She waded through the science-speak, the ass-burning probables, possibles, and pulled out the meat.
Sharp-bladed instrument nicked bone, blunt object on oldest wound, back of skull. Femur fracture due to forceful downward strike.
Maybe by a tire iron, Eve thought as she paced and read, paced and read.
Numerous bones in the right hand crushed.
Further testing to continue at oh-seven-hundred.
She took heart from Morris’s postscript.
Garnet’s not ready to commit, and she’s correct. But he’s one of yours. The local autopsy was badly botched here. This victim suffered multiple wounds – stabbing, beating, striking – at least a day prior to TOD. It would be a considerable coincidence for him to have fought with or been attacked by someone other than your unsubs.
“Coincidence is bollocks,” she muttered.
“As you’ve said.” Smoothly, subtly, Roarke angled himself between her and what he believed was now – another – empty coffeepot. “You – all of you – have done all you can do tonight.”
“Santiago and Carmichael —”
“Will certainly contact you if they hit on anything. But as it’s past midnight there, it’s likely they’ll need to pick it up in the morning.”
“What time is it here?”
“If it’s past midnight there, it’s past one here. It’s an hour difference.”
“That drives me stupid crazy.”
“It does.” Banner dragged his hands through his hair, kept them gripped there as if it was the only way to keep his head upright. His eyes had the hazed and dazed look of a sleepwalker. “Step across some state line and you gain an hour, lose an hour. It’s confusing.”
She jabbed a finger at him in solidarity. “See?” she said to Roarke.
“I see that our Central Time deputy needs sleep, and so do the rest of you.”
She considered feeding everybody a departmentally approved energy boost, then realized the futility. Plus she hated the way boosters made her feel. They’d all work better with a few hours down.
“Okay, we’ll call it. Meet back here at oh-six-hundred.”
“I hear that. Sorry,” Banner added. “Brain’s gone soft on me. I can’t remember how to get to my bunk.”
“Where’d they put you?” Peabody rubbed her eyes as she rose.
“Ah…”
“The Park Room,” Roarke told her.
“We know where that is, right?”
McNab nodded, got to his feet, wrapped an arm around Peabody as she leaned against him. “Yeah, it’s right down from us. We’ll guide you in.”
“??’Preciate it.” He glanced back at the board, zeroed in on Melvin Little. “He’s got more than me now. I’m not going to forget it.”
When he followed Peabody and McNab out, Eve eyed the coffeepot.
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t get to say —”
“I do, and I’d expect you to do the same for me. Your blood must be three-quarters caffeine by now. You’re vibrating with it.”