Visions in Death (In Death #19)(31)

Laughing, Celina tucked her hands into her pockets. "One of these days, I predict, you'll trust me enough. Thanks," she said to Peabody. "You cleansed my palate. I'll catch a cab in a bit. I want to walk off this headache before I go home."

She started to walk, directing herself away from the path they'd taken. Then she stopped, turned. There was none of the easy humor on her face now. "It's going to be soon. The next. I don't know how I know that, but I do. It's going to be very soon."

Eve watched her go, and gift or no gift, knew she was right.

Chapter Seven

"She's really interesting." Peabody waited a beat, then slid her gaze toward Eve as they cut west, then south toward Central. "Don't you think?"

"She's not a yawn. But tell me, in specifics, what did we get from this?"

"Okay, not a lot that we didn't already know or believe or suspect."

Peabody shifted in her seat and regretted the tea. Now she had to pee, and she knew damn well Eve wouldn't stop at a handy restaurant where the flash of a badge would get her toilet privileges. She crossed her legs tight, and tried to concentrate.

"Still, the fact is it's interesting to consult with a sensitive, one as obviously gifted as Celina. I am dependable and loyal, after all."

"Just like the family schnauzer."

"I prefer cocker spaniel 'cause they've got those cute, floppy ears." She recrossed her legs. "And, in my experience, if a sensitive's made this sort of connection, they can get more if they focus and keep open. I think she will. She's hooked in, and wants to see it through."

Eve glanced in the rearview at the blast of siren. She recognized the subtle difference in tone and identified an emergency medical vehicle an instant beforet he spinning red light of the medical tech wagon came into view.

She eased toward the curb, and the rattrap she was currently stuck with driving vibrated like gelatin in the wake of the speeding wagon.

"I want you to call Requisitions, the minute we get back to Central. Beg, bribe, threaten, offer sexual favors of any nature, but get us a decent ride by the end of shift."

Peabody had her teeth clenched and did her best to speak through them. "Who's going to perform the sexual favors, should it come to that?"

"You, Detective. I outrank you."

"The sacrifices I make for the badge."

"Health clubs."

"What?"

"We're going to start checking out health clubs."

"Sir, I don't think I can tone up appreciably before dispensing sexual favors if you want the vehicle by end of shift."

"Jesus, Peabody, get your face out of the gutter."

"Well, you put it there."

Eve jockeyed through traffic. "Let us return to our sworn duty and our current investigation. If we're after a solo—and there's no evidence to lead us to suspect this was a duet or gang killing—this is one strong son of a bitch. Not just in shape, not muscle-bound, but a seriously strong guy. Guy who can carry one-thirty the distance from the kill site to the dump site, and haul that much dead weight down a small cliff of rocks, probably works out regularly and seriously."

"Could have his own equipment. Somebody really serious usually does."

"And we're going to try tracking that, too. Full-scale home gyms to start. But if we're going to use what the psychic queen gives us, she said he was proud—proud of his body. He'd want to show it off, wouldn't he? Show what he can do."

"Health club."

"Health club."

"Dallas, just offhand, would you care to guess how many health clubs we have in our fair city?"

"We start with ones who cater primarily to men. He doesn't like women. So you scratch off the girly gyms where ladies prance around in their skinsuits and drink veggie juice or nibble nutribars before their massage. No day spa attached, no salons on premises. Forget the social clubs where guys go to play on the machines and pick up dates. Scratch off the facilities that cater primarily to same-sex orientation. The g*y pickup cathedrals. We look for traditional, serious bodybuilder spots. The kind that pull in the sweaty guys with big necks."

" Oooh. Sweaty guys with big necks. Hubba. Lifting face out of gutter immediately, sir."

"Too late now," Eve muttered. "We can try another canvass of the victim's neighborhood. This guy surveilled her, got her routine. We go at it asking about an unusually tall, beefy guy. After you tackle Requisitions, contact the Vanderleas. See if either of them remembers seeing someone like that around."

"Check." Just a few more blocks, Peabody thought. Then she'd be able to pee. She squirmed, crossed her legs the other way.

"We run down home gym equipment: weight machines, virtual systems with bodybuilding programs. We check out subscriptions to magazines that— Squirming isn't going to help, you know. You shouldn't have downed all that tea."

"It's really nice of you to point that out now," Peabody shot back with some bitterness. "And squirming does too help. Oh, thank all the gods and goddesses," she breathed when they drove into Central's garage.

"Free-Ageism pop out when your bladder's full, Detective?"

"That's not all that's going to pop out." Peabody bolted from the car the instant it stopped, and ran/waddled to the elevator.