“And,” she added, fired up now, “since you made it clear you’re king of the lab, we’re notifying you of same.”
“Jesus please us, take it down a notch.” He hunched his thin shoulders and scowled. “I got your tox results right here.” He jabbed a finger at one of his screens. “Clean. No alcohol, no drugs, legal or otherwise. I bumped you up. Vic’s a kid, vic goes to the front of the line.”
Not a complete Dickhead, she thought. This time.
“Nothing?”
“Nada. No way to tell if somebody dosed her previous—say, forty-eight hours before TOD—with something that dissipates. But her tox is clean. So’s the blood samples you sent in that aren’t the vic’s.”
Eve’s antenna quivered. “Which weren’t hers?”
“I did the blood myself. My people are jammed.” He rolled down the other end of the counter, nodded at another screen.
“The sample from the shirtsleeve, the pants—both right side—don’t match the vic’s. Wrong blood type.”
“I need DNA.”
He sent her a sour look. “Are you looking at the screen, Dallas?”
“If I knew what the hell’s jumbling around on there, I’d be sitting in your chair.”
“I’m running the DNA. You shoulda paid more attention in science class.”
“I have people like you for that. How long before you ID the blood?”
“I just started the run, for fuck’s sake. Takes time, doesn’t it? Even if the DNA’s flagged for prior bad acts and whatever. I’m damn good, but I’m not a magician.”
Then his machine dinged.
DNA sample identified.
“Well, kick my ass and call me Sally! There you go.”
“Dorian Gregg,” Eve read. “Age thirteen—a few weeks younger than the vic. Freehold, New Jersey, mother Jewell Gregg, professional mother status. Father unknown.”
“She’s got a sheet, Dallas.”
Eve nodded, studying the thumbnail photo on-screen. “That’s why she popped so quick.”
“Shoplifting.” Peabody scanned her PPC. “Age ten. Truancy—got nailed twice there. Runaway—twice there, too, ages nine and eleven. She’s got an assigned caseworker.”
“Kids killing kids,” Berenski muttered.
“I don’t think so. She was there,” Eve said. “Same age as the victim, and look at her. That’s a really pretty girl. This one likes really pretty girls. Morris said that wood spear went into her with some force. Maybe another kid could manage it, maybe. But she’s five-six and a buck ten. That’s slender.”
“They got away together,” Peabody concluded.
“That reads more probable to me. Maybe, in the heat of battle, one kid could ram that weapon into another, but no way this kid then manages to get the body to another location. Not alone anyway.
“Thanks for the quick work,” Eve told Berenski. “Send me the reports, and copy Mira. Peabody, send Mira what we’ve got and let her know I need a consult. If not late this afternoon, tomorrow morning.”
“You figure some doucheball’s snatching little girls and using them for porn shit?” Berenski curled his lip again, but in disgust. “You get anything else on it, front of the line.”
“Appreciated. Let’s see if Harvo has anything.”
“Tell her I said it’s priority,” Berenski called out.
Peabody trotted behind Eve’s long strides. “You didn’t have to use the box seats.”
“So they’ll be handy next time. It’s going to be more than one.”
“More than one kid.”
“It already is more than one kid as I see it.” Eve worked her way through the counters and cubbies. “More than one running this, or grabbing girls. Pennsylvania, New Jersey. Close enough to New York, but different locations. You have to see to want, you have to study to get. And Mina wasn’t restrained.”
“Not like Mary Kate Covino and the others. Not like with Dawber.”
“Exactly. They’ve got a way to keep them contained. Maybe Mina managed to avoid the drugs if they use drugs. Cheeked them or dumped food. Two different types of girls—body type, coloring. Need to think.”
She checked the time. “We need to talk to Dorian Gregg’s mother and her caseworker, then speak with Mina’s family.”
Harvo sat in her fishbowl, keyboarding something while one of her strange tools hummed merrily along.