Purity in Death (In Death #15)(83)

"On that."

"I want to know how often she came and went, and who else visited Greene in the last two weeks. We have a list of her known associates from her parents. Peabody and I will run those. Baxter, see if any of the cops of record who questioned Greene will reach out. Feeney, Roarke, and the kid will continue to work to extract data from the units we've impounded."

"We're eking it out," Feeney told her. "We should have enough to dupe the virus in another eight, ten man-hours."

"Keep me up on that. The Greene/Wade hit follows the basic pattern. Greene was holed up in his place for the last five days. Building has live doormen on eight to midnight, in three shifts. Droid handles the graveyard. None of them saw Greene come or go in that space of time. Statements indicate this was unusual for him. He generally went out most days, and at least five nights out of seven. Third shift man verifies Greene brought a girl matching Wade's description home with him ten days ago, and that she appeared to come and go freely from that time. No one recalls seeing her exit or enter yesterday."

She turned. "Crime scene record, screen one."

The image that popped on was stark and grisly. The white-on-white living area was splashed with blood. Broken glass sparkled in thin rivers of it that had snaked and spurted their way over carpet. Overturned tables, a smashed entertainment screen, lush tropical plants that had provided a contrast to the white but were now uprooted set the stage for the girl's body.

She had been flung facedown, arms and legs spread. Her hair was long and curly and had once been blonde with sapphire highlights. Some of that gold and blue still showed through the matted blood.

Eve heard her own voice detailing the scene, saw herself step into view, and crouch by the body.

"You can see the illegals scattered over the rug. What appears to have been a hospitality bowl was found, broken, in this living area. Traces of substances identified as Jazz and Erotica were still in the damaged bowl. Switch to bedroom record."

The disc shifted, showed a large, sun-washed room done in blacks and reds. The sheets on the bed were torn off. The desk unit's monitor faced the recorder, and read:

ABSOLUTE PURITY ACHIEVED

"A smaller bowl, undamaged, can be seen here on the dresser. Various illegal substances are still in it, and others are on the floor. It appears Greene continued to use while the symptoms of the infection manifested. There were traces of blood on the sheets, probably from a nosebleed, and traces of se**n indicating he was capable of masturbating or engaging in sexual relations with Wade prior to death. Autopsy will tell us which. Wade's body showed no evidence of recent sexual activity."

"Where the hell is he?" Baxter asked.

"We'll get there. Reconstruct tells me, he probably spent some time closed up in the bedroom, popping illegals, jerking off, while in the last hours, Wade entertained herself in the living area. Ate junk food, got buzzed, watched some screen. Greene wouldn't have been good company, but hanging in a Park Avenue condo with easy access to illegals, plenty of food, lots of alcohol, was a better deal than picking up a few tricks on the street, maybe getting busted. She'd tough it out until he came around."

Trueheart raised his hands again. Baxter simply kicked him lightly, shook his head. "Uh-uh," he whispered. "She's in the zone."

"Eight transmissions came in during the last three days. Neither of them answered. They were all for Greene. She wouldn't be interested in playing his admin. At some point this afternoon, she gets up. Maybe she wants to go out, look for some action. Maybe she goes to the bedroom, but he's locked the door. Asshole. Her clothes are in there. How she's supposed to go out if she can't get her clothes, slick up some? She wants him to open the door, open the goddamn door, but he doesn't. She kicks at it, bruises her toes. Pisses her off. Bumps it a couple times with her left hip, bruises that some, too. Fuck him."

She could see it, almost feel the girl's edgy frustration. All buzzed up and nowhere to go. "She heads into the kitchen, looking for something sweet. You get a sweet attack with Jazz. Gets herself some ice cream, and feeling put out, writes ass**le on the counter in chocolate sauce.

"She turns around, and there he is. He looks bad, really bad. His nose is bleeding, his eyes are red. His breath is horrible, and the rest of him smells like a sewer. Doesn't look like he's changed out of his underwear in days. If he thinks she's going to do him now, he is so wrong."

She brought the kitchen of the condo back into her head. White and silver and red from the blood. "She says something, something a teenager thinks is clever and cutting. He hits her, hits a good one across the face. Knocks her back so she bangs her head on the AutoChef, drops her bowl of ice cream. It hurts. She hit her head hard enough to break the skin, enough to leave some skin and hair on the door of the AutoChef. It blurs her vision for a second and scares her. But not as much as seeing Greene take the knife, the big silver knife, out of the block.

"He slashes at her. She throws her hands up, and the knife slices across both her palms. She tries to run, and the blood from her hands splatters on the white wall. Then from her shoulder, probably her shoulder as he swipes at her again. He doesn't hack. No down strokes in that room. Just those long, sweeping slashes. Left to right, right to left.

"She's screaming, begging, crying, trying to run. Get away. But those swipes keep catching her. The back, the bu**ocks, the shoulders again. Through the dining alcove. He opens her up good there, hits an artery and the blood starts spurting. She's dead then. She doesn't know it. She still thinks she can get away. She makes it to the living area before she goes down on that white rug. Crawls a few inches. Then he starts hacking."