Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(12)

She pulled her own out of her pocket, hit the button to flip out the blade. “But you’re carrying it, you’re done with her, just take it out. It’s more of the moment. She does or says something, hasn’t done or said something. He’s pissed, and swipe. Done.”

“A single slice, no hesitation marks, so yes, it could be in the moment. The stitching, now, is precise, like the rest of his work. Careful and meticulous. I sent the thread to the lab. It may be upholstery thread—stronger and thicker than what you’d use to sew on a button, for instance. And the needle would be the same, thicker, likely longer than a standard sewing needle. More like what I’ll use to close this Y-cut.”

“Not medical-grade thread, but maybe some medical skills?”

“Or sewing skills. Or—sorry for the ors,” he said with a smile. “Someone taking their time.”

“Yeah, or that or that. Or he’s just obsessively precise. No sex, no violence, no torture. What did he want from her? What did he want with her? Maybe the obvious. A mommy.”

Morris laid a hand on the victim’s shoulder. “Now she’ll never get the chance to decide if she wants to be one.”

“No, she won’t. She has family, and a cohab. They’ll want to see her.”

“I’ll contact them when she’s ready.”

“Okay. Thanks for the tube.”

“Anytime. Dallas? She was left at the playground near the house—the house our friends will live in.”

“Yeah. I’m on that.”

“I’m sure you are. We look after strangers who become ours every day. And we look after family. If Mavis needs anything, let her know I’ll be there.”

“I will. She doesn’t fit the image. She’s smaller, and Christ knows what color her hair will be on any given day. And she’s pregnant. But the pregnant thing makes her a mommy.”

“He doesn’t want someone else’s mommy though, does he?”

“I don’t think so. Still, I’m on it.”

Or would be, she told herself as she started out. She had to get to Central, set up her board and book. Think. She had questions for Mira.

She considered going by the lab, lighting a fire under Berenski, maybe giving Harvo a nudge.

Too soon, she admitted. She’d give them twenty-four hours, then she’d light fires and give nudges.

As she pulled into Central, Peabody tagged her.

“Mira can squeeze you in now if you’re on your way back.”

“I am back.”

“She’s got a short window now, otherwise—”

“I’m taking now.” Eve zipped into her slot. “I’ll run it down for her, send her the report later.”

“I’ll tell her admin you’re on your way. Hey, ask about the baby.”

“What baby?”

“The admin’s new grandbaby. Make nice,” Peabody said before Eve could object or complain, “and she may make nice next time you need a window with Mira.”

“Stupid,” Eve muttered as she crossed to the elevators. “Babies don’t have anything to do with homicide and profiling. Unless they do, and they don’t on this.”

“Just try it. It won’t hurt much.”

“So you say.” Eve cut her off and jumped in the elevator.

Since she figured now meant now, she stayed on even when cops and techs and who the hell knew squeezed on.

On Mira’s floor, she shouldered her way through the pack and out. Breathed in clear air as she moved quickly to Mira’s outer office, and the dragon at the gates.

Mira’s admin sat imperiously as always at her desk, ear-link on as she worked on whatever the hell she worked on.

She shifted her icy gaze up, pinned Eve with it.

“Dr. Mira has only twenty minutes.”

“I’ll make it quick.” She started to go straight in, then mentally rolled her eyes, ground her teeth. “Anyway, congratulations on the grandchild thing.”

The ice melted into a kind of dreamy mist. “Thank you.” She lifted a framed photo from her desk. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Eve saw what appeared to be the result of a strange mating of a trout and a very angry, possibly constipated old man. She said, “Wow.”

“So precious. Twenty minutes,” she repeated, but the misty dreamy remained.

Eve stepped in where Mira sat behind her own desk, keyboarding. She held up a finger. “I need one more minute to finish answering this. Have a seat.”

Because she wasn’t ready to sit, Eve just stood, studying the shelves that held Mira’s memorabilia, awards, photos. More babies and kids, but none with that fishy newborn look.

“Sorry,” Mira said after a moment. “It’s already a day.”

“No problem, and I appreciate you fitting me in.”

“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t need.” Rising, Mira walked to her AutoChef on her high, skinny heels the color of perfectly cooked salmon.

They matched her suit with its knee-skimming skirt that showed off excellent legs. She wore a triple chain with pale blue stones that exactly matched the buttons of the suit jacket.

It never failed to astonish and baffle Eve that anyone managed that coordination, especially as consistently as Charlotte Mira.