Promises in Death (In Death #28)(92)

“Hey!” Mavis walked, patted, swayed. “You’re back. Sorry, she’s a little fussy.”

“It sounds like she’s being hacked up with an axe.” More, Eve thought, like she wanted to hack somebody else up with an axe.

“She’s got good lungs.”

Eve jolted as Mira—a Mira in a peacock blue robe—rose from the sofa. “Here, sweetie, let me take her awhile. Come to Aunt Charley, baby girl. Yes, there we are.”

“Whew.” Mavis grabbed a mug off the table, glugged. “I brought her down here to keep from breaking eardrums upstairs. She sure is pissed.”

“Why? What did you do? That can’t be normal. You’re a doctor,” Eve added, pointing at Mira. “You should do something.”

“I am.” Mira walked, stroked, crooned. “She’s just teething and feeling mad, aren’t you, poor thing? Poor Belle. I bet you could use some coffee.”

“I bet she could,” Eve muttered.

Mavis rose, handing Mira some pink-and-blue device that Mira plugged in Belle’s mouth, then Mavis poured another mug of coffee. “Here you go. Peabody?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Since whatever Belle gnawed on took the shrieks down to sucking sounds and whimpers, Eve drank. “So . . . everybody else is asleep.”

“As far as I know,” Mavis told her. “Some conked downstairs watching vids. Others crawled off to their assigned rooms. Everyone had a mega-blast. Sorry you got called away.”

Eve kept a wary eye on Belle, whose eyes were going glassy as she sucked. “Is that thing tranq’d? Is it legal?”

“No, it’s not tranq’d; yes, it’s legal. It’s cold. The cold makes her inflamed gums feel better.” Mira stroked Belle’s cheek with her own. “She’s worn herself out. Haven’t you, sweetheart, just worn yourself out. The call was connected to the Coltraine case?”

“Yeah, one of our prime suspects is in the morgue.” Eve stayed braced, in case the baby decided to erupt again. “Callendar hit hot on Omega. I’m waiting to hear back from her. I’ve got a couple of lines to look down. I could . . . I’ll go up.”

“Do you want my input?”

“It can wait.”

“I can take her.” Mavis moved over, reached for Belle. “She’s about ready to go down again. Poor little Belly Button, Mommy’s got you. Thanks,” she said to Mira.

“I loved it.”

Baffled, because the statement seemed sincere, Eve started upstairs. “Reo’s still here, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She went up to bed about two, I think. Are you looking for input from the ADA, too?”

“At some point, yeah.”

“Why don’t I go get her?”

“It could wait . . . But why should it? Yeah, why don’t you go get her?” Eve continued up to her office, and glanced back at Peabody. “I said you could have a couple hours.”

“I’m awake. And I’m hungry. I’m going to get some breakfast stuff out, if we’re going to have a consult. You looking for protein or carbs?”

“Whatever.” Eve turned into her office. She went straight to her board and updated it. As she started to run probabilities, Peabody set a plate and a fresh mug of coffee on her desk.

“Bacon and eggs seemed right. Dr. Mira, how about some breakfast? I’m serving it up.”

“Oh. That’s an idea.” Mira came in, walked to the board. “Whatever Eve’s having is fine.” She studied the dead photo of Sandy. “One wound?”

“Yes. One stick, dead in the heart.”

“Personal again. Close work. Different weapon, different methodology than Coltraine, but the same sentiment, if you will. He likes to watch then die. Likes to be connected. Businesslike about it, but not removed.”

“Killing’s business for cops. You could say.”

“Leaving him naked. Humiliation, as with using Coltraine’s own weapon on her, taking it and her badge from the scene.”

“I guess so.” It threw her for a moment—and Eve realized it shouldn’t have—to see the woman who’d been cuddling and soothing a screaming baby one minute coolly profiling a killer the next.

“It’s a cover-up, a way to make it look like he got rolled and done,” Eve continued. “Like taking Coltraine’s jewelry, her wallet, were or could be interpreted as a cover-up, to make it initially appear as robbery. But the humiliation follows. It’s a benefit. He was covered with ratty blankets, dirty clothes, filthy tarps.”

“The killer disliked him, found him of little worth. Easily disposed of.”

“Ricker likes to dispose of people who outlive their usefulness to him.”

“Ricker may have ordered the murder, but the person who carried it out would—or certainly could—choose the method. The time, the place. Thank you, Peabody.” Mira sat with the plate Peabody brought her. “You’re focused on Coltraine’s squad. Let’s look at them.”

“I smell food.” Cher Reo, disheveled in pajamas covered with yellow daisies stopped on her way into the room to sniff the air. “And coffee. Food and coffee, please.”

“I can be the waitress.” Mavis followed Reo into the room. “Belle’s sleeping, and I’m starved. I feel like French toast.”