Survivor In Death (In Death #20)(20)

“Military style,” she stated. “Not that you have to be military to obtain one. But it's just one more piece of the operation. Military tactics, equipment, and weapons. None of the adults did military time, or appear to have any connection to the military. Can't link any of them, at this point, to paramilitary or game playing.”

Then again, she thought, sometimes a cozy family was the perfect cover for covert or dark deeds.

“I've cleared the Dysons.” Eve glanced back at Linnie. “Have they seen her yet?”

“Yes. An hour ago. It was . . . hideous. Look at her,” he urged. “So small. We get smaller, of course. Infants barely out of the womb. It's amazing what we enlightened adults can do to those who need us most.”

“You don't have any kids, right?” Eve asked.

“No, no chick nor child. There was a woman once, and we were together long enough to consider it. But that was . . . ago.”

She studied his face, slickly framed by black hair pulled cleanly back in one sleek tail that was bound in crisscrossing silver twine. Under the clear, protective suit, stained now with body fluids, his shirt was silver as well.

“I've got the kid, the one they didn't get. I don't know what to do with her.”

“Keep her alive. I would think that would be priority.”

“Got that part handled. I'll need those tox reports, and anything that pops, as soon as.”

“You'll have them. They wore wedding rings.”

“Sorry?”

“The parents. Not everyone does these days.” Morris nodded toward the scribed band Eve wore on the ring finger of her left hand. “It's not very fashionable. Wearing them is a statement. I belong. They'd made love, about three hours prior to death. They used a spermicide rather than long-term or permanent birth control, which tells me they hadn't ruled out the possibility of more children in the future. That, and the rings, Dallas? I find that both comforts and angers me.”

“Anger's better. Keeps you sharper.”

When she walked toward Homicide in the massive beehive of Cop Central, she spotted Detective Baxter at a vending unit, getting what passed for coffee. She dug out credits, flipped them to him. “Tube of Pepsi.”

“Still avoiding contact with vending machines?”

“It's working. They don't piss me off, I don't kick them into rubble.”

“Heard about your case,” he said as he plugged in her credits. “And so did every reporter in the city. You got most of them hassling the media liaison and hammering for an interview with the primary.”

“Reporters aren't on my to-do list right at the moment.” She took the tube of Pepsi he offered, frowned. “You said most. Why is Nadine Furst of Channel 75 even now sitting on her well-toned ass in my office?”

“How do you know? Not about the ass, anybody could see Furst's got an excellent ass.”

“You've got cookie crumbs on your shirt, you putz. You let her into my office.”

With some dignity, he brushed off his shirt. “I'd like to see you turn down a bribe of Hunka-Chunka Chips. Every man has his weakness, Dallas.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'll kick your well-toned ass later.”

“Sweetheart, you noticed.”

“Bite me.” But she studied him as she broke the tube's seal. “Listen, how's your caseload?”

“Well, as you're my lieutenant I should say I'm ridiculously overworked. I was just coming in from court when I was distracted by Furst's ass and cookies.”

Keying in his code, he ordered a tube of ginger ale from the machine. “My boy's writing up the three's on one we caught last night. Double D that went nasty. Guy'd been out drinking and whoring, according to the spouse. They got into it when he crawled home, smacked each other around--as per usual according to the neighbors and previous reports. But this time she waited until he'd passed out, then cut off his dick with a pair of sheers.”

“Ow.”

“Fucking A,” Baxter agreed, and took a long gulp. “Guy bled out before the MTs got there. Damn ugly mess, let me tell you. And the guy's dick? She'd stuffed it in the recycler, just to make sure it didn't get in any more trouble.”

“Pays to be thorough.”

“You women are cold and terrifying creatures. This one? She's damn proud of it. Says she's going to be a hero to neofems throughout our fair land. Maybe so.”

“You got that closed. Anything else hot?”

“We don't have any more actives than we can handle right now.”

“Anything you don't feel comfortable passing on?”

“You want me to dump my caseloads on somebody else. I'm your boy.”

“I want you and Trueheart on witness duty. My residence.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“I'll get my boy. They did two kids?” His face sobered as they walked toward the bull pen. “Did them while they slept?”

“It'd have been worse if they'd been awake. You and Trueheart are baby-sitting the eyewitness. Nine-year-old female. Keep it off the log for now. I still have to report to Whitney.”

She moved through the bull pen, then into the glorified closet that was her office.