“Because I believe in symbols of love, goddamn it. There’s this big-ass tree back home. My dad carved his and Mom’s initials in it before any of us were born. And when we started coming along he built this circular bench all the way around it – gave it plenty of space between to grow more. And it has. It was so they could sit there, watching us play, and looking out over the gardens. And when each of us got to be about six, he helped us each build our own birdhouse, so there’s all these birdhouses hanging in the limbs, and wind chimes my mother made, and… It’s special, it’s really special, and it started when he carved that heart and their initials inside it. And…”
“Don’t blubber, Peabody,” Eve warned, hearing it coming.
“I’m not going to blubber. It’s just that when we went there for Christmas my parents took us both out there, to the tree, and my dad handed McNab his knife, and told him he should carve our initials in the tree. Because they know I love him, and he loves me, and they believe it’s the real, long-haul thing. It meant so much to me, just so much, because the tree, it’s special. It matters. Symbols matter, and they shouldn’t be used like this. That’s all.”
Eve said nothing until she’d pulled into the garage at Central, parked in her spot. “People defile and despoil what’s good and pure and special every single fucking day. We see it, we know it, we deal with it.”
“I know, but —”
“Shut up. You think about this. When some sick fuck uses what’s good and pure and special in his sick-fuck way, it just makes the symbol stronger and more important. It doesn’t lessen it one damn bit, unless you let it.”
Because she had blubbered a little, Peabody scrubbed her hands over her face. “You’re right. You’re so completely right. I just let it get to me.”
“It was nice,” Eve said as they got out of the car. “What your parents did, it was nice.”
She glanced over at the quick click of heels, saw Mira cutting toward the elevator from her own space.
Eve thought the color of the coat that skimmed to the knees of Dr. Charlotte Mira’s excellent legs might be called aquamarine. The heels were certainly emerald as was the hint of the dress under the coat. A sassy beret of rich sapphire blue perched on her smooth bob of mink-colored hair. She carried a purse of the same color as the beret and a shoulder-strap briefcase of supple bronze leather.
“Well, good morning. Are you just coming in, or… Peabody, are you all right?”
Instinctively, Peabody scrubbed at her face again. “Oh yeah. I just had a moment, that’s all. And I just tagged your admin to see if you could squeeze Dallas in for a consult.”
“So you’re just getting in, but not just coming on.” Mira turned her quiet blue eyes to Eve. “I’m actually not due in for another twenty minutes. I left early as I wasn’t sure how traffic would be once the snow started. I can come up with you to your office now, if you have the time.”
“I’ll make it.”
When she could grab time with the department’s top shrink and profiler, she grabbed it.
“A new case? You’ve just gotten back from holiday.”
“We got back yesterday afternoon. We caught the case about four this morning when a beat droid found the body.”
Seeing no point in wasting time, Eve started the rundown as they got on the elevator.
“Dennis and I went to the Met with friends, saw Giselle just last weekend. Your victim must have been playing.” Mira shifted as the elevator shuddered to a stop on nearly every floor and more cops piled on. “Held and tortured for two days. Sexual component?”
“None that shows. The killer used a precise flame – probably a hand torch – to inflict small burns on the genitals.”
Every male cop on the crowded car shifted, and Eve imagined cop balls shrinking up in sympathy and defense.
“No mutilation?”
“Not your standard. Broken bones, burns, cuts, bruises. Primarily torso, abdomen, limbs, broken and crushed fingers. Hacked his hair off, left insulting little tufts of it. He had a lot of thick, shiny hair.”
“Humiliation. But the face, nearly unmarked, no mutilation of the genitals. It doesn’t feel personal.”
“Somebody takes a torch to my balls, I’m taking it personal,” one of the cops said. Mira smiled at him.
“Burns heal, Officer, given the time. Personal would be slicing them up or off.”
“Acid.” Eve spoke casually. “I caught one once where the girlfriend got pissed, and when the guy was crashed on Zoner, poured acid on his balls.”
Grateful when the elevator stopped on Homicide level, Eve pushed her way through cops, did her best to make a hole for Mira and Peabody.
“Everyone with balls on that car is going to check his own, first chance,” she said, and made Mira laugh.
“I think that’s an accurate analysis.”