She intended to go back to the bar, do another round of timing the walk, at a brisk New York pace, from the restroom to the door. Just to nail it down.
But now she looked down at Mars. “Did she tell you anything else I can use?”
“As far as useful, you’ll be the judge, but she has a lot to say. I can tell you that though her official data lists her age as thirty-seven, I’d say she’s solidly a decade older.”
Eve frowned, slid her hands in her pockets. “DeWinter said the same. Still, a lot of people find a way to fudge their age. And she’s in entertainment.”
“Yes, however…” He let that go a moment as Peabody hustled in.
“It’s just now eight!”
“We started early,” Eve told her, noting her partner kept her line of sight several inches above the open chest on the slab. “Morris concludes she died roughly four minutes after the attack.”
“That’s fast.”
“And he tells me she’s about ten years older than her ID claims.”
Peabody lowered her gaze to Mars’s face. “Mid-forties then. She looks more like mid-thirties.”
“And so she should,” Morris confirmed. “She’s had considerable work done. Face and body. And yes, many people do,” he added before Eve could comment. “But not all that many have complete facial reconstruction.”
“Reconstruction.” Now he had Eve’s full attention. “How can you tell?”
“There are always little signs, even with exceptional work. And some I can feel by manipulating. The computer screening verifies. Her chin, her nose, her brow, even her eye sockets, her cheekbones—all underwent reconstruction.”
“Peabody, check and see if she was in any sort of major accident.”
“Her body,” Morris continued. “Breast enhancement, body sculpting that includes a butt lift, belly tuck—regular on both, as those treatments require tune-ups. Arm sculpting as well as calf implants.”
“Implants. On her calves?”
“To give the appearance of good muscle tone. She’s opted for a permanent bikini cut on the pubis.”
“That has to hurt,” Peabody muttered as she searched on her PPC.
“Also had the hair permanently removed from her legs, armpits. Plumping treatment—very recently—on the lips. Skin resurfacing. Again, I’d say with some regularity, and that’s full body, not only her face. She’s undergone sterilization, and has not given birth. Ah, and her hair? Root system coloring. She’s not a natural blonde, and undergoes what would be twice-yearly treatments to maintain this color.”
“I’ve heard about that.” Peabody lowered her PPC. “It’s not only a major ouch unless you pay to go under, but costs about ten grand and requires a two-day stay. No major accidents, Dallas. No major injuries, right back to childhood.”
“So she opted for a new face.” Intrigued, Eve once again circled the body. “Can you tell how long ago, for the reconstruction?”
“I’ll need to run more tests.”
“And would they include giving me a picture of what she looked like before?”
Now Morris frowned. “I might be able to simulate, to an extent. Calculating margins and most probables. It’s not—”
“Wait. Better idea.” She yanked out her PPC. “Did you tell DeWinter about the reconstruction, the age difference?”
“No, of course I didn’t.” He looked mildly insulted. “You’re the primary. You get my conclusions and observations.”
“I didn’t mean it like a poke. I just— Forensic anthro. You can work with her on it, right?”
“I … Of course.” Glancing down at Mars, that faint irritation changed to interest. He nodded. “Yes, we can work on this. I should have thought of it myself.”
“How about you tag her, tell her what we’re after and why?”
“I will, though I’m curious as to the why. Why it matters what she once looked like.”
“Because if she changed her whole damn face, it might be she changed her name, her data, and everything on there’s bogus. People don’t become somebody else unless there’s a reason. The reason may have a bearing on who killed her.”
“This is why you’re the murder cop and I’m the dead doctor. I’ll ask Garnet to join the investigative team.” Once again, he looked down at Mars. “I suspect she’ll need to take our subject down to the bone.”
Peabody said, quietly, “Eew.”
“I’ll clear it. She’s got no living next of kin listed. Nobody to ask for permission. Let’s find out who the hell she really was. Thanks, Morris. I like your tie,” she said as she headed out.
