Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(56)

“Twins, right?” Peabody asked.

“Right. One of each variety. Amber Grace and Austen Dean.”

“Great names,” Peabody said before Eve could pull the conversation back to business. “How are you all doing?”

“We’re all doing mag. Due to our two-for-one sale, Daddy and I are sharing extended family leave, each working part-time. Plus, we can both do some work at home, so it’s pretty smooth. If you don’t count sleep deprivation.”

She laughed again, gestured to a couple of easels. “And I don’t, when I consider my gorgeous babies and fascinating work.”

Eve studied the first easel and the sketches of Mars’s face. Straight on, right and left profiles, even the back of the head.

The second showed lines, curves, arrows, numbers.

“Working the measurements and angles.” Elsie turned to a wall of screens. “The body type, before and after, is going to be quick and easy. Dr. Morris removes the fill from the breasts, for instance, gives me the weight. He measures the uplift, and I can reconstruct the originals. I can do the same with the calves—from the fill. And I can approximate the butt—suck job there and a lift. I go with probabilities, and we have this body shape and type.”

The screen came on—arrows and numbers again, but a full-length study of a female form.

“Bottom heavy, right?”

“Ouch,” Peabody commented and subtly checked to see if her pants were still loose.

“A little on the hippy side,” Elsie agreed, “considering the smaller bust. Thicker through the thighs—also suck and tuck there. Muscle implants—bi’s and tri’s—so you have less muscle tone here in the before image. Dr. Morris and our flesh-and-muscle tech consulted—that’s why we’re really just getting started here—and agree the subject was, before various body sculpting treatments, carrying more weight, less muscle, and in consult with Dr. DeWinter, estimate the subject’s age to have been between forty and forty-five at time of death.”

“Some of her teeth had been pulled and replaced with implants,” DeWinter added. “The rest capped. And again, a superior job. Harvo will verify, but it’s our opinion, as Morris concluded, she also underwent painful and expensive hair replacement. A kind of permanent color change.”

As Harvo was queen of hair and fiber, Eve expected to know whatever could be known in that area, and soon.

“How long will it take you to do with the face what you’ve done with the body?”

“Longer. We need to do a lot of precise measurements and testing.” DeWinter put her hand on Elsie’s shoulder. “But if anyone can do this, it’s Elsie.”

“It’s going to be like a giant jigsaw puzzle. I love puzzles.” Hands on hips, Elsie narrowed her eyes at the second easel. “I can tell you I’m close to sure her jaw’s going to be rounder, wider, her forehead broader. Same with the nose—most likely. Broader. We determined her eyes were brown before she had them changed, so highest probability brown hair. Harvo may be able to do some magic and tell us more there.”

“She won’t have been really pretty.”

DeWinter raised her eyebrows at Peabody.

“It’s just—if she’d been really pretty, it would be harder for her to change everything. She’d have some feature she liked. Her eyes or her mouth, something.”

“That’s completely unscientific, but it makes sense,” DeWinter allowed.

“I don’t care if she was kick-in-the-nuts gorgeous or scare-the-kids ugly,” Eve said. “I just need a face when you can get it. Appreciate the update,” she said to Elsie. “It gives me a sense for now.”

As she started out, Peabody said, “Can I see a picture of the babies?”

“Are you kidding?”

At Peabody’s first “Awwwww,” Eve stepped out.

“She’s the best,” DeWinter began.

“I remember. She did good, solid work on the unidentified girls at The Sanctuary.”

“I could have assigned someone else, and you might have gotten some results quicker that would have been more than good enough. But with Elsie, though it may take a bit longer, you’ll have the next thing to a photograph.”

“I’ll wait for it. How much do you figure Mars paid to have all the work done?”

“I honestly don’t know, but certainly hundreds of thousands, just for the face work.”

“Not just for vanity,” Eve mused. “Nobody’s that vain.”

“Vanity and ego would be more Dr. Mira’s area than mine,” DeWinter commented, “but I’ve certainly worked on bones of subjects who’d paid for a great deal of vanity.”

“Not just,” Eve said again. “There’s a secret in her real face. She had secrets of her own. Peabody, now! Or walk to freaking Brooklyn.”





12

Since she moved her ass fast enough and didn’t have to walk to Brooklyn, Peabody used the drive time to gather information on Wylee Stamford.

“So, Stamford’s a Brooklyn native. His parents—thirty-three years married—live in Brooklyn Heights. The mother, originally from San Juan, came here as an au pair on a work visa, married the father, who was, at that time, employed as a city maintenance worker. The mother now owns and operates Your Kids, a day care and preschool. It gets a Class A rating, so it’s a really good one,” Peabody put in. “The father owns and operates a home repair and maintenance company. Interestingly, one sister works with the mother, the other with the father in their respective businesses.”