Vengeance in Death (In Death #6)(14)

He rolled his eyes behind her back as she strode out. “Women,” he muttered. “Always wanting a miracle.”

Eve hit a dozen bars as she worked her way down to the medical examiner’s building. She found two bar owners and three crew who lived above or behind the business. As she pulled her unit into a third-level parking space at the ME’s, she called up Peabody.

“Status?”

“I’ve got two possibles so far, and my uniform’s going to smell like smoke and whiskey for the next six months.” Peabody grimaced. “Neither of my possibles claims to have known Thomas Brennen or to have an enemy in the world.”

“Yeah, I’m getting the same line. Keep at it. We’re running out of time.”

Eve took the stairs down, then coded herself into security. She avoided the discreet, flower-laden waiting area and moved straight into the morgue.

The air there was cold, and carried the sly underlayer of death. The doors might have been steel and sealed, but death always found a way to make its presence known.

She’d left Brennen in Autopsy Room B, and since it was unlikely he’d taken himself off anywhere, she approached the security panel, holding up her badge for the scan.

Autopsy in progress, Brennen, Thomas X. Please observe the health and safety rules upon entering. You are cleared, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.

The door clicked, then unsealed with a whoosh of chilly air. Eve stepped in to see the trim and dapper form of Dr. Morris, the ME, gracefully removing Brennen’s brain from his open skull.

“Sorry we’re not finished up here, Dallas. We’ve had a flood of check-ins without reservations this morning. People — ha, ha — dying to get in.”

“What can you tell me?”

Morris checked the weight of the brain, set it aside in fluid. His waist-length braid made a curling line down the back of his snowy white lab coat. Under it he wore a skin suit of virulent purple. “He was a healthy fifty-two-year-old man, and had once suffered a broken tibia. It mended well. He enjoyed his last meal about four and a half hours before death. Lunch, I’d say. Beef soup, bread, and coffee. The coffee was drugged.”

“With?”

“A midline soother. Over-the-counter tranq. He’d have felt pretty relaxed, maybe with a slight buzz.” Morris manually logged data into his portable log and spoke to Eve across the white and mutilated remains. “The first injury would have been the severed hand. Even with the soother in his system, that would have caused shock and quick, traumatic blood loss.”

Eve remembered the walls of the apartment, the ghastly sprays of blood. She imagined the severed arteries had spurted and pumped like a fire hose on full.

“Whoever hacked him stopped the blood jet by cauterizing the stump.”

“How?”

“My guess would be a hand torch.” He grimaced. “It was a messy job. See where it’s all blackened and crispy from the stump to the elbow. Say ouch.”

“Ouch,” Eve murmured and hooked her thumbs in her pockets. “What you’re telling me is Brennen basically collapsed after the first attack — which accounts for the little to no sign of struggle in the apartment.”

“He couldn’t have fought off a drunk cockroach. Victim was restrained by his remaining wrist. Drugs administered were a combination of adrenaline and digitalis — that would keep the heart beating, the brain conscious while he was worked over.” Morris blew out a breath. “And he was worked over good. Death didn’t come quick or easy for this Irish rover.”

Morris’s eyes remained mild behind his safety goggles. He gestured with a sealed hand to a small metal tray. “I found that in his stomach along with his lunch.”

Eve frowned down at the tray. The object was about the size of a five-dollar credit. It was glossy white with a bright green image painted on it. On the other side was an oblong shape that met at one end with crossed lines.

“A four-leaf clover,” Morris supplied. “It’s a symbol for good luck. Your murderer has a strong and nasty sense of irony. On the back — that funny shape? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I’ll take it with me.” Eve slipped the token into an evidence bag. “I intend to ask Dr. Mira to consult on this case. We need a profile. She’ll contact you shortly.”

“Always a pleasure to work with Mira, and you, Lieutenant.” The communication band on his wrist buzzed. “Death Palace. Morris.”

“Mrs. Eileen Brennen has arrived and requests to view her husband’s remains.”

“Take her on into my office. I’ll be there shortly.” He turned to Eve. “No use her seeing the poor bastard like this. You want to interview her?”

“Yes.”

“Use my office as long as you need it. Mrs. Brennen can see the body in twenty minutes. He’ll be… presentable by then.”

“Thanks.” She headed for the door.

“Dallas.”

“Yeah?”

“Evil is — well, it’s not a term I like to toss around like candy. Kind of embarrassing.” He moved his shoulders. “But the guy who did this… it’s the only word I can think of that fits.”

Those words played back in Eve’s head as she faced Eileen Brennen. The woman was trim and tidy. Though her eyes were dry, her face was waxy pale. Her hands didn’t shake, but neither could they be still. She tugged at the gold cross that hung on a thin chain to her waist, tugged at the hem of her skirt, combed fingers through her wavy blond hair.