Promises in Death (In Death #28)(89)

It stank. Old piss, old vomit, a decade’s worth of dust and grime.

The uniforms had set one of their field lights on the first level, so shadows danced over the piles of rags, papers, and assorted debris the junkies had left behind. She imagined the missing floorboards had been fed into the rusted metal can to burn for warmth. Same with the few missing stair treads, she thought as she stepped over the gaps on her way up.

The light from her field kit shone over a nest of mice in one of the holes, the babies like skinned blobs sucking on their mother’s engorged belly. Behind her, Peabody said, “Eeuuww.”

“Don’t say ‘eeuuww,’ for God’s sake. We’re murder cops.”

“I don’t like mice. Or maybe they were rats. They could be rats. And Daddy wasn’t in there, so he’s somewhere else.” Peabody flashed her light left, right, up, down. “Waiting for a chance to run up my pants’ legs and bite me on the ass.”

“Should that occur, don’t say eeuuww. Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody,” Eve called out. “Homicide.”

On the second floor, in the glare of the field light, one of the uniforms moved toward the stairs. “Officer Guilder, Lieutenant. My partner’s got the nine-one-one callers secured. You want them or the body first?”

“Body.”

“He’s over here. Couple of scavengers called it in. Nothing to scavenge in here. Whatever’s left even the junkies didn’t want, but they came in to pick through. Stated they found him when they were checking out a pile of old blankets. Thought he was sleeping at first, then figured out he was dead. Called it in.”

“Civic-minded scavengers?”

“Yeah, what’re the odds? But they come off straight to me. No weapons on them. Not even a sticker. When we responded, they directed us to the body. We recognized him from the APB, called it in.”

Guilder gestured. “There he is.”

Eve stood in the doorway of what in some dim past might have been an efficiency apartment. “Yeah, there he is.”

He sat on the filthy floor, his back to the wall. He’d been stripped, leaving the small hole and dribble of heart blood on his naked chest exposed.

Nothing left to scavenge, Eve thought. That’s the way the killer hoped it would read. She crouched down as much to study the angle of the body as what surrounded it.

“Got some prints in the dust here, probably from the scavengers. These? The smears? The killer sealed up, wore crime-scene booties from the look of it. Things had gone another way, few days, a week passes, more dust. You don’t see the smears. Heart shot, dead-on. One blow, thin blade. Up close and personal. Verify ID and TOD, Peabody.”

Eve sealed up, took out a pair of microgoggles and approached the body. “Probably a stiletto,” Eve said as she examined the wound. “Don’t want any spatter, any mess. Want it quick and done. Toss rags and useless tarps over him. You might walk right by this pile in the dark. Window’s boarded. Somebody finds him, junkie, sidewalk sleeper, scavenger, most of them aren’t going to report it.”

“Prints verify. Rod Sandy,” Peabody said. “TOD one-fifteen this morning.”

“Smart. Smart. Give him time to panic, to sweat, run him around some. Then lure him here when he’s so knotted up he’s not thinking straight. You need to take him somewhere inside, covered, off the track. You’d get here first, lure him up. He’s got to be sweating. He doesn’t want to stay in a place like this. He needs to get out, you have to help me get out. I can’t stay in this rathole. And it’s like, take it easy, it’s all worked out. You might even put your hand on his shoulder. Holds him steady, gives you a target while you look in his eyes and stick him.”

She pulled off the goggles. “Strip him down so it looks like he was killed for his clothes, what’s in his pockets. But it’s not so smart to cover him up. That’s too much. Just like the single heart shot’s too much. That’s not mugging MO. Overthought it, that’s what you did. Some showing off here, too.”

“The killer should’ve messed him up some,” Peabody put in. “Then left him on top of the rags instead of under them.”

“That’s right. The kill shot indicates skill. There’s pride there. No postmortem wounds, like you’d see if he’d been flopped around while someone was yanking his clothes off. But he had to be careful, avoid leaving trace. All a waste of time anyway, because we’re not idiots.”

She straightened. “Let’s get the sweepers in, and the morgue. I’ll take the scavengers.”

They looked typical, Eve mused. Two humanlike lumps so layered in clothing and grime it was next to impossible to judge gender or age. They sat on the floor, a wheeled basket between them. It held more clothes, shoes, what might have been broken toys and any number of damaged electronics.

They identified themselves as Kip and Bop.

“Legal names would be appreciated.”

“We didn’t keep them,” Kip said. “We only keep what we want.”

Bop clutched an enormous bag. “We keep it and we use it and we sell it. It doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“Okay. You came in here to look for things you could keep or use or sell?”

“Nobody else wants them.” Kip shrugged. “Nobody lives here. Nobody cares.”