“No, if you’ve got their information, spring them. Give me five here, Detective.”
“You got it, LT.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes a moment, ordered herself to clear everything else out of her head. Work it, she ordered herself just as she’d ordered Peabody.
Lured her here, she thought. Hired her, false ID to keep his name out of her books. Facilitator. That sort would be used to going to odd places at odd times. Catering to the rich and eccentric. He’d be here first, waiting. She probably knows him, yeah, probably he’s used her before. His sort would. She’d be surprised to see him, wouldn’t she? Not expecting him, but not worried.
She circled the body. No tears in the clothing, she noted. One lash of the whip then, he’d practiced. One lash wraps it around her throat. Painful, shocking, strangling.
Frowning, Eve crouched, studying the ground.
She fell . . . maybe hands and knees. Eve detected what looked like faint grass stains on the heels of the victim’s hands, on the knees just below the skirt of her suit.
“But he’s got to get the whip over the limb. It’s not high. It doesn’t have to be. She’s what, five three in her bare feet?”
“Five two and a half on her ID. Sorry, Lieutenant.” Jenkinson shrugged when she turned to frown at him. “I thought you were talking to me.”
“Just thinking out loud. He’s got to hoist her up. He’s in good shape, and he’s tall enou
gh to manage it. But that takes some solid muscle. Or some chemical help,” she considered.
Zeus made gods out of men—or at least gave them the adrenaline rush to think so.
“He’s a user. A couple tokes to get his juices up. Maybe he brought a collapsible ladder. Hell, maybe he told her to bring one. Drag her up while she’s choking, kicking, clawing. Secure the butt end of the whip, wait until she stops kicking. Wouldn’t take long, then go home and tell your pal it’s a tie.”
“We got word there was another one last night.”
“Yeah, they’re all revved up.”
“Me and Reineke want in, Dallas. These fuckers need some ass-kicking.”
“You’re in. Get her to Morris. Have crime scene go over this area like it was sprinkled with diamonds. Let me have her address. Where’s her purse?”
“There wasn’t one. Might be some mope came by and snatched it. People will do any damn thing.”
“And leave those shoes? I bet you could sell them for a grand easy. He took her bag. She’d have a bag. For face stuff, credit, ’link. Probably had some sort of repel spray, panic button, too. He took the bag, like his pal took the wine. Sloppy, getting sloppy,” she murmured. “Cocky bastards.”
“She’s got a place on Central Park West. Didn’t have to come far to die. You want one of us with you?”
“No.” She took the address. “Finish up here. Dot every ‘i.’ And write it up. Work with Peabody on this. Sylvester Moriarity is going to have some past connection to her. You need to find it. Peabody will bring you up to date. If you’ve got anything else hot, pass it to another detective. This is priority.”
“No problem.”
She stood another moment, looking at the no longer pretty Adrianne Jonas, then turned her back and walked away.
Walking across the park, she pulled out her ’link. She just needed to talk to him for a minute, she told herself. Thirty seconds. Maybe she just needed to see his face.
God. She needed something.
“Hello, Lieutenant.” Caro, Roarke’s admin, smiled out of the screen. “If you’d just hold one moment, I’ll put him on.”
“He’s into something.” Or he’d have answered himself. “It’s not important. I’ll get back to him later.”
“I’m under orders to put you through anytime you call today. I . . . Are you all right?”
Jesus, did it show? “Yeah.”
“Hold on,” Caro said.