Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(45)

“The top made it here from Tennessee. Maybe the first owner did, too.”

“You can buy vintage stuff online.”

Eve said, “Shit,” not only because that rang true, but because other cops started crowding into the elevator.

“But,” Peabody continued, “that’s sort of a crapshoot, right? You can’t be sure it’s going to fit. You don’t know how it feels until you can touch it. I mean people buy clothes online all the time because the return’s easy. But a lot of vintage shops have no return or tough return policies. People might—”

She broke off, hustling after Eve when Eve shouldered her way out the door at the next stop.

“They might buy a vintage evening gown, right? Wear it to some deal, then want to send it back. So it’s not as easy to return to specialty stores as it is to think: This sweater’s itchy, or, It’s too small in the bust—and return it.”

“The jeans were snug on Elder.”

“You want jeans to fit snug.”

“No, the waist was small on her. The waist hit way down here.” Eve tapped the side of her hand down her hip. “Harvo called them low-rise. No, ultra-low-rise. They left that indentation because he had to force the buttons closed. She was slim, but the way they fit, that low on the hip, they were a little small. So were the shoes, but not by much. How would he know Elder’s size? Did it just happen to be nearly the same as the mother’s?”

“Elder would’ve been wearing shoes when he grabbed her.”

“That’s right.” Eve shifted to Peabody on the glide. “He might have bought those shoes after—and could only get them in the slightly too small. Maybe the rest of the clothes, too, but it was the fit of the jeans that threw the size off. A waist is going to be smaller than mid-hip.”

“We’ve got a better chance of finding the vendor if he bought the clothes in the last two weeks.”

“Yeah, we do, and we’re going to get started on that. Let’s start with vintage shops in the city first. He’s not just looking for clothes, but a specific era, a specific size. Do a search, send me half. We work the ’links first, and follow up in the field.”

“This could be a break. His need to replicate, to be exacting about it. That limits his choices, so it narrows our search. I’ll get it started.”

Peabody went straight to her desk. Eve noted Jenkinson’s and Reineke’s empty stations. “Where’s the tie?” she asked Baxter.

“Caught one. Woman beat to death during possible break-in.”

“Santiago and Carmichael?”

“Caught one, too. Guy took a header out of a ten-story window, Midtown South, landed on a delivery truck.”

“Because the truck was parked on the sidewalk?”

Baxter grinned. “No, sir, boss. It was parked at the curb on West Fifty-seventh. So, physics and gravity being what they are, he either took a flying leap or got tossed.”

“At least he didn’t land on a pedestrian.”

Eve hit her office for coffee, updated her board and book with the lab data. She snatched an incoming and saw Dawber had taken her at her word, and sent what he got when he got it.

She added the highlighter and setting powder, tones, brands, to her board and book.

Eve considered contacting Elder’s mother, or her cohab, but decided to try the friend and coworker. A little less painful, maybe.

She ended the call as Peabody came in. “Got the list. More than I figured just in the city—a lot more if you hit the other boroughs and the ’burbs, but some of the more standard secondhand shops have vintage sections, so—”

“Yeah, we’ll want to include those. Elder. Size four or six, depending on the cut, according to her coworker pal.”

“It’s all about the cut,” Peabody agreed. “Like if I wanted to try something ultra-low-rise? I don’t even want to think about it. That style comes around again, I’ve gotta take a hard pass. I did look, and it did come around like for a couple years in the ’30s—but with wide legs, like flared out from the knees down, so not the same.”

“Well, that sounds … incredibly ugly.”

“I’m going with you on that. And with my body type? I don’t want to think about that, either. We’ve got ten each,” Peabody said, then turned as Detective Norman stepped into the open doorway.

He wore yesterday’s suit with a navy tie.

“Sorry to interrupt. I wanted you to know Becca Muldoon showed up alive and well. I’ve just come from verifying that and getting her statement. She eloped. Took off to Las Vegas with a customer, got married, gambled, partied. She got back this morning, and is filing for divorce. Or not. It, she claims, depends.”

“Okay. Alive and well is good. I’m going to catch you up on where we are.” She stopped when her comp issued an alert. “Hold that.”

She read it out, dragged her hands through her hair.

“We’ve got another missing woman, one who fits the physical parameters. Mary Kate Covino, age twenty-five. Works at a marketing firm though, regular hours. Not at a bar or club or joint, no night work. Still…”

“She could be Elder’s sister, Dallas.”

“Yeah, she’s just the type. Norman, if you’re clear, I’d like you to start on a list Peabody’s generated. We’re going to go talk to Covino’s roommate to start, but I don’t want this list to hang too long. It could be a break.”