Salvation in Death (In Death #27)(8)

Morris inclined his head. “Potassium cyanide to be precise. It dissolves easily in liquid, and the dose was lethal. Enough, in fact, to have felled a rhino. I haven’t finished with him yet, but other than being dead, he appears to be a very healthy corpse. Fit as a fiddle, if not ready for love.”

“Sorry?”

“A play on an old song. The injuries were a result of his fall. He had bran cereal, rehydrated bananas, yogurt, and soy coffee about three hours before death. Sometime around puberty he suffered a broken radius, left arm—it healed well. I’m assuming he trained—let’s say religiously, because we can—and played sports.”

“That fits.”

“And may explain some of the wear on the joints, but doesn’t satisfy me regarding the scarring.”

“What scarring?”

Morris crooked his finger, then offered Eve a pair of microgoggles. “Let’s start here.” He adjusted his scope so Peabody could observe on the comp screen, then bent over Flores with Eve. “Here, between the fourth and fifth ribs. Very faint, and I believe someone made an attempt with Nu Skin or something similar to reduce the scarring. Nu Skin won’t help on the rib itself, which still carries its own scar. See here.”

Peabody made a gurgling sound behind them as Morris exposed the rib cage.

Eve studied the rib through the goggles. “Knife wound.”

“Yes, indeed. And a second one here.” He indicated the faint scar on the right upper pectoral. I’ll run tests, but my extremely expert opinion puts the first wound at no less than five, no more than ten years old, the second between ten and fifteen. And here, on the left forearm. Again, this would be barely visible to the naked eye. A good job.”

“That’s not a wound,” Eve muttered as she scanned the faint pattern on the skin. “Tat removal.”

“My prize student.” Morris gave her a quick pat on the back. “I’ll send a copy of the enhanced visual to the lab. They should be able to recreate the image your priest had on his arm. Now for something really interesting. He’s had face work.”

Eve’s head came up, her magnified eyes meeting Morris’s. “What kind?”

“A full compliment, I think. But again, I haven’t finished. I can tell you it was a first-class job, and first-class face work is very pricey. One would think out of the range of a servant of God.”

“Yeah, you would.” Slowly, she pulled off the goggles. “How long ago did he have the work?”

“I’ll need to work my magic to refine that, but again, about the same time he had the tattoo removed.”

“A priest with tats who gets into knife fights.” Eve set the goggles under a forest of red roses. “Who comes here going on six years ago with a new face. Yeah, it’s pretty interesting.”

“Who has jobs like us, Dallas?” Morris grinned at her. “Aren’t we the lucky ones?”

“Well, we’re a hell of a lot luckier than Father Dead here.”

You gotta wonder who,” Peabody said the minute they walked back down the white tunnel.

“Of course I wonder who. I get paid to wonder who.”

“No, well, yeah. But I meant about the roses. Who’d send Morris all those roses, and why?”

“Jesus, Peabody, the why’s obvious. I can’t believe I made you detective. The why is: Thanks for banging me into another plane of existence.”

“It doesn’t have to be that,” Peabody countered, just a little miffed. “It could be a thank-you for helping her move into a new apartment.”

“If you get a token for lifting furniture, it’s going to be a six-pack of brew. A big-ass bunch of red roses is for sex. Really good sex and lots of it.”

“I give McNab really good sex, and lots of it, and I don’t get big-ass bunches of red roses.”

“You cohab. Puts sex on the to-do list.”

“I bet Roarke buys you flowers,” Peabody muttered.

Did he? There were always flowers all over the place in the house. Were they for her? Was she supposed to acknowledge them? Reciprocate? Jesus, why was she thinking about this?

“And the who is probably the Southern belle cop with the big rack he’s been hitting on for the last while. Now, since that mystery’s solved, maybe we could spend a couple minutes contemplating the dead guy we just left.”

“Detective Coltraine? She hasn’t even been in New York a year. How come she gets Morris?”

“Peabody.”

“I’m just saying, it seems to me if somebody’s going to get Morris, it should be one of us. Not us us, because, taken.” Peabody’s brown eyes sizzled with the insult. “But one of us that’s been around more than five damn minutes.”

“If you can’t bang him, why do you care who does?”

“You do, too,” Peabody muttered as she dropped into the passenger seat. “You know you do.”

Maybe a little, but she didn’t have to admit it. “Could I interest you in a dead priest?”

“Okay, okay.” Peabody heaved a huge and sorrowful sigh. “Okay. The tattoo thing isn’t necessarily a big deal. People get tats then change their mind all the time. Which is why temps are smarter. He could’ve gotten it when he was younger, then decided it wasn’t, I don’t know, dignified enough for his job.”