The flesh of her torso showed slices where he’d cut her in random patterns, as well as discolorations from blows. Her eyes, filmed over with death, stared out of a face battered by violence. Dried blood smeared the sides of her mouth, her chin, streaked her thighs.
The cord used to strangle her dug viciously into her throat.
She’d been beautiful once, Eve thought. The killer had taken her beauty as well as her life.
Was that part of his need?
“Take the male,” Eve ordered, and approached the bed.
She followed procedure, step-by-step, cleared her mind of pity, of outrage. “Female is identified as Carver, Miko, age thirty-three, of this address.”
“Male is identified as Carver, Xavier, age thirty-three, of this address.”
She left Peabody to add the details for the record, focused on adding her own. “Shallow cuts, primarily on the torso, evidence of blows, also to torso, to breasts. More violent blows to the face. Victim bit through her own lip. Lacerations and bleeding evident on the wrists around the zip ties used to bind them, the cord tied over that to secure her hands to the headboard. Further lacerations and bleeding on the ankles indicating binding at some point during the assault. Blood and bruising on the inner thighs indicate probable rape. A cord around the victim’s throat, used to strangle. Hemorrhaging in the eyes indicates strangulation, probable COD. ME to confirm.”
Eve stepped back. “Let’s turn her, Peabody.”
“He broke the vic’s fingers.” Peabody straightened, walked to Eve. “It looks like he smashed them with something heavy.”
Eve glanced back. “The last vic got loose, came at him. Break this one’s hands, he’s not going to be able to use them in a fight, if he gets loose.”
“Miserable coward bastard,” Peabody muttered as they turned Miko’s body over. “Oh hell.”
“Sodomized her,” Eve said flatly. “That’s new. No other injuries to the back.”
Eve stepped away, nodded at the red pajamas on the floor. “Pajamas. And the male is wearing boxers. He didn’t break in while they were out this time, and if they had people over, he didn’t break in and wait for them to come upstairs.”
“They’d gone to bed,” Peabody finished. “They were in bed, probably sleeping, when he broke in. He hasn’t done that before.”
“He’s trying new tricks. He’s escalating on all his elements, getting bolder. Only days between assaults now. And two deliberate murders. Not his usual rape, torture, beatings, and an in-the-moment killing. Two deliberate murders.”
She walked back to the doorway, studied the scene.
“He waits until late, until they’ve gone to bed. It’s a great night for it. Empty streets, empty sidewalks, people holed up at home. How did he get here? Couldn’t drive unless he got his hands on an official vehicle. Subway, possible. Let’s contact TA, find out how late the subways ran last night. Walk? Would it be so sweet to him he’d be willing to walk?”
“Unless he brought a change of clothes, he’d have been covered with blood when he left.”
“He’d be prepared. He came here to kill, and messily. He circumvents the alarms, the locks. Did his research. They live alone. Daytime housekeeper.
“He walks upstairs. It’s exciting, walking in the dark, in a house where people are sleeping. It really adds something … fresh. He’d take out the male first.”
She walked back to the bed, to the far side. “Whap-slap with the sap—that’s what I’d do if I didn’t have a stunner. He’s out, no threat. Does she stir? Even if she does, he’s on her. He has the knife, the cord. Bind her up while she screams. Give her a couple of slaps to show her who’s in charge.”
She moved to the male victim, lifted one of his bare feet out of the congealed blood. “Drag marks on the heels. He doesn’t have enough muscle to carry the husband to the chair, but enough to drag him, haul him into it. Bind him up. Now he gets to play.”
“He wants the husband conscious before he works on the wife,” Peabody said.
“That’s right. Wants him awake and aware for that, and before he breaks his fingers. No fun causing pain if nobody feels it. But he’s got plenty of time.”
She could see it, could see all of it.
It played through her mind while she walked to the closet.
“Check the bathroom, Peabody. Big shared closet, and a safe, open and empty in here.”
“Bathroom’s clean, Dallas. It looks like somebody took a bath. There’s bath oil, a bottle of it, by the tub, and a towel, unfolded, draped over the rack.”
Curious, Eve moved to the bath, scanned. “He wouldn’t have done that.” Eve opened the bottle, sniffed. “Very girlie. Most likely the female vic took a bath, or possibly took one with the male vic, but only one towel, no drying tube, so likely just her. Morris may be able to confirm. Pull the sweepers in. They’ll check the drains anyway. And get the morgue team in.”
She stepped back out. “Why don’t you go through the rest of the rooms up here, see if there’s anything? Then take a look at the third floor. I’ll start with the housekeeper.”
“Back stairs down the hall probably lead to the kitchen.”
Peabody checked her ’link. “McNab. He and Feeney are on the way.”
With a nod, Eve took the back stairs.
The kitchen area had been modernized. The working kitchen itself spread bright and shining clean, a bowl of glossy red apples piled in a white bowl on the main counter. The majority of space flowed for entertaining. A long dining table painted a soft, faded blue was lined with chairs covered in a cheerful floral print. Another table, tall and narrow, served as a bar. Its deeper blue surface held fancy decanters and bottles. Shelves behind it displayed stemware.