lot.”
The data center beeped, had them all turning.
“Hit the match,” Baxter murmured, and he and Eve stepped to the data screen together. “That who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah.” Eve set her coffee aside and stared into Tina Cobb’s smiling face.
Chapter 5
“Book us a conference room. I want to coordinate with Baxter and Trueheart when they get back from Essie Cobb’s.” Eve stepped into the garage-level elevator at Central.
“Has to be the same killer,” Peabody said.
“Nothing has to be. We’ll run probabilities. Let’s get all current data together into a report and send it to Mira for a profile.”
“You want a meet with her?”
When the doors opened, Eve shifted back as cops and civilians piled on. Dr. Charlotte Mira was the best pro-filer in the city, possibly on the East Coast. But it was early days for a consult. “Not yet.”
The car stopped again, and this time rather than deal with the press of bodies and personal aromas, she elbowed her way off to take the glide. “We’ll put what we’ve got together first, run some standards, conference with Baxter and Trueheart. We need a follow-up with Samantha Gannon and a swing by the club.”
“A lot of on-the-ass work.” Peabody could only be grateful. Her shoes were killing her.
“Get us the room,” Eve began as she stepped off the glide. And stopped when she saw Samantha Gannon sitting on a wait bench outside the Homicide division. Beside her, looking camera-ready, and very chatty, was Nadine Furst.
Eve muttered shit under her breath, but there wasn’t much heat in it.
Nadine fluffed back her streaky blond hair and aimed one of her feline smiles in Eve’s direction. “Dallas. Hey, Peabody, look at you! Mag shoes.”
“Thanks.” She was going to burn them, first chance.
“Shouldn’t you be in front of a camera somewhere?” Eve asked.
“There’s more to the job than looking pretty on screen. I’ve just about wrapped an interview with Samantha. A few comments from the primary on the investigation would put a nice cap on the segment.”
“Turn off the recorder, Nadine.”
For form, Nadine sighed before she deactivated her lapel recorder. “She’s so strict,” she said to Samantha. “I really appreciate the time, and I’m very sorry about your friend.”
“Thank you.”
“Dallas, if I could just have one word?”
“Peabody, why don’t you show Ms. Gannon into the lounge. I’ll be right with you.”
Eve waited until they’d moved off, then turned a cool stare toward Nadine.
“Just doing my job.” Nadine lifted her hands, palms out for peace.
“Me too.”
“Gannon’s a hot ticket, Dallas. Her book is this month’s cocktail party game. Everybody’s playing Where Are the Diamonds? You toss murder in and it’s top story, every market. I had vacation plans. Three fun-filled days at the Vineyard, starting tomorrow. I canceled them.”
“You were going to make wine?”
“No. Though I’d planned to drink quite a bit. Martha’s Vineyard, Dallas. I want out of the city, out of this heat. I want a beach and a long cold adult beverage and a parade of tanned and buff male bodies. So I’m hoping you’re going to tell me you’re wrapping this one up in a hurry.”
“I can’t tell you any more than the media liaison would’ve told you. Pursuing all leads, et cetera and so on. That’s it, Nadine. That’s really it.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that. Well, there’s always a hologram program. I can set it for the Vineyard and spend an hour in fantasyland. I’ll be around,” she added as she walked away.
Gave up too easy, Eve decided.
She thought about that as she headed off to what the cops called the lounge. It was a room set up for breaks and informal meetings. A scatter of tables, even a skinny, sagging sofa, and several vending machines.
She plugged in a couple of credits and ordered a large bottle of water.
You have selected Aquafree, the natural refreshment, in a twelve-ounce bottle. Aquafree is distilled and bottled in the peaceful and pristine mountains of-
“Jesus, cut the commercial and give me the damn water.” She thumped a fist against the machine.
You are in violation of City Code 20613-A. Any tampering with, any vandalism of this vending unit can result in fine and/or imprisonment.