“Yes, thank you, yes.”
She shot a finger at Peabody as she gave Oliver Cabot the address. “They have a parking garage. I can arrange for someone to meet you there and take you to Mina. It’s only a few blocks.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Just contact me when you arrive. Again, we’re very sorry for your loss.”
“I think you mean that. Lieutenant, can you tell me fairly, are you good at what you do?”
“I’m good at what I do.”
“I hope you mean that, too. Thank you. We’ll leave here within the hour.”
When Eve ended the call, Peabody sighed. “That was almost as rough as a notification. He tried so hard not to lose it.”
“Did you get the rooms?”
“Two-bedroom suite. I went with the concierge level. They’re going to want quiet.”
“Okay. Let’s go be good at what we do.”
* * *
Eve knew Morris was good at what he did, and hoped, as she and Peabody walked down the white tunnel of the morgue, he could tell them more about Mina Cabot.
The air smelled of chemical lemons and death sneaking under it, with an overlay of bad coffee. Their footsteps echoed off the glossy white tiles.
Behind the doors of Morris’s autopsy suite, music played. Something Eve found almost obsessively cheerful with a lot of guitars and young female voices harmonizing.
With a clear protective cape over his sky-blue suit, Morris closed his Y-cut on Mina with meticulous stitches. He’d done a trio of braids today in his long black hair and joined them together with a thick band that matched his precisely knotted—she supposed it was mauve—tie.
He looked up, paused. “It’s hateful, always, when it’s a child, so I’m giving her music girls her age generally enjoy. Cut volume by half,” he ordered, and the voices went to murmurs.
“Her parents, maybe her younger brother, are coming in. About three hours, I’d say.”
“She’ll be ready for them. Such a sweet face.” He touched the back of his sealed hand to Mina’s cheek. “Peabody, get us all something cold, would you? The killing blow had some force behind it, enough the tip of the sharp end went through her and pierced through her back between her shoulder blades. A slightly upward trajectory.”
“From below.”
“Face on, slightly below the entry point.”
“She had splinters in both palms.”
Morris took the ginger ale Peabody knew he usually preferred, cracked the tube. “The lab will analyze the weapon, but the edges were rough. She grabbed it, picked up the splinters as her hands slid over it.”
Eve nodded, paced, visualized. “Most likely? She was the product. She had value. She had the weapon first to fight someone off or defend herself. The killer gets it away from her, she fights—bruised knuckles—tries to get it back—splinters. And in the struggle, it ends up in her.”
“With some force,” Morris added.
“Somebody’s pissed enough, or distracted enough trying to control her, it rams into her.”
“It hit her heart—a blessing, I suppose, as she wouldn’t have suffered.”
“But she didn’t fall—after the blow,” Eve said. “I didn’t find any injury to indicate she fell. And I’m looking at her bare knees now—so she didn’t go down on them, either, so the killer didn’t just let her drop. But there’s a bruise on her hip. From a blow, maybe a kick?”
“A kick, likely from the slightly rounded toe of a shoe. Postmortem, but very close to TOD. No other injuries,” Morris confirmed, “other than the killing wound and her knuckles. A product, you said. Of value.”
“Abduction, not runaway. Everything points to abduction. No ransom demand, and the family would have scraped together a decent amount. She was worth more than that to somebody else, somebody who kept her in French manicures.”
“Yes, I noted that. They also kept her healthy. Body, hair, skin. No signs of illegals abuse. And she’s a virgin. No sexual penetration, no rape, no signs of sexual assault.”
Didn’t take her for personal use then, Eve concluded.
“Virgins are usually worth more. What did she eat last?”
“Now, there’s something interesting. She had a green salad with carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, chickpeas, a portion of grilled white fish and brown rice, sautéed spinach—very healthy—and a mixed berry tart.”
“Dessert?”
“A healthy, rounded meal—no alcohol in her system. Herbal tea, unsweetened. However, there are traces of vomit in her esophagus and in the back of her throat. Some scrapes on the back of her throat.”