“People are often stupid,” Morris pointed out.
“They sure as hell are. Smart enough to get in there, slip right in the house during a dinner party for fifty with about a dozen staff. Unless he was a guest or staff. Vicious enough to beat and rape—made the wife strip, raped her in front of the husband—but not vicious enough to kill when the husband comes at him. Stupid or cocky enough to hang around for fifteen after—and he could have thought the guy was dead or dying—then finish him off. The way it looks, almost certainly took the time to cut the wife loose before he heads out.”
“He released the wife?”
“She’s got lacerations—she struggled against the restraints. Not as hard as the dead guy here, but she struggled. The shape she was in, I don’t see her getting loose on her own, and there was no rope or tape left behind. Killer bagged it up, took it with him. Had to.”
“Not only left her alive, but cut her loose. Can she identify him?”
“The devil, she says. She’s a mess, but I figure that’s how he looked. Mask or makeup. You go to that much trouble to disguise yourself, you probably don’t intend to kill the targets. But now he has.”
Eve studied Strazza again. “And they hardly ever stop at one.”
5
When she walked out, Eve saw Peabody walking toward her.
“I managed to contact all five of the delivery guys,” Peabody began. “One of them whined a little, but they’re all coming in. Two of them are roommates anyway.”
“Good, saves times and trouble.”
“I tagged Santiago and Carmichael for the party guests. So far, they’re all checking out—times they left, arrived home. Nobody noticed anyone out of place, or felt anything off.”
Peabody bundled back into her endless scarf as they swung into the car. “Olsen of Olsen and Tredway is on her way to Central now—just wants to talk it through. Tredway’s actually in Philadelphia for a family wedding weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow, and would come in today if you think it’s necessary.”
“It’s not. If we don’t beat Olsen to Central, I need ten to sort this out, take a quick look through the files. We’ll set her up in the lounge.”
She wanted to start her book, set up her board, but that could wait until they’d had their meeting with the detective. Still, she wanted another good look at the files on the other attacks.
“We take the delivery guys one at a time, in Interview. I want a consult with Mira first thing in the morning.”
“Already set. She’ll come to you.”
“Appreciate it.” Eve pulled into the garage at Central, zipped into her designated space. “Tag Nobel again, get an update on Daphne Strazza’s condition.”
Peabody made the tag as they rode the elevator. “Got v-mail, leaving a message.”
“Try the nurse in charge.” Still running it over in her head, Eve got off the elevator, strode into the bullpen, noted Baxter at his desk instead of being off-duty, and apparently entertaining a pale-skinned blonde in shiny knee-boots and a bold blue sweater over skinny black pants.
The woman turned, met Eve’s eyes. In them, Eve saw cop.
“Detective Olsen.”
“Lieutenant. Thanks for making time.”
“Back at you. Can’t get enough of the bullpen, Baxter?”
“Trueheart and I caught one, already wrapping it up, so I sent him home. Nikki says you caught one, too—maybe connected to one of hers.”
“Maybe. Detective Peabody will get you set up in the lounge, Detective. I need ten.”
“I know the way. Whenever you’re ready, Lieutenant. Later, David.”
Olsen walked out, tossing a dark coat over her arm.
Eve lifted her eyebrows at Baxter.
“Nikki and I worked together a time or two back in the day.” He smiled, and the quick gleam in it said they’d done more than work. “She’s solid.”
“Good to know.” She left him with his wrap-up, walked back to her office.
Coffee came first. Once the mug was steaming in her hand, she sat at her desk, cleared her brain.
Then started at the beginning with her notes. Timelines, observations, facts, evidence, names, locations.
She skimmed the two case files, noted Olsen and Tredway appeared to be thorough. And yet nothing they’d unearthed connected the victims. No cross there but for the fact both couples were financially well-off, had a rung on the upper end of society.
She made more notes, added some questions—and decided her time would be better served by speaking directly with Olsen.
She walked out, signaled Peabody, who held up a finger as she spoke on her ’link.
“Thanks. We’ll check in again later. Nobel,” she told Eve as she rose. “Mrs. Strazza woke agitated and anxious—basically hysterical. He’s given her another mild sedative. She begged him not to let the devil find her, to hide her. So far that’s it. It’s all she remembers. He’s spoken directly with Mira—he’s the proactive sort—and she’s going in later today to do an evaluation.”
“Good. Maybe Mira can pull something out of her.”
They walked to the cop lounge, where Olsen sat at one of the little tables working on her PPC while something steamed in a go-cup at her elbow.
She set down the handheld. “Coffee’s better here than in my house.”
“Then your house must have stupendously bad coffee.”