Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(6)

His sunny ponytail swung; his forest of ear hoops sparkled.

“No cams on this area,” he told them. “Low security, quiet neighborhood. Sorry.”

“Since you’re here, you can knock on doors with the first on scene. See if anyone saw her dumped here.”

With her record on, Eve crouched, opened her field kit. “Victim’s identified as Elder, Lauren, female, age twenty-six, missing since May twenty-eight. And held against her will by the look of the marks on her right wrist and left ankle. Her clothes appear undisturbed. If there was sexual assault, the killer dressed her again.”

Frowning, Eve sniffed, leaned closer, sniffed again. “She’s wearing perfume.”

“Full makeup, too,” Peabody commented. “Perfect makeup, and her hair’s unmussed.”

“Yeah, nail polish looks fresh. A woman held against her will isn’t usually so worried about appearance. He fixed her up, that’s how it went. Bad Mommy. She doesn’t look like a mom, does she? More like the let’s-party type. Maybe mommy’s a sexual deal here.”

Frowning again, she pulled out microgoggles, bent down to the midriff exposed by the short, glittery top. “This belly bar thing? I think that’s recent. It’s still a little red. ME to confirm, but that looks fresh to me. Why does anyone stick holes in their navels?”

“If I had those abs…”

Eve spared Peabody a glance. “Odds are she didn’t get a choice about the piercing.” With one finger, Eve loosened the black ribbon. “Or having her throat cut.”

“Jesus, he stitched her back up.”

“And carefully. Definitely the dump spot. He didn’t do all this to her here. And there’s your COD.” She took out a gauge. “TOD twenty-two-twenty. Perfume’s stronger up by the throat. Let’s see if we can get a sample for the lab.”

“I’m betting there’s product in her hair.” With a sealed finger, Peabody touched the victim’s hair. “Yeah, it’s got setting gel, maybe spray, too. To hold that spiky style.”

“We’ve got Harvo, Queen of Hair and Fiber. She’ll nail that down. Our perp left us a lot. We can ID the makeup, any hair gunk, maybe the nail polish. Let’s find out if these are her clothes, because maybe not.”

Curious, she pried off one of the shoes. “A little tight. Not her size. Same polish on the toes, and perfect. She’s really clean, too. No way you can be shackled for over a week and stay this clean and shiny. So he washed her. Maybe they can ID what he used on her.”

“I’m not seeing any other injuries. Nothing to indicate he knocked her around.” Peabody secured a swab, bagged it.

“Let’s turn her over.”

Together they rolled the body.

“Tattoo, lower back. A big butterfly, blue with yellow markings. This is fresh, too, Peabody. It can’t be more than a few days old. It’s not all the way healed.”

“It looks professional. I mean it sure doesn’t look like a home job. A way of branding her?” Peabody wondered. “The tat, the piercing.”

“Maybe. Making her into some image. This is what I want, so this is how you’ll look. Is she blond in her ID shot?”

“Yeah, but her hair’s longer, past her chin. Smooth bob in the ID shot.”

Peabody shook back her own dark hair with the red tips, brought up the photo on her PPC. “And see? The makeup’s more subtle, more natural. Nothing on here, since I’m looking for identifying marks, like a tat.”

“Image somewhere in the perp’s head,” Eve concluded. “And she was adjusted to fit it. Her next of kin’s in Flatbush.” Eve scanned the details on Peabody’s handheld. “Both parents. We’ll take the wit, the cohab, then do the notification. Let’s call in the sweepers and the morgue, then we’ll get a follow-up statement from the LC.”

Eve stepped back, looked at the playground, the climbing things, the sliding things, the spinning things.

“This is going to be Bella’s playground when Mavis and Leonardo move into the new house. And you and McNab. Hell, number-two kid when it gets here.”

“Yeah, like I said, close to home.”

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going to bust the killer’s ass for murder, and we’re going to bust it for screwing with Bella’s playground.”

The witness couldn’t add anything, so they drove to the victim’s apartment.

“Decent security,” Eve noted, studying the building. She bypassed the buzzers, mastered through the locks into a small lobby. “Clean. We’re going to three.” And ignoring the set of elevators, took the stairs.

“She worked at Arnold’s four years.” Peabody read off the data as they climbed. “College before that, hospitality major. Busted for disorderly conduct twice. Looks like college protests. No marriages, this was her first official cohab. Parents—married twenty-nine years—in Flatbush. She was the oldest of three. Brothers, age twenty-four and twenty. Oldest is in grad school, youngest in college, and both list their primary address with the parents.”

Eve heard the mumble of morning shows behind closed doors when they came out on three. Otherwise, the floor was nearly as quiet as the stairway.

She pressed the buzzer on 305. No palm plate, no door cam, she noted, but solid locks and a Judas hole.