Eve shook her head. “He had me scared of cops, social workers, anybody who might’ve stepped in. I left him there, in that room. I don’t know how, except I was in shock. I washed up, and I walked out, walked for miles before I crawled into an alley and passed out. They found me. I woke up in the hospital. Doctors and cops asking questions. I didn’t remember anything, or if I did, I was too scared to say. I’m not sure whic
h. I’d never had the ID process, so there was no record of me. I didn’t exist until they found me in the alley. In Dallas. So they gave me a name.”
“You made the name.”
“You see it affecting the job, you tell me.”
“It does affect the job. It’s made you a better cop. That’s the way I see it. It’s made you able to face anything. This guy we’re after, whatever happened to him, whether it was as bad as what happened to you, or somehow worse, he’s used it as an excuse to kill, to destroy, and cause pain. You use what happened to you as a reason to find justice for people who’ve had it taken away from them.”
“Doing the job isn’t heroism, Peabody. It’s just the job.”
“So you always say. I’m glad you told me. It says you trust me, as your partner and as your friend. You can.”
“I know I can. Now let’s both put it away, and get back to work.”
Eve rose, held her hand down. Peabody gripped it, held it a moment, then let Eve pull her to her feet.
As much to see Annalisa Sommers again as to grill Morris, Eve made another trip to the morgue.
She found him, removing the brains of a male cadaver. It was enough to put you off, she thought, even without the soy dog in her system. But Morris cheerfully gestured her in.
“Unattended death. Fair means or foul, Lieutenant?”
Morris loved his guessing games, so she obliged by moving toward the body for a closer look. It had already started to decompose, so she put time of death at twenty-four to thirty-six hours before he’d been brought in and chilled. As a result, he wasn’t pretty. She judged his age in the upper reaches of seventy, which meant he’d been robbed out of forty or fifty years on the average life expectancy table.
There was some bruising on his left cheek, and his eyes were red from broken blood vessels. Curious now, she walked around the body, looking for other signs.
“What was he wearing?”
“Bottom half of pajamas, and one slipper.”
“Where was the top half?”
Morris smiled. “On the bed.”
“Where was he?”
“In the Conservatory, with Professor Plum.”
“What?”
Morris chuckled, waved a hand in front of his face. “Joke. He was beside the bed, on the floor.”
“Signs of disturbance, forced entry?”
“None.”
“He live alone?”
“He did, indeed.”
“Looks like he stroked out, had a big-ass brain pop.” Since Morris was sealed up, she gestured. “Open his mouth for me, peel the lips.”
Morris obliged, shifted aside so she could lean in. “But I’d talk to the domestic and find out if he or she’s the one who gave dead guy the laced nightcap that popped his brain. Reddish splotches on the gums and under the lips indicate he downed, and probably OD’d on, an illegal. Booster, or a derivative, would be my guess before tox eval. Guy was going to self-terminate for any reason, he’d have finished putting his pajamas on and gotten into bed nice and comfy first. So means are foul. Where’s Sommers?”
“I don’t know why they bother to keep me around here.” But he was grinning as he slid the brain into a tray for scan and analysis. “I expect the tox eval will verify both our suspicions shortly. Sommers is done, and in a cold box. Her family and boyfriend came in together this morning. I was able to block them from seeing her, though it wasn’t easy. I had to use official grounds.”
“The eyes aren’t public yet, and I don’t want them to be, not even to next of kin. Even family and lovers can leak to the media. More so if they’re grieving or pissed. No access outside of need-to-know to any of the vics in this investigation.”