“I agree. From my reconstruction, it’s my conclusion the first blow came here.” He held a finger over the body’s abdomen. “It did considerable damage, but she would have recovered from that with good and speedy medical treatment. The next, probably this, near the same area.”
“They’d be face-to-face.”
“Yes, probably very close. After that, they were more random, and more forceful.”
“Getting into it,” she murmured.
“On the back.” He ordered his screen to change views so Eve studied the victim’s back. “One or two of them, from the angle again, were probably delivered as she tried to get away, and as she fell. She was dead or at least unconscious before the majo
rity of them. Small mercy. Some bruising where she fell, but she wouldn’t have felt it.”
“Very small mercy.”
“You know who. Do you know why?”
“He’s an asshole. A screwup, even according to his oldest friend. He couldn’t or wouldn’t keep a job, girlfriend gave him the boot. He’s back living with Mom and Dad and they’re going to give him the ‘grow up or get out’ routine. I think Mom gave him a heads-up on that.”
“Being a parent is full of pitfalls, I imagine. This shouldn’t be one of them.”
“No.” How many times had she stabbed her father? Eve wondered. Had anyone counted? But then, that had been a matter of life and death—her life and death.
“Can you tell me anything about the other vic?”
“Very preliminary.” Morris walked over to the second slab. “Your TOD on scene was accurate, and again, the bat you took into evidence matches the injuries. The first blow here? The face, and with considerable force—meat of the bat.”
“Swinging away.” Eve nodded. “There’s a little jog leading to the kitchen. He stood behind it, that’s what he did. Stood behind it, and the husband comes in, starts back. Sees the wife, the blood, the body, starts to run. He steps out, swings for the benches right into his father’s face.”
“Shattered his nose, left cheekbone, and eye socket. Subsequent blows broke several teeth, the jaw, fractured the skull in three places. Before he moved down to the body. My estimate, which I’ll refine, is approximately thirty blows. Some of them straight down—head of the bat into the body. In this case, I believe the first blow would have rendered the victim unconscious.”
“I guess he got off easier than his wife.”
“She’d have suffered more, yes.”
“Did you ever fight with your parents?”
He smiled easily. “I was a teenager once, after all. It was my duty to fight with and exasperate my parents.”
“Did you ever fantasize about giving them a couple good shots?”
“Not that I recall, no. I did imagine, regularly, proving them wrong, which I don’t believe I ever did. Or running off and becoming a famous blues musician.”
“You play a pretty mean sax.”
“I do, but …” He lifted his hands. “The dead are my work, as they’re yours. Now we’ll do the best job we can for the mother and father of this asshole.”
“Yeah, we will. Thanks for the drink.”
“Always stocked for you. And, Dallas, let me thank you in advance for Thanksgiving. It means a great deal to me to be included with your family and friends.”
It made her feel a little weird so she shrugged. “Hell, Morris, how many dead have you and I stood over together? If we’re not family and friends, what are we?”
Eve drove straight back to Central. She wanted to set up her board and book, write her preliminary report—and if they didn’t bag Reinhold by the end of the day, have an appointment set with Mira for a profile and consult. And when a tour group led by an Officer Friendly piled into the elevator, she jumped off, opting for the longer but less crowded route of the snaking glides. As she rode, she pulled out her signaling ’link, noted Peabody on the display.
“Dallas. What have you got?”
“A cheese and veggie pita and soy fries. I’m at the cart, east corner of Central, and on my way in. Do you want me to grab something for you?”
Eve started to refuse, her mind on work, then had a sudden hankering. “Load up a dog. I’m already in house, heading up.”