More stunned than surprised she’d comment on any sort of fashion, he laughed. “Thank you.”
“I’m heading into Central, which means I’m about to get my eyes burned by whatever Jenkinson’s tied around his neck. So I thought I should tell you I liked yours.”
Peabody jogged to catch up. “McNab made headway on the electronics, and he’s back at it this morning. His brain needed a rest—I had to bring the hammer down on him. He’d been working an e-case for the last four days, almost twenty-four/seven until it broke yesterday. I can tell when he’s hitting the line, and he was sliding over it. He needed some sack time, some solid down.”
“No problem.”
“He did say she paid a lot of scratch for security on her e-toys. Serious scratch. He likes that sort of challenge, and he peeled away some layers. He’ll have the rest pulled today.”
Peabody dropped into the passenger seat. “Can I have coffee?”
Eve held up two fingers. Using the in-dash, Peabody programmed one black, one coffee regular. Handed the black to Dallas.
“I think he’s a little burnt.”
Eve glanced over. “What?”
“I think McNab’s a little burnt. He’s been on the roll one way or the other for close to a month. Jumped in to help Callendar on a case, and he’s assisted on ours. Santiago asked him to take some e-stuff. He doesn’t say no—he loves the e-stuff, and the work. But, honest, his skinny ass is dragging some. Hell, more than some.”
Peabody’s brows knitted, digging a worry line between them. “I want to get him to take a couple-three days. Maybe surprise him with a mini-cation. When we close this down, is there any problem with me taking some leave? Three days?”
“No. No problem.”
“Solid.” Nodding decisively, she drank her coffee. “I’m going to put in for it, and talk to Feeney. We’ve got enough saved up to afford one of those three-day packages somewhere warm.”
It occurred to Eve that Peabody had never before said anything about McNab being burnt or tired, had never before expressed a single concern in that direction. So she obviously had real worry.
“Take five days. You’re not on the roll on Sundays unless we’re working something hot. And Saturdays are rotated. Rotate out, leave after shift on a Friday. If he’s dragging, five days gives him time to bounce back, and vacate. And neither of you use up more than three days’ leave.”
“We could do that. We could just stay home for the weekend, sleep, then do the package. A five-day package really ups the ante, but if we—”
“It’s warm in Mexico.”
Peabody laughed. “Yeah, it is—and sunny, with beaches. But a cross-continent package adds to it. You can get some pretty sweet bargains in the Bahamas if you know where to look. I’ve been checking.”
Eve drummed her fingers on the wheel. “You can use the villa on the west coast of Mexico. Roarke will get you a shuttle to and from.”
“What?” The unexpected gesture had Peabody nearly spilling her coffee. “Seriously? But no, I’m not—”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a mega deal.” Peabody’s stunned breath whooshed out, then in again. “A mongo mega deal. Big, giant gratitude, but I wasn’t fishing for a freebie. We’ve got some saved.”
“I know you weren’t fishing. You didn’t have your fishing face on.”
“I don’t have
a fishing face.”
“You have a fishing face.” Eve did her best to mimic it with big, innocent puppy eyes, a shy, winsome smile.
“I absolutely don’t make that face.”
“You do when you’re fishing. And you weren’t wearing that face, so you weren’t. You were wearing your worried face. If McNab’s burnt, some of the burn is from working my investigations. Take the villa, the shuttle, and the five days.”
When Eve pulled into Central’s garage, into her slot, Peabody just sat.
“Hugging would annoy you.”
“Keep your hands off me,” Eve warned.
“I’m too grateful to annoy you, even though in my head I’m giving you a big, sloppy hug. He needs a break, Dallas. He’d never admit it, but he needs a break. Thanks to the ultra of thanks.”
“It’s Roarke’s villa,” Eve said, but as she started to get out, Peabody put a hand on her arm.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They got out, headed for the elevator. “When I get over being humbled and grateful, I’m going to start dancing. Five days at a swank villa in Mexico.”
“Dance internally.”
