J.D. Robb - Visions In Death

Annalisa lay at their feet, like an offering to the gods with her hands clasped between her naked breasts. Her face was bloody and ruined, her body covered with bruises.

"Crappy way to start the day," Peabody commented.

"Yeah. A lot crappier for her." Eve fixed on her goggles, got out her gauges. "Get her ID." She began to recite what the recorder could already see.

"Victim is Caucasian female. Evidence of violence on face, torso, limbs. Broken clavicle. No defensive wounds evident.

Red corded ribbon at the throat apparent murder weapon.

Strangulation. There is evidence of sexual assault. Bruising and lacerations on the thighs and genitals." "ID'd as Annalisa Sommers, age thirty-two. Resides Fifteen West Thirty-first." "Identification now on record. Victim's eyes have been removed in a manner similar to previous victims Maplewood and Napier. Manner of assault, death, mutilation, location type, and position of body all in accordance with previous victims." "He doesn't vary much from pattern," Peabody said.

"Not much. Why mess with success? Got some hair fibers.

On her right hand, adhering to the dried blood." She tweezed them off, bagged them. And sat back on her haunches.

"What was she doing in here, Dallas? Walking through here in the middle of the damn night. They four-walled the media conference. She had to know this guy trolls the parks." "Not going to happen to her. People always think it can't happen to them, instead of thinking it's going to happen to somebody, why not me." She studied the body. "She lives close. That fits with the others, too. Odds are she had a pattern, coming through here, on her way home, or away from home. She cuts through, knows her way around. Hair's not right," Eve muttered.

"A little shorter than the others, a little darker. But still in the ballpark." "Yeah." "He'd have to be a little flexible, wouldn't he?" "Apparently." With the scene on record, the body's position logged, she turned the victim's head, lifted it. "Took a blow to the back of the head. Hard blow. Maybe he comes up behind her, comes up, hits her, takes her down. She's got some scrapes at the knees, grass and dirt in the cuts. She goes down, hands and knees." She lifted one of the hands, showed the abrasions on the heels. Then he lays into her. Beating, kicking. Violence is escalating each time. More premortem violence. Losing it.

Rapes her, carts her over, finishes the job." "We didn't hear from Celina on this one." "Noticed that?" Eve pushed to her feet. "We'll tag her in a few minutes. Let's look at the kill site." It wasn't far this time, just on the other end of the vegetable patch, along the path. Traces of blood were in splotches or sprinkles or smears, over grass and dirt.

Made it easier for him, Eve thought. He only had to carry this one about eight feet.

"Lieutenant?" One of the sweepers held out an evidence bag. "Found this at point three there. Standard pocket-sized Anti-Mugger. Might be hers. Didn't do her a lot of good." "We'll check for prints." "Got some hair, too. Few strays on the path, point one.

Gray, so they aren't hers. Eyeballing, they don't look human." "Thanks." "Probably squirrel again," Peabody said.

"Maybe. What was her employment, Peabody?" "Columnist, Stage Right Mag." Eve nodded. "Coming home then. Walking home. Oh-one hundred's late for theater. A drink after, maybe, or dinner. A date. Shortcut it through the park. It's her neighborhood.

She's got her spray in her pocket just in case, so no worries.

Quick breeze through and you're back on the street and almost at your own doorstep. He's waiting for her. Got the spot picked out, knows she'll walk right by. Takes her down from behind." She frowned at the slight impression on the grass one of the sweepers had already marked. "Carts her over to lay her under Ma and Pa. Finishes the job." She shook her head again.

"Get what else you can on her. Next of kin, spouse, cohabit partner. I'm going to try Celina before we look at the vic's residence." She moved away from the crime scene areas, put in the call.

Impatient, she jammed her hand into her pocket. The "link had just switched to voice mail when Celina answered.

"Cancel answering system." Celina pushed at her hair. "Sorry, I was asleep. I barely heard the signal. Dallas? Shit, shit.

Am I late for my appointment?" "You got time. Get a good night's sleep, Celina?" "I did. Tranq'd the hell out of myself." Her eyes were a little dopey, a little vague. "Still groggy. Look, can this wait until I get some coffee?"

"We had another one." "Another what?" Eve saw the realization seep in, widen Celina's heavy eyes.

"Oh God. No." "I want some time with you. I'll meet you at Mira's office." "I'll… I'll get there as soon as I can." "Just keep the nine o'clock. I can't get there sooner." "I'll meet you there. I'm sorry. Dallas, I'm sorry." The, too." "Got a mother and a sister in the city," Peabody told Eve. "Father's remarried and lives in Chicago. No spouse. Never married. No kids." "Let's take the apartment, then the mother."

It was a small place dramatic and messy, as Eve thought was often the case with single women. Playbills and theater posters were her decorator's choice. A playback of her "link transmissions turned up several in just the last twenty-four hours of her life.

"Chatty girl," Eve commented. "We've got the mother, the sister, coworkers, gal pals, and a guy called Lucas who's apparently her romantic interest. All this chatter tells us she went to see a play at the Trinity last night, then out for supper and drinks with friends. Let's run the friends, and see if we can ID this Lucas." "I'll see what I can get from the neighbors." When Peabody went out, Eve continued to look around.

Lived alone, she decided, but entertained men or a man from time to time. Date underwear in the drawers, along with a few standard sex toys. There were a few photos and holos, and two of them showed the victim with the same man.

Coffee-light skin, dark hair, neat goatee with soul patch, big smile with lots of teeth. Nice-looking guy, she thought, and she'd bet the bank his name was Lucas.

She took the photo into evidence. If they didn't get a last name, she'd run the picture for an ID match.

A gregarious, sociable woman who liked the theater, Eve mused. Kept up a friendly relationship with her mother and sister, had several pals, and from the conversations on the "link had a monogamous romantic relationship with a man named Lucas.

And was dead because she cut through the park to save herself three blocks.

No, Eve corrected. She was dead because someone selected her, stalked her, and killed her. If she hadn't cut through the park last night, there'd have been another time or another way.

She'd been a target. Mission accomplished.

"Lucas Grande." Peabody came back in. "Songwriter and session musician. They've been seeing each other for a while.

Neighbor said six months, or a little more. She saw the vie on her way out last night, about seven. Just waved at each other, but the neighbor thinks she was wearing jeans and a blue sweater, short black jacket." "Get an address for Grande. We'll take him after we see her mother."

Eve wasn't sure which was worse, telling a mother her daughter was dead and watching her shatter, or telling a man his woman was dead and watching him dissolve.

They'd woken him. He'd come to the door sleepy-eyed, rumpled, and mildly annoyed.

"Look, I turned the music down. I don't play it loud after ten o'clock. Nobody complains on this floor. I don't know what bug's up the ass of that guy upstairs. He's so freaking hyped, he can spring for soundproofing." This isn't about a disturbance or complaint, Mr Grande.

We're going to need to come in."

"Well, shit." He backed up, gestured impatiently. "If Bird got busted for Zoner again, it's got nothing to do with me.