Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(17)

Ben came through the archway, crossed to her. Sorrow coated him, Eve thought, like oil that might stain anyone he brushed up against. Eve thought if grief had a face, his fit the bill.

“Lieutenant. Is this necessary? Ava’s…she’s having a very hard time of it.”

“I understand this is difficult. I’m afraid NYPSD will be in and out of the house for some time yet, and several areas will remain sealed. You may want to try to persuade Ms. Anders to stay with friends for the next few days.”

“I’m working on that. I think she feels she’s deserting him somehow, if she doesn’t stay here. Brigit—a friend—offered Ava her guest suite for however long she needs it. I think I’ve nearly convinced her to go. They called from…the morgue. They told us we can’t have him yet.”

“It takes time.”

“We can go there and see him. I thought, if she’s up to it, the sooner we do that, the better.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’d take her. She needs to…We both need to…” He trailed off, shook his head. “Do you know, can you tell me, if you know…”

“It’s very early yet, Mr. Forrest. We’re actively pursuing all lines of investigation.”

“It seems like days. I know it’s only been hours, but it seems like days. Sorry.” He rubbed his fingers over exhausted eyes. “I looked you up. There was something familiar, but I couldn’t think. I just couldn’t think clearly this morning. But I looked you up. Roarke’s cop.”

“The NYPSD considers me their cop.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right.”

“I mean to say, you’re supposed to be the best there is. You solved the Icove case, and you caught that maniac who was kidnapping and mutilating those women. You’ll find who did this to Uncle Tommy.” Now, riding with grief was a plea. “You won’t give up.”

“I don’t give up.” Eve looked past him as Ava came into the room.

“Can’t we have a few hours? Can’t we have any time alone? Must you people be here?”

“Ava.” Ben rushed to her side, took her weight when she slumped against him. “The police are doing their job. We need them to do their job.”

“They’ve made him a joke. They’ve made his death a joke.”

“No.” Ben turned her into his arms, stroked her back. “Ssh, now.”

“Take me to Brigit’s, Ben. Take me away from here. I can’t bear it. I can’t stay here.”

“All right. That’s what I’ll do.” He glanced at Eve, who pointed to herself, then upstairs. Nodding, he led Ava away.

Though she’d have preferred an empty house, Eve walked back to the front door. She imagined the dark, the quality of it in the odd blue glow of the security lights. An efficient killer would have already sealed up, hair, hands, shoes. Extra protection, extra soundproofing with booties over the shoes. No chance of leaving any sort of print.

Directly upstairs, she thought. Down to business—priority business, she decided as she climbed the stairs. No squeaks, she noted, no creaks. Solid construction. Straight to the master bedroom, no detours. The door would be closed, as it was now. Not sealed though, she thought as she used her master to uncode the police seal.

She turned the knob, eased the door open. Again, it was soundless. Privacy shields over the windows, she recalled, and heavy blackout drapes over that. Tommy liked to sleep in his snug cave.

Pitch-black. It would be pitch-black. Even someone knowing the room intimately couldn’t be sure how the victim would be positioned in the bed. A pin light would be enough, she mused. Just a thin beam to show the way.

Because she didn’t want to be disturbed, she closed and locked the door behind her. “Lights on,” she ordered, and took the time to arrange the room as it would have been for the killer. “Lights off,” she ordered when she stood back at the door, and flipping on a pin light, used it to cross to the bed.

Syringe first. Knock him out. Did he stir? Feel that quick little nip over the skin? Count to ten—it doesn’t take long—count to ten, slow and steady.

What are you thinking? she wondered. Excitement, fear? Not rage, can’t be rage. He’s already beyond you, you saw to that, so it’s not rage.

Turn the lights back on now. No need to work in the dark. “Lights on, fire on,” Eve ordered.

Did you bring the rope, or did he have that tucked away?

You brought it. Have to be sure, can’t screw up now. You have to have all the tools at hand.

Was he nude already, or did you strip him? If you stripped him, where did you put the sleep clothes. A trophy?

Wrists first. Do you feel his breath, his heavy, drugged breath on your skin when you bind his wrists? They’re limp, deadweight. He’s already helpless, but you have a stage to set. Wrists first.

Then the ankles.

Set out the toys.

Time for the next dose. You want him hard. Slide the rings on his cock. How do you feel, fondling him when he’s helpless? Enjoyment or disgust? Or neither. Is it all just the next step now?

Takes time, all this window dressing. Takes time, and effort. Have to get into bed with death now to finish it.

Eve hitched up, braced a knee on the bed. Not enough leverage, she decided, and climbed on until she knelt beside her mind picture of Anders, imagined tying the last rope, winding it around his neck. Heavy head. Secure the second end of the rope and the head falls forward. It practically does the work for you.