“I have to because doing it for real would also annoy you, and too much gratitude.” As they stepped into the elevator, Peabody’s face lit with a grin. “Okay, there it goes. My internal boogie. I’m mentally hugging you again.”
“Did you cop a feel this time?”
“Just a little one. Affectionately.”
“I’m mentally kicking my boot up your ass.”
“Right now? Even that feels good.” Unable to hold it in, Peabody boogied her hips. “O-fucking-lé!”
As the elevator stopped, filled with cops, stopped, filled with more, Eve muscled her way off, shifting to the glides.
“If we’ve finished internal dancing and ass kicking, we might take a moment to discuss a murder investigation.”
“You’re the boss,” Peabody said with mad cheer. “The maggiest of mag bosses.”
“Right. Well, this mag boss has a waitress—Cesca—coming in. Tag Yancy for a consult with her. The timing’s too slick for the third male in that group leaving not to be our killer. Sitting right behind me,” she muttered. “Son of a bitch, I want him for that insult alone. When we’re done with the waitress, we’re heading to Seventy-Five. We talk to people, have her work electronics taken in. And I want a sit-down with Nadine. If she doesn’t know some of Mars’s bullshit, she’ll find out. I expect the media to hammer this one, and I’ll need to report to Whitney, probably juggle something with Kyung.”
Kyung, the media liaison—and not an asshole—would juggle back.
“At some point, we need to go by the lab, give DeWinter a push on the facial reconstruction.”
She swung into Homicide.
Finding herself right about Jenkinson’s tie didn’t dull the glare of what looked like urine-colored sperm squiggling over virulent purple.
As he worked both his ’link and his comp, she held back any comment. Instead she crossed to Baxter’s desk.
No sperm tie for Baxter; his had purple stripes against gray and set off his snappy gray suit.
“I heard you caught and closed a double.”
“Yeah. Babies, boss, a couple of babies who’ll never grow up.”
“You’re solid on the double suicide?”
“Yeah.” He heaved out a breath. “She snuck him into the house, into her room. They took enough tranqs to put them down if not out, and before they went down they zip-tied plastic bags over each other’s heads. Laid down and took the long sleep.”
“They left notes.” Newly minted detective Trueheart spoke up from his desk. “Full intent spelled out, LT. Nobody wanted them to be together in life, so they’d be together eternally in death.”
“Her mother found them,” Baxter continued. “She generally checked on the kid at least once a night, as said kid had started sneaking out, or sneaking the boy in. Good families. A couple of kids taking a wrong turn and bringing out the worst in each other.”
“File it, move on.”
“Working on it.”
It’s all you could do, Eve thought, and walked to her office.
She’d barely begun to set up her board when Peabody came in.
“The waitress is here. She brought a friend.”
“Yeah, I told her she could.”
“He’s the one who had the vic’s table.”
“Spinder, right? Kyle. Better yet. Let’s set them up in Interview. Find what’s open.”
She went back to her board, put up both waiters’ photos. Wished for coffee but, following Peabody’s confirmation text, walked out and down to Interview C.
She found Cesca and Kyle huddled at the table, clutching hands.
“This is where you interrogate people.” Cesca’s voice shook like a leaf clinging to a branch in a windstorm. “You said I wasn’t in trouble.”
“You’re not,” Eve assured her. “We’re in this room because it’s quiet and private, that’s all.”
“Maybe we should get a lawyer.”
Eve glanced at Kyle when he spoke up. “You can. And we can talk somewhere else if the room bothers you. I have no reason to suspect either of you—and I wouldn’t be talking to you together if I did. We believe Cesca waited on someone we do suspect.”
Now Cesca let out a squeak and clutched at her throat. “I served the killer?”
“It’s a line of investigation we’re following, and we’d like your help.”
“Why don’t I get you something to drink?” Peabody proposed in what Eve recognized as her calm-the-waters voice.
“Can I have a fizzy? The flavor doesn’t matter. I like all of them.” Cesca looked all around. “You’ve had killers in here?”
