Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(36)

He was on the bed, draped in green garland that sparkled with gold flecks. His buttery hair had been carefully styled to flow against the pillow. His eyes were shut so that lashes, lengthened and dyed a deep, antique gold lay against his cheeks. His lips matched the tone perfectly. Around his right wrist, just over the raw and broken skin, was a thick bracelet with three pretty birds etched into hammered gold.

“Three calling birds,” Peabody said from behind her. “Shit, Dallas.”

“He changed sexes, but he’s keeping to pattern.” Eve’s voice was flat as she shifted aside so that the body would be in full view for the record. “There’s bound to be a tattoo on him, and probable signs of sexual abuse. Ligature marks hands and feet, as with previous victims. We need any security discs from the hallway and the outer building.”

“He was a nice guy,” Peabody murmured.

“Now he’s a dead guy. Let’s do the job.”

Peabody stiffened, the slightest of movements that had her shoulders going straight as a ruler. “Yes, sir.”

They found the tattoo on his left buttock. If that and the clear signs of sodomy affected her, Eve didn’t let it show. She did the preliminary, had the scene secured, ordered the initial door-to-doors, and had the body bagged for transport.

“We’ll check his ‘link,” she told Peabody. “Get his date book, any data you can find on Personally Yours. I want the sweepers in here tonight.”

She moved down the short hall to the bathroom, pushed the door open. Walls, floor, and fixtures sparkled like the sun. “We can assume our man cleaned this. Donnie Ray wasn’t too concerned about cleanliness being next to godliness.”

“He didn’t deserve to die this way.”

“Nobody deserves to die this way.” Eve stepped back, turned. “You liked him. So did I. Now put it away, because it doesn’t do a damn thing for him now. He’s gone, and we have to use what we find here to help us get to number four before we lose another.”

“I know that. But I can’t help feeling. Jesus, Dallas, we were in here joking with him a few hours ago. I can’t help feeling,” she repeated in a furious whisper. “I’m not like you.”

“You think he gives a damn what you feel now? He wants justice not grief, not even pity.” She marched into the living area, kicking away scattered cups and shoes to vent a little of her frustration.

“Do you think he cares that I’m pissed off?” She whirled back, eyes blazing. “Being pissed off doesn’t do anything for him, and it clouds my judgment. What am I missing? What the hell am I missing? He leaves it all here, in front of my face. The son of a bitch.”

Peabody said nothing for a moment. It wasn’t, she thought, the first time she’d mistaken Eve’s cool professionalism for a lack of heart. After all the months they’d worked together, she realized she should know better. She drew a deep breath.

“Maybe he’s giving us too much, and it’s scattering our focus.”

Eve’s eyes narrowed, and the fists she’d jammed in her pockets relaxed. “That’s good. That’s very good. Too many angles, too much data. We need to pick a channel and zoom in. Start the search here, Peabody,” she ordered as she pulled out her communicator. “It’s going to be a long night.”

She stumbled home at four a.m. riding on the high-octane, low-quality faux caffeine of Cop Central coffee. Her eyes felt sticky, her stomach raw, but she thought her mind was still sharp enough to do the job.

Still, she jerked and had a hand on her weapon when Roarke came into her home office a few paces behind her.

“What the hell are you doing up?” she demanded.

“I might ask the same, Lieutenant.”

“I’m working.”

He lifted a brow and took her chin in his hand to study her face. “Overworking,” he corrected.

“I ran out of real coffee in my AutoChef, had to drink that sewage they brew at Central. A couple of hits of the good stuff and I’ll be fine.”

“A couple of hours unconscious, you’ll be better.”

Though it was tempting, she didn’t shove his hand away. “I’ve got a meeting at oh eight hundred. I have to prep.”

“Eve.” He shot her a warning glance when she hissed at him, then calmly laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not going to interfere with your work. But I will remind you that you won’t do your job well if you’re asleep on your feet.”

“I can take a booster.”

“You?” And he smiled when he said it, making her lips twitch.

“I may have to hit the departmental-approved drugs before it’s over. He’s not giving me any time, Roarke.”

“Let me help.”

“I can’t use you every time it gets tough.”

“Why?” His hands began to knead the tension out of her shoulders. “Because I’m not on the departmental-approved list?”

“That would be one.” The shoulder massage was relaxing her a bit too much. She felt her mind drift, and wasn’t able to snap it back to clarity again. “I’ll take two hours downtime. Two hours to prep should be enough. But I’ll crash in here.”

“Good idea.” It was simple enough to guide her to the sleep chair. Her bones were like rubber. He slipped down with her, ordered the chair to full recline.