J. Robb - Chaos in Death

“He couldn’t have taken those bites out of the vic wearing that gear. So he didn’t put it on until after the kill. Or he can manipulate it, because the bites had puncture marks like those pointed incisors he’s got. What is his deal?”

“Totally freak show,” was McNab’s opinion.

Eve glanced at the e-man, and Peabody’s cohab. He wore his long blond hair in a tail secured with silver rings that matched the half dozen hanging from his earlobe. His skinny frame vibrated with color from the many pocketed baggies in Day-Glo orange that picked up the zigs in his shirt.

The zags were nuclear blue.

“You’re wearing that getup and talking freak show.”

He grinned. “Easy to find these pants in the dark.”

“It’d be easy to spot them on Mars in the night sky with the naked eye.”

“They blind the bad guys,” he claimed, still grinning. “Anyway, Dallas, it looks real. This guy, I mean. He looks real.”

“Nothing about this guy looks real,” she corrected. “I want you to take this in to EDD for a full anal.”

She looked down at her com when it signaled. “Warrant’s in. Let’s open those lockers.”

“You’re not going to like this,” Roarke said as they walked back. “But I agree with McNab.”

“Yeah, I figure those pants could blind somebody if they stared at them too long.”

“Something I try to avoid. I also have to agree with him that your killer doesn’t look as if he’s wearing a disguise.”

“Because it’s a combination. Disguise and some kind of powerful drug.”

“How does he blink?”

That put a hitch in her stride. “What?”

“If his eyes aren’t real, if he’s using devices for the size, the shape, how does he blink? He looked directly at the security camera at several points, and his eyelids closed and opened. He smiled, if you can call it that. His jaw shifted, his mouth turned up. And we both saw him contort his body in impossible ways, and move at considerable speed.”

He did have a damn good eye, she thought.

“If he’s a scientist—and he damn well is—he’s figured out how to devise something, and he’s taking something that boosts his adrenaline. Monsters exist,” she added. “But they’re flesh and blood. They’re human, just like the rest of us. It’s what’s inside them that’s twisted. This guy isn’t some Frankenstein monster.”

“Actually, I was thinking of another classic. Mr. Hyde.”

“You’ve got to lay off those old vids,” she commented, and led the way to the lab.

“If you can believe a scientist can create devices and substances to disguise himself this way, why isn’t it possible for that scientist to create something that causes him to be this way?”

“Because,” she said as they approached the door, “appearing and being are different things.” She paused outside the door. “Maybe— maybe —there’s been something going on in this lab that’s whacked. Something botched. And we’re going to salvage Rosenthall’s records and find out. But for now, we’ve got a killer on a spree, and none of my suspects pop out as a fucked-up science experiment.”

“Maybe the more human face is the real disguise.”

With that thought planted in her head, she walked into the lab.

Police business moved forward, with sweepers and the dead crew already at work. With Roarke she headed straight back to the lockers.

She thought of the destruction of the lab and the open, unbroken door of the serum lockup.

“No point in busting them open since you’re here.”

“None at all,” Roarke agreed.

It didn’t take him long. As he moved down the line of lockers uncoding the locks, she called Peabody in for the search.

And hit pay dirt in Pachai Gupta’s.

Eve took out the silver pipe.

“Weighted it for extra punch. And he didn’t even clean it thoroughly,” Eve noted. “There’s still some blood, some matter. It shows some nicks and dents where it hit bone.”

“He loved her—Darnell.” Peabody shook her head. “It was all over him, Dallas. Love and grief, all over him.”

“He wouldn’t be the first to destroy what he loved. But this is so damn stupid, so careless. Steal the serum by unlocking the cabinet rather than busting it up. Then just leave one of the murder weapons in your work locker?”

“A frame-up? It makes more sense to me,” Peabody said. “I know I did the interview, and I hate thinking I missed anything, but a frame-up makes more sense.”

“He’s got this in the locker, but doesn’t use it. Kills Billingsly, and unless he’s really stupid, knows we’ll search the lockers, knows we’ll question the fact the serum cabinet was opened with its lock code. He’s unstable, and the drug makes him more so, but he’s organized. Takes care not to be seen coming in—but does murder, then shows himself.”

“Because he wanted us here,” Peabody concluded. “Following the bread crumbs to Gupta. No, not crumbs. Big, chunky hunks of bread.”

“Reads that way. Seal it up, get the weapon taken to the lab for processing. And let’s have all our players picked up, brought in.”

She walked out with Roarke. “A frame-up, if that’s what it is, that’s human. So’s screwing up and leaving evidence where it can be found, if that’s what it is. Either way, with the weapon, the DNA, we’ll lock it down.”

“I have every faith. I’m going into the office.”

“Now? It’s . . .” She checked the time as they stepped outside. “It’s shy of five a.m.”

“Should I point out you’ve been working since shortly after two? I’ll get my own jump on the day, and as I’m curious enough, I may come down to Central later, watch you lock it down.”

“If you need the car, I could—Guess you don’t,” she added when a dark limo glided smoothly to the curb. “I’m going to hit the lab first, give Dickhead a push. A DNA match will save the innocent bystanders from a round in the box. Thanks for the bribe.”

“Never a problem.” He touched her cheek. “Take care, will you? This one gives me a very uneasy feeling.”

“Too many old horror vids, and an Irish nature. I think I can handle some murderous scientist.”

“Try not to punch him. You’ll set the healing on that arm back.”

She watched him drive away, then went back in to talk to the head sweeper and get Peabody for the trip to the lab.

Dick Berenski’s ink black hair was slicked back over his eggshaped head. Rather than his usual lab coat, he wore a multicolored floral shirt that would have made even McNab wince.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“Clothes. It’s five-fucking-a.m. I’m not officially on yet. And I want a bottle of single malt scotch for the game.”

“We already agreed to terms.”

“That was before.” He shot her a sour look, and since the last time she’d seen him he’d been scarily sweet—and in love—she assumed there was trouble in paradise.

“Before what?”

“Before I got here and found Harpo pulling an all-nighter.”

“Why is that my problem?”

“She’s on your hair—first murder—and you’re not going to like it.” He played his spider fingers over his comp. “She’ll come out here.”

“What about my skin?”

“She goes first. And I want that scotch.”

“Fine, fine, if you give me something I can use.”

“Oh, I’ll give you something.”

Harpo, all spiky red hair and tired eyes, walked out from her section into Berenski’s. “Yo,” she said to Eve and Peabody, then dropped onto a stool. “You tell her?” she asked Berenski.

“I said you’d do it.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So,” she said, swiveling to Eve. “On one hand this is totally iced. On the other, it’s majorly fucked.”