“The sort of thing Homeland would have in its pantry.”
“I imagine so. When I had Reva under, I took her back through the steps and stages of that night. She recalled a movement to her left as she was facing the bed. She doesn’t remember this, not clearly, except under hypnosis. A movement,” Mira went on, “then a scent, something strong, bitter, and the taste of it in the back of her throat.”
“Probably sprayed her.” Eve looked over the gardens, but she wasn’t seeing the busy butterflies now, or hearing the insistent bird. She saw the candlelit bedroom, the bodies curled close together on bloody sheets. “Waited for her to come up, came in on her on her off-side, hit her with the spray. Set the rest of it up while she was out.”
“If so, it was organized thinking. Cold and organized. And still . . . much of what was done was overly dramatic—beyond the violence that shows the capability for brutality, there were added steps, complications that were unnecessary for the result we’re assuming was desired.”
“Because he was having fun with it.”
“Yes.” Pleased, Mira enjoyed her hamburger. “He was. Several misjudgments and flourishes—when simplicity would have served his purposes better—indicate to me that he gets caught up in the role he’s playing. Enjoying it, and perhaps wanting to prolong it.”
“Adding touches to a pretty tight and simple plan that unbalance the whole. What do they call it? Ad-libbing.”
“Very well put. You have organized thinking but impulseiveness as well. I doubt he was working alone. I also doubt that the one who conceived the core of the plan was the one to carry it out. Now I’m going to pass you to Morris so you can get the business over with and enjoy some of your evening.”
“It’s a little tough to enjoy anything when I know Trina has plans.” But Eve rose, walked over to Morris. “Got something for me?”
“Dallas!” Mavis popped up. “Did you know Morris played the sax?”
“The what?”
“Saxophone,” Morris said. “Tenor. It’s a musical instrument, Lieutenant.”
“I know what a saxophone is,” she muttered.
“He used to play with a band in college,” Mavis went on. “And sometimes they still get together for private gigs. They’re The Cadavers.”
“Of course they are.”
“We’re going to jam sometime, right?” Mavis asked Morris.
“Name the time, name the place.”
“Too mag to lag!” she danced off and into Leonardo’s arms.
“That’s a very happy young woman.”
“You wouldn’t’ve thought so if you’d seen her two hours ago.”
“Gestating ladies tend to swing. They’re entitled. Want a beer?”
“What the hell.” She snagged one from the cooler. “What’ve you got for me?”
“Nothing as wonderful as this cow patty. Chloe McCoy. No evidence of recent sexual activity. But . . . it would appear she’d expected some as she’d inserted protection. An over-the-counter product called Freedom. This coats the vaginal area with both spermicide and a lubricant, which protect against STDs and conception.”
“Yeah, I know what it is. You can use it up to twenty-four hours before you rock. When did she use it?”
“My best guess? An hour, possibly two premortem. And she’d also ingested fifty milligrams of Sober-Up at approximately the same time.”
“Well now, isn’t that interesting?”
To show their unity on that point, he tapped his bottle of beer against hers. “At least one hour before she ingested the termination pills. And if those were purchased on the black market, someone has a very valuable source. They weren’t generic or clones or homemade. And, the kicker: They were dissolved in the wine before they were ingested.”
“So she protects herself against pregnancy or STD, sobers herself up, cleans her apartment, gets herself a sexy outfit, and does her face and hair. Then drops a couple of fatals in her wine and offs herself.” Eve took a long pull on the beer. “And you said you didn’t bring me anything as interesting as that burger.”
“You haven’t tasted the burger yet.”
“I’ll get to it. What’s the ruling on this matter by the Chief Medical Examiner of New York City?”