“Same here.” Peabody shut a drawer.
She found the bathroom just as empty, including the laundry hamper. “Even took his dirty underwear, assuming he had any. Scrubbed out the sink. Took everything he wanted—and everything fit into two suitcases—and cleaned up after himself.”
“Why?” Peabody wondered. “If we’re here, we know who he is. We don’t need his prints or DNA.”
“I don’t know. Let’s check the other room.”
And there, in the second bedroom they found pieces of Clinton Frye.
“Couldn’t fit this in a suitcase,” Eve stated.
He’d set up his own gym—machines, weights, a heavy bag, a speed bag, a glass-fronted cold box filled with more bottled water and sports drinks. A tidy stack of white towels.
Curious, she walked over to check his weight stack. “Set on three hundred pounds. Yeah, you’re a strong bastard, Frye. He spent a lot of time in here, pumping, sweating—documenting, you bet your ass—his daily reps, times. Checking himself out in the mirrors, watching his form. This is what’s important to him. This is where he lives.”
Hands on hips, she circled. “We’ll have a team do a search, but he didn’t leave anything behind. He’s precise in his way. This equipment isn’t new, but we can still try to track it to the source. Let’s find out where he got his food—his market, his take-out places, where he bought his clothes, had them cleaned. Let’s get a sense of his routine.”
“No electronics for EDD.”
“The machines,” Eve corrected. “There’ll be records of his programs, his routine there. We take what we can get. It’s not the money,” she thought out loud. “Unless it’s just the holding on to it. It’s the doing, it’s the having a job, a task. That’s all he’s got. And now he’s found killing is doing.”
“But with a purpose, right? Not killing just to do it, not bashing some guy on the street, at random. It’s still a job.”
Nodding, Eve gave Peabody an approving look. “That’s just exactly right. Milo’s goddamn lucky he’s in lockup because whether or not Alexander ordered it, he’d be a target. A job. Cleaning up, just like he did here.”
“He could go for Alexander.”
“Yeah, he could, and very likely will. Dog bites master. It happens. But not yet,” Eve calculated. “He’s got us to deal with first. I’m going to work from home. I want you to have a couple of uniforms take you back to your place, and that means all the way in.”
“Do you think he’d try to get to me like that?”
“I think he’s gearing up for tomorrow night, but no point in taking chances.”
• • •
She’d get more work done at home, Eve thought when she finally got into her car. And a little on the way, she decided, and contacted Mira.
She used the time it took Mira’s admin to remind her of the doctor’s busy schedule and the fact the doctor was about to leave for the day to set up the recording.
When Mira came on, Eve plowed right in.
“I’d like you to look at something, give me an opinion.”
“Of course.”
“This is Clinton Frye’s apartment. You got the report we’d ID’d him?”
“Yes. And I’ve glanced over his data.”
“Good. He left his apartment yesterday, early evening with two suitcases according to his neighbor.”
“He’s on the run?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s just changed locations. Take a look.”
She ran the recording, through the living room, the kitchen, and through to Frye’s personal gym.
“Solitary,” Mira said. “It’s more than a lack of style or decor, but a lack of emotion, of connection. He may, of course, have packed up any personal items along with his clothes and electronics, but two suitcases wouldn’t hold many.”