J. Robb - Indulgence in death

Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Ah, sure… I didn’t realize you were…”

“Not that sort of someone. Chale-Father Lopez. He’s a good friend now, and I know you think highly of him. He’s fond of you.”

A lot of fondness going around, she thought. A priest at a cop party. Mostly cops, she corrected. What the hell. “No problem. It’ll be good to see him again.”

“Thanks. And now for your doubleheader.”

“Ha. I called it a two-for-one sale. We’re both sick.”

“How else do you get through a hell of a summer? Our Frenchman is actually from Topeka, by the way. Born Marvin Clink.”

“No shit?”

“Peabody did the run, which included the full data, and legal name change. In any case, your supposition on scene was correct. Death by harpoon. It’s been identified as such, and you’ve had the weapon-the gun, I think it’s called-ID’d by the lab.”

“That’s not your usual line. You verified with Dickhead?”

“We’re all pulling a bit more. And I was curious. He’s in love, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“It’s a bit disturbing.”

“Yes!” She gave him a shove of solidarity. “Thank God. It gave me the serious creeps.”

Humor lit his dark eyes, and gave Eve her first lift of the day. “Which is unkind, but I confess to the same. You have the weapon ID on your office unit by now. This was another heart wound. In simple terms the barb pierced the chest, ripped straight through the heart and out the back. Your spear’s been removed, as you see, logged and sent to the lab. There are no other wounds. He had consumed just shy of eight ounces of white wine. I’m having the type analyzed.”

“I have the bottle.”

“And we’ll confirm. He’d eaten a light meal several hours before death. A salad, grilled shrimp, asparagus in wine sauce, and a small amount of vanilla bean crème brûlée.”

Despite the circumstances, her stomach yearned. “Sounds pretty good.”

“I hope it was. He did have more current stomach contents that from the variety and amount I’d say came from sampling what he was cooking, along with a little cheese, a couple of crackers. There were no drugs in his system. He was a smoker.”

“It all fits.”

“He’s had some face and body work,” Morris continued. “Minimal. He kept in good shape, his muscles are nicely toned.”

“What about her?” Eve moved to Adrianne’s body.

“She didn’t die as quickly. She’d consumed about sixteen ounces of champagne, and neutralized the effects with Sober-Up. We’ll get you the timing on that. Some party food in her stomach. Caviar, toasted bread, some berries, some raw vegetables, and so on-very light amounts-consumed over a period of two to four hours before death. No sign of sexual activity, forced or consensual.”

He lifted her hand. “There’s some light bruising on the heels of her hands, on her knees, consistent with a fall, these deep scrapes on her throat-consistent with the blood and flesh under her own nails. She’d clawed at her throat, and you see she broke three of her nails, snapping two below the quick.”

“Dragging at the whip.”

“It circled her neck three times, and with force. Tearing the skin in these patterns here, constricting her airway, bruising her larynx.”

“She couldn’t have screamed.”

“No. And if you look… Do you want goggles?”

“No, I can see.” But she bent down closer. “He jerked her-maybe even pulled her off her feet. Then jerked again, but upward-that would be dragging her up, hoisting her on the branch. Her neck’s not broken.” She glanced at Morris for confirmation, got a shake of the head. “So it would’ve been painful and terrifying, and endless. Just a minute, maybe two, but endless.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” With Eve, he looked down at the body. “She would have suffered.”

“Her parents will be contacting you.”

“I’ll tell them it was quick, and she didn’t feel any pain.” He touched a hand to Eve’s arm briefly. “They’ll want to believe me, so they will.”

As she walked back down that white tunnel, she wished she could believe it.

EVE HIT THE BULLPEN AT HOMICIDE LIKE A blaster.

“Trueheart.”

He jolted in his seat, then knocked a short stack of file discs to the floor as he sprang to attention. “Sir!”

“Whatever you’re doing, stop doing it. I’m going to send you a list of weapons-images, makes, models, ID numbers where applicable. Run them. I want a complete list of vendors, outlets, collectors, and licenses. Cross-reference same with Dudley and Moriarity, personally, through their companies-Dudley and Son and Intelicore, respectively, all arms and locations-and family members, living and dead. Include ex-wives and their family members, living and dead.

“Questions?”

While his eyes were wide enough to swallow Pluto, he shook his head. “Ah… no, sir.”

“Good. Baxter.”

He sat as he was, smiled a little. “Yo.”

“Same weapons list. I want names and locations of hunting clubs, hunting and/or fishing venues that allow the use of crossbows and/or harpoon guns. Stick with first-class venues, extreme first-class. On and off planet.”

He straightened now. “You want every one of them in the universe?”

“And when you’ve got them, get the member list or client list. Find Dudley and/or Moriarity. They’ve practiced. More, they’re show-offs. They’ve used those weapons somewhere, sometime.”

“Reineke, Jenkinson, I want your report on the Jonas homicide on my desk ASAP. You’re going to work this case like Adrianne Jonas was your beloved mother. If Dickhead hasn’t tagged the whip yet, chew on his ass until he does. When he does, pass it to Trueheart and Baxter. Meanwhile find bullwhip experts.”

“Experts?” Jenkinson echoed.

“If I hand you a freaking bullwhip are you going to know how to wrap it around somebody’s throat? And do it strong enough to hang her by it? He had to learn somewhere, from someone. Experts, venues, trainers. Find them, contact them, dig until somebody remembers Dudley or Moriarity. Or both. Dig. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jenkinson answered as Reineke gave a thumbs-up.

“Carmichael.” As Eve turned, two voices answered.

“Detective Carmichael,” she specified, and the uniform Carmichael looked faintly disappointed. “I’m going to give you a list of names, invites to Dudley’s alibi party last night.”

“Lieutenant, I’m not caught up with the details and particulars of this investigation.”

“Catch her up,” Eve ordered Peabody. “When you are,” she continued, “contact the names. Both suspects left the premises at some point: Moriarity most likely shortly before twenty-two hundred and likely returned before twenty-three hundred; Dudley between two and two-thirty, returning sometime after three hundred hours. Dudley may have been in the company of the last vic. Find somebody who noticed, somebody who missed them. When you’re done with the guest list, start on the staff, permanent and any hired for the event.

“New guy.” Eve pointed at a young, broad-shouldered man who’d transferred in the days before she’d left for vacation.

“Detective Santiago, Lieutenant.”

“Right. Work with Carmichael.” She tried to think what went into it when Roarke threw a fancy party. “Dudley probably had some valets for parking. Some of the guests likely came and went with private car services. He’d have had catering, servers, people who don’t have any particular reason to be overly loyal. Service providers are invisible to these people, and that’s a vulnerability because they don’t consider those service providers to have the wit to notice, or the balls to talk. Find somebody with wit and balls.”