“No B and Es, muggings, theft, sexual assaults?”
“Nope. Got another one with vandalism, but it’s small change. Got caught tagging a building when he was eighteen. Ten years ago. Nothing shaky since.”
“Let’s pull them all in, have a chat. I need to talk to Mira.”
“I sent her the details with a request she contact Nobel for a possible consult.” Peabody yawned hugely. “Man, sugar rush, now sugar crash.”
“Okay.” Eve scanned for a spot to park. “Contact the five guys from the rental place, set up interviews at Central. If any of them balk, we’ll send uniforms to convince them. That doesn’t do it, we go to them. And see what we’ve got from the other party guests.”
As they entered the white tunnel, Eve kept walking. “Find a place to work this out. I’ll take the body.”
The tunnel echoed, smelled of harsh lemon, maybe something like vinegar. But under it lingered the smear of death. Nothing much touched that.
Bodies in, bodies out, she thought. Bodies opened, bodies closed. And somewhere in that process, the bodies talked to the ME.
No one she knew understood the language of the dead as fluently as Morris.
She pushed through the swinging doors into his work area. He had music on low, something with a lot of bass and a charging drum beat. Over his snappy midnight-blue pin-striped suit he wore a clear protective coat. No tie today, she noted, but a turtleneck the same hue as the thin gray stripes. He’d twisted his long, dark hair into some sort of complicated knot where a single thin braid spilled from the center.
His exotic, clever eyes met Eve’s. “An early morning for you.”
“Actually we’ll call it a long night. Roarke and I ran into his wife”—she gestured to the body on the slab—“almost literally, about two this morning on the way home from a fancy deal.”
“I see. As she hasn’t joined him here, she survived.”
“In the hospital. Beaten, raped, naked when we spotted her wandering the streets. Memory’s spotty, so far,” Eve added.
Eve stepped closer. Morris had Strazza opened with his precise Y-cut. She didn’t flinch at such things. Couldn’t remember if she ever had.
“The way it looks,” she continued, “somebody accessed their house during a dinner party, laid in wait in the bedroom. Party’s over, they’re attacked. Husband is restrained, she’s restrained and raped, both are knocked around. A couple of safes in the house open and empty. A few other valuables appear to be missing.”
“A straight burglary doesn’t do this.”
“Nope. Could be that part of it is more of a bonus. We’ll see.”
“I can tell you the victim fought. He struggled enough to abrade his wrists and ankles. There are, as you see, numerous cuts—none life-threatening—inflicted with a thin, sharp blade. I’d vote for a scalpel.”
“Vic’s a doctor, a surgeon. That may play.”
“Most of the blows were to the face. Fists—gloved, likely smooth leather—and a sap of some sort. I’d say leather there as well. The body blows are well placed to inflict damage and pain. Kidneys, abdomen, kneecaps.”
He handed Eve microgoggles, put on his own. “The zip ties bit into the flesh, and we have splinters of wood, and what I expect the lab will verify as adhesive from duct or strapping tape.”
“Yeah, zipped him, taped over that. Wood from the chair he broke out of.”
“This blow here.” Morris moved up to the head. “A sweeping strike with a blunt instrument. I would time this as at least an hour after the other injuries, certainly not what incapacitated him before he was restrained.”
“Likely the first blow, to put him out so he could restrain him. After the assault, the vic broke the chair he was tied to. Managed to bust it, and I’m seeing him gain his feet enough to try to charge the attacker.”
“That fits, as the angle of this wound indicates they were facing each other, with the assailant slightly to the left side.”
“Big, heavy crystal vase. Had to put him down, right?”
“Even considering adrenaline, a hit like this would have flattened him.”
“Medical term.”
“Of course. He’d go down, certainly lose consciousness.”
“The assailant gave him two more whacks for good measure.”
“Not right away.”
Eve’s eyes sharpened. “How much of a gap?”
“I’m going to tell you the initial head wound bled for at least fifteen minutes. Fifteen to twenty. The blood had time to begin to coagulate. The killing blow—and either of these to the back of the head would have done it—was delivered after the heart continued to pump blood for a good fifteen minutes. And this one? The angle suggested the victim was moving, getting to his feet. The last, he was prone.”
“Okay. Okay.” Eve closed her eyes a moment, pulled off the goggles, paced. “Vic breaks loose enough to go after the assailant. Assailant grabs the vase, bashes him from the front. Vic’s down and out, but he doesn’t finish him. Maybe he’s getting his tools and loot, maybe he rapes the wife again, maybe he starts cleaning himself up. Vic starts to come out of it, tries to get up. Then he finishes him.”
She shook her head. “Stupid. If you’re going to kill the guy, do it and get it done. If you’re not especially interested in killing him, get your stuff and get the hell out. Wouldn’t take fifteen minutes, unless you’re stupid enough to have left everything scattered around in the first place.”