But, from the gleam in her eye, Peabody didn't appear to be too displeased by the reaction.
Eve frowned. Her aide's face was painted and polished, her hair fluffed. Her legs were showcased in a short, snug skirt and stiletto-heeled boots, both the color of ripe raspberries.
"How the hell do you walk in that getup?" Eve wanted to know.
"I practiced."
Eve inhaled deeply, then blew out air. "Sit down, let's go over the plan."
"Okay, but it takes me a couple of minutes to get down in this skirt." Cautious, Peabody braced a hand on the edge of the desk and began to lower her butt.
"You going to do squats or sit the hell down?"
"Just a second." She sucked in air, winced a little. "Little tight in the waist," she managed as she eased down.
"You should have thought of your internal organs before you poured yourself into that thing. You've got an hour before you're due at Personally Yours. I want you to – "
"What the hell are you doing in that?" McNab stopped at the doorway, his eyes bugged out as they skimmed along Peabody's legs.
"My job," she said with a sniff.
"You're just asking to get hit on. Dallas, make her wear something else."
"I'm not a fashion consultant, McNab. And if I were" – Eve took the time to study his baggy red and white striped trousers and butter-yellow turtleneck – "I might have something to say about your wardrobe choices."
At Peabody's snicker, Eve narrowed her eyes. "Now, children, you may be aware that we're working multiple homicides at this time. If you can't be friends, I'm afraid I'll have to limit your playground time this afternoon."
Peabody immediately squared her shoulders, and though she slid a sneering look toward McNab, she was wise enough to say nothing.
"Peabody, I want you to convince Piper to stick with you through the consult. McNab, you take Rudy. Once you have the match lists, you'll browse through the retail areas. Make yourselves obvious."
"Do we have a budget for purchases?" McNab wanted to know, and at Eve's bland stare, he shrugged and dipped his hands into the wide pockets of his trousers. "It'd make more of an impression if we bought some things. Chatted up the clerks."
"You've got two hundred credits apiece departmental funds. Anything over, it's your worry. McNab, we know Donnie Ray used the salon to buy enhancements for his mother. Make sure you spend time there."
"He could use a month," Peabody said under her breath, then folded her lips innocently when Eve scowled at her.
"Peabody, Hawley used credits in the salon and in Desirable Woman, lingerie place on the floor above. Check it out."
"Yes, sir."
"You'll both need to contact as many names on your match lists as possible. Set up meets. I want this to start tonight. Arrangements are being made to use the Nova Club on Fifty-third. The earlier in the evening, the better to start. Try for the first meet at four – then book the rest an hour apart. Get in as many as you can. We don't know if he hit last night. We may have gotten lucky. But he won't wait."
She glanced over at the photos again. "We'll have cops inside. Feeney and I will be out on the street, in constant contact. You'll both be wired. Neither of you are to leave with anyone. If you have to take a pee, you signal and one of the inside cops goes with you."
"It isn't his pattern to hit in a public place," Peabody pointed out.
"I don't take chances with my people. You follow the steps, no deviations, or you're out. Get Feeney and me the match lists as soon as you have them. Any member of the staff at Personally Yours or in any of the outlets shows undo interest in you, you report. Questions?"
Eve lifted her eyebrows as both of them shook their heads. "Then get started."
She didn't grin when Peabody levered herself, with some difficulty, out of the chair. But she wanted to. McNab rolled his eyes and showed his teeth as she marched by him and out of the office.
"She's green," he said to Eve.
"She's good," Eve countered.
"Maybe, but I'm keeping my eye on her."
"I can see that," Eve muttered as he strode out.
She turned back to the photos. They haunted her, those three faces. What had been done to them crawled inside her and refused to let go.
Too close, she reminded herself. Too focused on what and not enough on why.
She closed her eyes a moment, rubbed them as if to erase the images of her own memories.
Why these three? she asked herself again and moved closer to study the cheerfully smiling face of Marianna Hawley.
Office professional, she mused, trying out the same system that she'd used to select Mira's scent. Reliable, old-fashioned, romantic. Pretty in a safe, comfortable sort of way. Close family ties. Interested in theater. A tidy woman who enjoyed pretty things around her.
Hooking her thumbs in her pocket, she turned her gaze to Sarabeth Greenbalm. The stripper. A loner who was careful with money and collected business cards. Reliable, too, in her chosen career. Lived sparely, horded her take-home pay and calculated her tips. No apparent hobbies, friends, or family connections.
And Donnie Ray, she mused, the boy who'd loved his mother and had blown sax. Lived like a pig and had a smile like an angel. Puffed a little Zoner but never missed a gig.
And suddenly she had it, staring at the three faces of victims who never met.
The theater.
"Oh yes! Computer, bring up Personally Yours, data on Hawley, Marianna; Greenbalm, Sarabeth; Michael, Donnie Ray. Tile on screen, highlight professions and hobbies/interests."
Working… On screen, requested subjects. Hawley, Marianna, administrative assistant, Foster-Brinke. Hobbies and interests, theater. Member West Side Community Players. Other interests -
"Stop, continue next subject."
Greenbalm, Sarabeth, dancer…
"Stop. And Donnie Ray, sax player." She took a minute, letting it process in her own mind. "Computer, run probability scan on killer selecting current subjects due to mutual connection or interest in theater and entertainment."
Working… With current data, probability index is ninety-three point two percent.
"Good, damn good." And huffing out a breath, she answered her communicator's beep. "Dallas."
"Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the couple at 341 West Eighteen, unit 3. Possible assault attempt. Probability incident linked to current homicide investigations, ninety-eight point eight percent."
Eve was already up and snagging her jacket. "On my way, Dallas, out."
"It was just weird." The woman was tiny, as delicate as the fairies that danced on the tiny white glass tree centered in the wide window of the old rehabbed loft. "Jacko gets too up about things."
"I know what I know. That flake was wrong, Cissy."
Jacko scowled as he tightened his arm around the woman's shoulder. He'd have made four of her, Eve thought. He had to be six-three and two-fifty. An arena ball player's build, a face tough as mountain rock. Scars dug in at the lantern jaw and over the right eyebrow.
She was pale as a moonbeam, he dark as midnight. His big hand swallowed hers.
The loft had been sectioned off into three main areas. Eve got a peek at the bedroom suite through the opening in wavy glass walls the color of peaches. The bed was enormous and unmade.
In the living area the long U-shaped sofa could have fit twenty people comfortably. Jacko took up space for three.
What she could see indicated easy money, feminine taste, and masculine comfort.
"Just tell me what happened."
"We told the policeman last night." Cissy smiled, but her eyes were shadowed with obvious annoyance. "Jacko insisted on calling them. It was just a silly prank."
"Hell it was. Look." He leaned forward, his tight scalp curls bobbing a bit. "This guy comes to the door, dressed like Santa Claus, carrying this big box all wrapped and ribboned. Does the ho-ho, merry Christmas deal."
Anticipation curled in Eve's gut, but she spoke coolly. "Who opened the door?"