“Tube of Pepsi?”
Eve nodded, watching images flash by on screen.
“We’re working as diligently as you,” DeWinter began when the others left for Vending.
“Never thought or said otherwise. We just work differently.”
“I don’t gamble, but if I did, I’d say the odds of getting a hit on what we have now are a few hundred thousand to one.”
Eve smiled as the screen signaled, and the ID shot shared the screen with the sketch. “Pay up.”
“You can’t be sure that’s—”
“Lari Jane Mercury—Larinda Mars. She has a thing for planets. Lawrence, Kansas—that’s the Midwest and slides right in, too. Got her parents and a female sibling.”
“It’s still speculation.”
Eve pulled out her PPC, did a run on the name. “Nothing. Doesn’t exist as of now.” She took it back ten years. “Nothing ten years back. Let’s plug in age ten and take it forward. There she is again. Every other year for ID shots until the age of eighteen is standard, but … Got one at twelve. And … that’s it. Poof.”
DeWinter’s eyebrows beetled. “The child might have died.”
“Jesus, you’re stubborn, and that’s supposed to be my job. She had it erased, back to age twelve. It costs to have ID scrubbed,” Eve pointed out. “Twelve should have done it, would have done it. Who’s going to go back, especially after she changes her looks that dramatically, changes her background? Who’d know to look,” she added, “and for what reason?”
“I’ll point out we are.”
“We are because she’s dead, and even then no investigator would have looked except Morris knew she’d changed her face, her body, and that’s a flag.
“Larinda Mars was born Lari Jane Mercury.” Eve gestured at the screen. “You were wrong. You ought to admit when you’re wrong.”
“I hate to be wrong. And I wasn’t. You were just, in this case, more right.”
Eve let out a laugh. “That actually works.”
Peabody and Elsie came back with tubes of juice and soft drinks. Elsie gaped, then did a quick dance. “You hit.”
“You hit,” Eve corrected. “I’m impressed with your personal sensibilities.”
“Regardless of this result, we’ll continue the facial analysis and restructuring,” DeWinter insisted.
“Knock yourself out.” Eve shrugged.
“The investigation—and the family—deserve thoroughness and accuracy.”
This time Eve nodded. “Now you’re more right than wrong. I’ll update when you’re finished and satisfied. Smart work,” Eve commended, studying the images. “Slick, smart work.”
“Science,” DeWinter corrected, but smiled with it. “Slick, smart science.” Then surprised Eve by grinning at Elsie. “And superb sensibilities.”
“Sold. Can you get me a couple of hard copies and a disc copy?”
Elsie all but rubbed her hands together. “You bet.”
Eve cracked the tube, studied the face of the child. “Okay, Lari Jane, let’s find out what the fuck, and see if it helps tell us who killed Larinda. Thanks.” She took the hard copies and the disc. “Let’s go, Peabody. We have a really strange notification to deal with.”
She moved fast, down the steps, through the labyrinth of the lab. “Quick run on the parents’ current status.”
“Working it. It pretty much slaps down any theory about poverty or street time. James Mercury,” Peabody read off her PPC as they worked their way out. “Dr. Mercury—private practice pediatrician, still practicing after more than fi
fty years. Marilee Mercury, coowner of Kansas Gardens, a nursery and landscaping company—owns it with her sister, and has for thirty-seven years.”