Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(99)

“All right, then, we’ll start.”

He gave her the shower first as he wanted to light the fire and program coffee. And something else. When she came out, he held out a glass.

She scowled at it. “Uh-uh.”

“Have this, or no coffee for you.”

“Bollocks. And bite me.”

“It won’t give that nervous edge the departmental approved does, but it will give you a slow and reasonable energy lift. I’ve diluted it as you’ll chase it with coffee all day. You should trust me on this by now.”

The last booster he’d bargained her into taking had been okay, she remembered. “It doesn’t look like the last one.”

“It’s newer. We’ve been selling it for a few weeks now overseas, and in Asia. Your FDA is slower to move on such things – as your FBI and all your other acronyms and initials.”

“Not the NYPSD.”

He smiled. “That would depend on your perspective. A favor to me,” he added, held it out.

She took it, downed it, frowned. “It tastes like… green grapes.”

“Which you’re fond of.” Now he handed her the coffee. “I’ll grab a shower. Dress warm, will you? I checked the forecast, and we’re done with the sleet, with temperatures in the single digits. A balmy eight, they’re saying, for a high.”

“That’s nobody’s high.”

She layered a tank under a cashmere sweater in slate-gray, went with black for the jacket, the pants, the boots.

He’d probably roll his eyes, she thought, say something about trying a bit of color in that way he had, but…

He stepped out, a towel around his waist, tilted his head as he studied her.

“You mean business. You look strong, tough and right on into fierce. A good choice for the day.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll never get it. Never. I’m going to get started. I guess we’ll put on the whole breakfast bonanza when the others get up.”

“Works perfectly. I won’t be long.”

“Don’t you have, like, holo-meetings with Kathmandu? Is that a real place?”

He laughed again as he moved to the closet. “It is, and I don’t. I shuffled a bit. I’ll give you some time if you need it, work from here this morning.”

She started out, stopped, walked back, wrapped her arms around him, squeezed. “I forget to do that.”

He tipped her head back, kissed her. “I see it as you remember.”

“Working on it.”

She headed straight to her office, thinking more coffee first, then diving straight in before the others crowded it. She’d have close to an hour to review, rethink and research.

But when she walked into her office, Peabody already sat at an auxiliary station, gulping coffee.

“You’re early.”

Eve nodded, kept going toward the kitchen and coffee. “You too.”

“I figured I could give the other case an hour before we started back on James and Parsens.”

The other case, Eve thought as, considering the morning, the others, went for a pot instead of a single mug.

She’d dumped that one on Peabody, and said she’d be there to help. So far, she hadn’t been.

“Fill me in.”

Peabody glanced over as Eve came back in. “You’re sure?”

“Fill me in.”

“Okay. DB’s a floater, surfaced at Pier 40. ME says six days in the water.”

“Who’s the ME on it?”

“It’s Porter. DB’s, male, between twenty-five and thirty, mixed race. He’s a John Doe as his face was bashed in, then the fish – you know. And his fingers were severed.”

“By the killer, or the fish?”

“The killer. So it looks like maybe a mob hit, maybe. It sure looks like the killer didn’t want the DB ID’d if and when he surfaced.”

“DNA?”

“Yeah, I’ve got an order in, but they’re – surprise – backed up, and say at least another thirty-six. Maybe you can push them some on that.”

“I can, and will. COD?”

“Vic was stabbed, multiples, and Porter says the gut wound was COD. The finger-severing? Some ante-, some postmortem, like maybe they were trying to get information out of him, but he died – or they were trying for a ransom deal – sending his fingers as incentive.”

“What started out, potentially, as persuasion, and finished in an attempt to blur identification.”

“Yeah, that’s how it seems,” Peabody agreed. “The time in the water – the body was weighed down with old bricks, and forensic’s working on IDing those, stuffed in a jumbo recycler bag. The time in the water,” she said again, “and the fish did the usual number on the body. The bag came unsealed, so the fish got in.”

“Tox?”

“Hasn’t come in. I was leaning toward organized crime or gang, but the face-bashing – at least one blow was antemortem and broke several teeth – seems more personal. And the torture.”

“The fingers.”

“Those, yeah, that’s the big one, but there were other signs of torture.”

Eve lowered her mug. “What kind, what signs?”