J.D. Robb - Visions In Death

"We're closer. Every minute, we're closer." "I have no doubt. Well." He stepped over in his pristine blue shirt and red necktie, offered his arm. "Shall we?" She laughed, as only he could make her in the company of the dead. "Jesus, Morris, you're some number." "I am, indeed, I am." He led her to storage, checked the logs, then opened the seal on one of the drawers. The puff of cold vapor steamed out as he drew out the body tray.

Ignoring the marks of Morris's work, Eve studied the body.

"Face took more of a beating this time. Face and upper body.

Maybe he's straddling her." She put it into her head.

"Straddling her while he pounds on her." "Her jaw wasn't broken, as with Napier, but her nose was, and several teeth. The blow to the back of the head wasn't fatal. She may or may not have come around for the rest of it. My guess is not, mercifully." "The rape. More brutal this time." "If there can be degrees of brutality in rape, yes. More abrasions, more trauma. She was a bit small, vaginally.

Smaller, that is, than the other two victims in this particular area. And our killer sports one hell of a woody." "The eyes. Surer cuts than the first, not quite as clean as the second."

"You're very good at what you do, and again cause me some concern about my own paycheck. Yes. They're all three within a range of skill, but this one falls between the others." "Okay." She stepped back so he could replace the tray, seal the door.

"How close, Dallas? It's beginning to depress me, hosting all these pretty young women in my house." "It's not close enough," Eve said flatly, "until he's in a cage."

Dickie, less affectionately known as dickhead, Berenski was sitting at a long white counter in the lab, apparently compiling or assessing data on a screen.

When Eve came up behind him she saw the data consisted of a role-playing game involving a bevy of scantily clad, stupendously endowed women battling each other with swords.

"Hard at work, I see." In response, he waved a hand in front of the screen. The battling beauties laid down weapons, bowed low enough to show considerable cleavage before calling out: "At your pleasure, my lord." "Jesus, Berenski, are you twelve?" "Hey, maybe the program's evidence from a crime scene." "Yeah, one where several adolescent boys masturbated to death. You may not be on the clock, but I am." "Ten minutes recreational. Got you the shoe, didn't I?" He had, and she told herself to remember that and not crush his egg-shaped head between her hands. "Annalisa Sommers. Hair anal." "Work, work, work." He swiveled around on his stool.

"Gave that to Harvo, my best hair guy. She's a flicking genius, even if she won't put out." "I like her already. Where is she?"

He pointed one long, skinny finger toward the right. "That way, then left. Redhead. Hasn't sent me a report yet, so she's not done." "I'll check it out." Peabody let Eve get a few strides away, and kept her voice low. "That program come with male characters?" Dickhead grinned. "Oh yeah." "Ice." Eve made her way into one of the glass-walled analysis rooms and saw the redhead. "Harvo?" "That'd be me." She looked up from her work, studied Eve with eyes the color of spring grass.

Eve figured Harvo was the whitest white woman she'd ever seen still breathing. Her skin was the color of milk powder against those bright green eyes and the thin slash of mouth dyed the same screaming red as her hair.

She wore the hair in a tuft, maybe three inches high and straight up from the crown of her head. She wore a baggy black tunic in lieu of a lab coat.

"Dallas, right?" Her nails were short, and painted in thin, diagonal stripes of black and red.

That'd be me." "Peabody, Detective." Harvo nodded at both of them, gestured them in. "Harvo, Ursa, Queen of Hair." "What have you got for me, Your Majesty?" Harvo snickered, scooted a bit to the left on her stool.

"Hairlike trace recovered from vie and surrounding scene," she began. Strands of it were secured in a clear, disc seal on the work counter. Harvo popped it in the comp slot, brought its magnified image on screen.

"Hairlike?" "Yeah, see, it's not human hair or animal hair. Dickhead bounced it to me because when he eyeballed it, he made it as man-made fiber. Guy's freaking brilliant. Too bad he's a complete ass-wipe." "Hear me loudly not disagreeing." Harvo chuckled again. "I also serve as Fiber Princess. What you got here…" She revolved the image, increased magnification.

"Is manufactured." "As in rug?" Eve tugged her own hair.

"Not so much. Not likely to find this in hair enhancements or replacements. This is more fur than hair. Something you'd find on a toy stuffed animal, droid pet. It's coated, meeting federal flame retardant standards and child safety laws." "A toy?" "Yep. Now, we analyze the makeup, the dye, the…" She glanced up at Eve as text and shapes began to flash on her screen. "You want the process and deets?" "No, though I'm sure they're endlessly fascinating. Bottom line it." "Gotcha. Through my amazing, almost mystical powers, I've made the manufacturer of the fiber, and its various uses for it with this particular gray dye. Droid pet, feline, common tabby. They do kittens, young cats, full-grown, even your aged family mouser. Manufacturer is Petco. I can hunt up retail outlets if you want." "We'll take it from here. Fast work, Harvo." "I am also Goddess of Speed and Efficiency. Oh, and Dallas, fibers were clean. No skin oils, no detergents, no soil.

I'd say this little kitty was new."

Thoughts, Detective?" "How do you think Harvo gets her hair to stand up like that? It's really jazzed. But that's not what you meant." "Not even remotely." "Someone could've given Sommers the droid. We'll need to check with the friends she had dinner with after the play.

It's also possible somebody lost the thing in the park before Sommers came along, and she saw it, picked it up. Not so easy to check that out. If we crap out with the friends, we start checking the retail outlets for purchases, and try to match any with the lists EDD is already running on the chance the kitty cat was his." "Sounds like a plan. Start running with that," Eve said as they started back to Central. "I need to check with Feeney on EDO's progress, then get to Mira's for the you're -beginning-to-feel-sleepy hour." "You think he'll hit again tonight?" "I think if we don't lock some names in, if Celina doesn't have a breakthrough, and women don't stay the hell out of the parks in the middle of the damn night, Morris is going to be hosting another guest real soon."

On her way up to Feeney, she snagged a drone from Illegals and had him pump her out a tube of Pepsi from vending.

She thought her new method was working out well. The machines didn't balk, and she wasn't tempted to beat them into rubble.

A good deal all around.

She spotted McNab doing the standard EDD pace, dance, chatter when she swung in. He saw her and pranced in her direction. "Hold program," he said, and tipped down his headset. "Hey, Lieutenant. Where's your curvaceous partner?" "If you refer to Detective Peabody, she's working. Most of us do." "Just wondering if you're figuring to split end of duty.

We're hoping to finish up with pack-it-up mode tonight and start the haul-it-over mode tomorrow." He looked so damn happy, she couldn't work up any sarcasm. Any minute, she suspected the words would float visibly out of his mouth in the shape of little red hearts.

Was it something in the air? Peabody and McNab, Charles and Louise, Mavis and Leonardo. It was like a smooch epidemic.

Come to think of it, she and Roarke hadn't had a single spat, skirmish, or spew in… well, days. "Can't say when we'll clock out. She's tugging a couple lines right now, and after I talk to Feeney, we'll have more, so… What?" He'd winced. Just a quick flicker, but she'd caught it.