Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(62)

As Jayla’s body arched and fell, Ella-Loo watched the bruises bloom.

“I never tried any sex stuff with any of them. It gets me hot.”

“Me too.”

She glanced over, saw the gleam in Darryl’s eyes, the way his hand was working between his legs.

“Not yet, baby. Not yet. Let’s get our new friend here situated, like you said. We’re going to want to soften him up a little.”

Jayla crawled into herself, into the tight, dark space where the pain pushed around the edges. After a while, she couldn’t say how long, she heard the awful, almost inhuman high-pitched sound, one she’d heard herself make.

And knew they’d begun to soften up Reed Aaron Mulligan.

Eve read over DeWinter’s very preliminary report, again.

Too early to be conclusive – and that just burned her ass – but DeWinter believed, and Morris concurred – that a number of Melvin Little’s injuries had been inflicted prior to his fall. Some as much as twenty-four to thirty-six hours prior.

She waded through the science-speak, the ass-burning probables, possibles, and pulled out the meat.

Sharp-bladed instrument nicked bone, blunt object on oldest wound, back of skull. Femur fracture due to forceful downward strike.

Maybe by a tire iron, Eve thought as she paced and read, paced and read.

Numerous bones in the right hand crushed.

Further testing to continue at oh-seven-hundred.

She took heart from Morris’s postscript.

Garnet’s not ready to commit, and she’s correct. But he’s one of yours. The local autopsy was badly botched here. This victim suffered multiple wounds – stabbing, beating, striking – at least a day prior to TOD. It would be a considerable coincidence for him to have fought with or been attacked by someone other than your unsubs.

“Coincidence is bollocks,” she muttered.

“As you’ve said.” Smoothly, subtly, Roarke angled himself between her and what he believed was now – another – empty coffeepot. “You – all of you – have done all you can do tonight.”

“Santiago and Carmichael —”

“Will certainly contact you if they hit on anything. But as it’s past midnight there, it’s likely they’ll need to pick it up in the morning.”

“What time is it here?”

“If it’s past midnight there, it’s past one here. It’s an hour difference.”

“That drives me stupid crazy.”

“It does.” Banner dragged his hands through his hair, kept them gripped there as if it was the only way to keep his head upright. His eyes had the hazed and dazed look of a sleepwalker. “Step across some state line and you gain an hour, lose an hour. It’s confusing.”

She jabbed a finger at him in solidarity. “See?” she said to Roarke.

“I see that our Central Time deputy needs sleep, and so do the rest of you.”

She considered feeding everybody a departmentally approved energy boost, then realized the futility. Plus she hated the way boosters made her feel. They’d all work better with a few hours down.

“Okay, we’ll call it. Meet back here at oh-six-hundred.”

“I hear that. Sorry,” Banner added. “Brain’s gone soft on me. I can’t remember how to get to my bunk.”

“Where’d they put you?” Peabody rubbed her eyes as she rose.

“Ah…”

“The Park Room,” Roarke told her.

“We know where that is, right?”

McNab nodded, got to his feet, wrapped an arm around Peabody as she leaned against him. “Yeah, it’s right down from us. We’ll guide you in.”

“  ’Preciate it.” He glanced back at the board, zeroed in on Melvin Little. “He’s got more than me now. I’m not going to forget it.”

When he followed Peabody and McNab out, Eve eyed the coffeepot.

“Absolutely not.”

“You don’t get to say —”

“I do, and I’d expect you to do the same for me. Your blood must be three-quarters caffeine by now. You’re vibrating with it.”

“I’m a little wired,” she admitted.

“And if there was a single stone left for you to turn over tonight, I’d get you another pot myself, and join you.”

Maybe he would, she thought, maybe he’d just tranq her and be done. But he was right. She’d turned every stone available. Maybe she’d have a different perspective on what she’d found under one in the morning.

“Towing company takes calls 24/7,” she said as he pulled her from the room. “That’s what they do. Maybe Carmichael and Santiago will hit something tonight.”

“They’ll contact you if they do.”

“Once DeWinter puts her stamp on Little, and the other vic in her house, the FBI’s going to angle over, or start to.”

“Does that trouble you?”

“It irks on a purely – what’s it – visceral level. But the more resources the better. They’ve got people looking into Jayla, but their focus is north. They see New York as part of the pattern, not a destination.”

She noted when they entered the bedroom, Galahad had beaten them and was now sprawled dead center in the bed.