“Yeah, but not right now. Kyle, drink?”
“Fizzy’s good. Cherry’s best.”
“I’ll go get that.”
Eve sat when Peabody went out. She set down her tablet, brought up the floor plan for Du Vin. “This station. Station fifteen.”
“Fifteen. Gosh, we were so busy. Can I think a minute?”
“Take your time.”
Cesca closed her eyes, tapped her finger in the air. “That’s you and Dr. DeWinter. That’s the three ladies from East Washington on a girl trip—they were really nice, having a lot of fun together. Chatty. That’s Mr. Hardy and Mr. Franks—they’re regulars and work just down the block. And that’s … Okay.”
She opened her eyes. “A single, a guy, but I didn’t really see him.”
“Your station,” Eve reminded her.
“Yeah, but he ordered digital, paid cash. He had on … a hat. A watch cap kind of thing, and he worked on his PPC the whole time. Mineral water—a couple of them, and some nuts. He didn’t eat them.”
“How old was he?”
Cesca shook her head. “I guess I’m not really sure. We were busy, and he didn’t want service, even waved me away when I asked if I could get him something else.”
“Skin color?”
“I…” Now she squeezed her eyes shut. “He could’ve been white or mixed race. Maybe. I’m sorry. He sat like this.”
She shifted, hunched over, lowered her head. “I think he kept his coat on. I think. And see, we’re trained to leave customers alone if they want to be left alone. We get some who come in to work a little while they have a drink. I thought he was like that.”
Peabody brought in a drink caddy, set down two fizzies, offered Eve a tube of Pepsi.
“How about his voice?”
“Oh, I don’t think he said anything. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he didn’t say anything. I didn’t interact with him because he didn’t want to be bothered, right? I mean with someone like Dr. DeWinter or Mr. Hardy or Mr. Franks, you make a little conversation, and you can joke around some. Be personable. Someone like him, you leave him alone unless he calls you over. He never called me over.”
Eve glanced at Peabody as she cracked her tube of Pep
si.
“Did you see him get up from the table?” Peabody asked.
“No. I guess he was there for a half hour—forty minutes, maybe. I saw he’d left, so I went back, found the cash. He hadn’t called for his bill, and really should have, but he left cash that covered it and a decent enough tip, considering. So I generated a bill and cashed him out.”
She twisted her fingers together, gave another wide-eyed look at Eve. “I’m not helping. I’m sorry, but … Oh! He had a scarf—I remember that. I remember he had a gray scarf, because I wondered why he didn’t take it off, wasn’t he getting hot.”
“I wish I’d seen him,” Kyle put in. “I mean I might’ve seen him, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t know what he looked like. There were other customers in there with hats and coats and scarves. It’s been really cold.”
He brooded into his fizzy. “She was nice to me. Ms. Mars.”
Eve tried different angles, different questions, but ran into a blank wall. So blank she saw no point in pulling Yancy into it.
She let them go, checked the time. “I’m going to update the commander, then I want to talk to Nadine. We’ll wind around to the guy who paid the check in the group of four our suspect merged with.”
“They could have gotten a better look.”
Eve reran the security feed in her mind, the way he’d stayed a couple of steps back, the way the other four engaged with each other.
“We won’t count on it.”
8
After getting the come-ahead from her commander, Eve went straight up to Whitney’s office. He sat, a big man behind a big desk, with the city he served rising through the window at his back.
He served it well, she thought. As solid as they came.
“Sir.”
“Lieutenant. Do you have anything to add to your initial report?”
“We’ve just interviewed a witness, a waitress who was assigned to the table we believe the suspect occupied. It looks like a dead end, Commander. She’s willing and cooperative, but she just didn’t get a good look at him. He used the auto-menu, avoided contact, wore concealing clothing, and paid cash—which he left on the table without calling for his bill. I have a few more lines to tug there, and will do so today. This unsub fits the timing, the timing confirmed by the ME.”