“Already done. Dallas, I informed Whitney. He’s moved your media conference to sixteen hundred, and will keep a lid on this as long as possible.”
Eve stepped out of the elevator, into the living area. Upmarket, she thought. Wealthy bohemian. “Who owns it?”
“Delongi, Eric, and Stuben, Samuel. Mid-divorce. The loft is on the market, and currently untenanted.”
“Lieutenant.” One of the officers stepped to her. “No visible sign of break-in, no visible sign of struggle or theft. She’s in the bedroom. A real estate agent found her. He was showing the apartment to a couple of clients. My partner’s got them in the second bedroom.”
“Keep them sequestered. We’ll work the scene first.” She stopped at the kitchen, studied the single go-cup of coffee on the counter. “Was that here when you arrived?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Record and bag, Peabody.”
She moved on, stopped at the bedroom doorway.
Not a child this time, she thought as she studied the body. But young. Early twenties. Whose daughter was she?
“Victim is female,” she began for the record. “Early to mid-twenties. Privacy screens are engaged here, and throughout the living area.” She scanned the room. “There’s no sign of struggle. Victim appears to be fully dressed.”
With her hands and feet sealed, Eve entered to examine the body. “Ligature marks on ankles, facial bruising, bruising around the neck consistent with manual strangulation. ME to confirm.”
She crouched, angled herself to see the victim’s wrists. She expected to see police restraints, as with Deena, but this victim’s wrists were bound with some sort of colorful cord.
“Cording around wrists, deviation from Deena MacMasters’s homicide. Get the ID, TOD, Peabody.”
Blood on the sheets, she noted, consistent with violent rape. She hadn’t been a virgin, not likely, but she’d suffered the same pain and terror.
“Bruising on thighs and around genital area. No underwear. She’ll have been sodomized, too, and smothered, repeatedly. It’s not a fucking copycat. Why did he use cord instead of cuffs?
“Not a cop’s kid,” she concluded. “The cuffs were another symbol. What’s the cord symbolize?”
“Victim is identified as Karlene Robins,” Peabody stated, “age twenty-six, Lower West Side address, with cohab Hampton, Anthony, employed by City Choice Realty. TOD is sixteen-thirty-eight, yesterday.”
Peabody looked over at Eve. “That’s before we had the sketch, before we had a name, before—”
She broke off when Eve held up a hand. “Irrelevant. Look for her bag, her ’link, appointment book. You won’t find them, but look. Flag for ME,” she continued for the record. “Tox screen priority.
“She’s Jaynie Robins’s daughter, the child services agent who removed Darrin Pauley into foster care during the Irene Schultz investigation. She came to show the apartment. He poses as a client, and all he needs to do is be ready when the right property comes up. Not a college student this time. That wouldn’t do the job. No, this sort of property? Young exec, or trust-fund baby. Arty type, for this neighborhood, I’d say. Likes music, or the arts, the scene. He brings her coffee. Nice gesture. Hey, I picked some up for you, too. Takes her out, sets her up, just like Deena. Except for the restraints.”
“It plays for me. Dallas, there’s no bag, no purse, nothing of hers. They’ve got a couple of comps, but they’re for show. The security station’s locked. I mastered it, and the cams are shut down, the discs removed, the drive’s been corrupted.”
“There’s building security on a place like this, too. We’re going to roll her, then I want you to check that out. I’ll start on the wits when I’m done here.”
When they rolled the body over, Eve bent down to examine the cords. “Some kind of bungee cord?”
“For kids.” Peabody blew out a breath. “You use it to hang stuff from their cribs or strollers so they can pull. Bright, primary colors and designs usually. Stimulate the eye.”
“Child services. Symbolic, like the cuffs.” He’d had fun with this, she thought. The little jabs and pokes. “Check out building security, and make sure EDD’s on the way.”
She moved to the second bedroom, signaled the officer on duty to step out. All three people began to speak at once. Eve simply held up a hand, then pointed at the man sitting alone.
“You. You’d be the real estate agent. I’m Lieutenant Dallas. Name, please.”
“Chip Wayne. I work for Astoria Real Estate.” He took out a card, passed it to Eve. “I had an appointment this morning with Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, to show them this loft. It’s just gone back on the market, and—”
She held up a hand again. “How do you gain access?”
“It’s a code. All listing agents are given a code for access, and have to input their own ID code. I just—”