“Lieutenant?” One of the sweepers held out an evidence bag. “Found this at point three there. Standard pocket-sized Anti-Mugger. Might be hers. Didn’t do her a lot of good.”
“We’ll check for prints.”
“Got some hair, too. Few strays on the path, point one. Gray, so
they aren’t hers. Eyeballing, they don’t look human.”
“Thanks.”
“Probably squirrel again,” Peabody said.
“Maybe. What was her employment, Peabody?”
“Columnist, Stage Right Mag.”
Eve nodded. “Coming home then. Walking home. Oh-one hundred’s late for theater. A drink after, maybe, or dinner. A date. Shortcut it through the park. It’s her neighborhood. She’s got her spray in her pocket just in case, so no worries. Quick breeze through and you’re back on the street and almost at your own doorstep. He’s waiting for her. Got the spot picked out, knows she’ll walk right by. Takes her down from behind.”
She frowned at the slight impression on the grass one of the sweepers had already marked. “Carts her over to lay her under Ma and Pa. Finishes the job.” She shook her head again.
“Get what else you can on her. Next of kin, spouse, cohabit partner. I’m going to try Celina before we look at the vic’s residence.”
She moved away from the crime scene areas, put in the call.
Impatient, she jammed her hand into her pocket. The ’link had just switched to voice mail when Celina answered. “Cancel answering system.” Celina pushed at her hair. “Sorry, I was asleep. I barely heard the signal. Dallas? Shit, shit! Am I late for my appointment?”
“You got time. Get a good night’s sleep, Celina?”
“I did. Tranq’d the hell out of myself.” Her eyes were a little dopey, a little vague. “Still groggy. Look, can this wait until I get some coffee?”
“We had another one.”
“Another what?”
Eve saw the realization seep in, widen Celina’s heavy eyes. “Oh God. No.”
“I want some time with you. I’ll meet you at Mira’s office.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Just keep the nine o’clock. I can’t get there sooner.”
“I’ll meet you there. I’m sorry. Dallas, I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Got a mother and a sister in the city,” Peabody told Eve. “Father’s remarried and lives in Chicago. No spouse. Never married. No kids.”
“Let’s take the apartment, then the mother.”
It was a small place—dramatic and messy, as Eve thought was often the case with single women. Playbills and theater posters were her decorator’s choice. A playback of her ’link transmissions turned up several in just the last twenty-four hours of her life.
“Chatty girl,” Eve commented. “We’ve got the mother, the sister, coworkers, gal pals, and a guy called Lucas who’s apparently her romantic interest. All this chatter tells us she went to see a play at the Trinity last night, then out for supper and drinks with friends. Let’s run the friends, and see if we can ID this Lucas.”
“I’ll see what I can get from the neighbors.”
When Peabody went out, Eve continued to look around. Lived alone, she decided, but entertained men—or a man—from time to time. Date underwear in the drawers, along with a few standard sex toys. There were a few photos and holos, and two of them showed the victim with the same man.
Coffee-light skin, dark hair, neat goatee with soul patch, big smile with lots of teeth. Nice-looking guy, she thought, and she’d bet the bank his name was Lucas.