She took it, downed it, frowned. “It tastes like… green grapes.”
“Which you’re fond of.” Now he handed her the coffee. “I’ll grab a shower. Dress warm, will you? I checked the forecast, and we’re done with the sleet, with temperatures in the single digits. A balmy eight, they’re saying, for a high.”
“That’s nobody’s high.”
She layered a tank under a cashmere sweater in slate-gray, went with black for the jacket, the pants, the boots.
He’d probably roll his eyes, she thought, say something about trying a bit of color in that way he had, but…
He stepped out, a towel around his waist, tilted his head as he studied her.
“You mean business. You look strong, tough and right on into fierce. A good choice for the day.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll never get it. Never. I’m going to get started. I guess we’ll put on the whole breakfast bonanza when the others get up.”
“Works perfectly. I won’t be long.”
“Don’t you have, like, holo-meetings with Kathmandu? Is that a real place?”
He laughed again as he moved to the closet. “It is, and I don’t. I shuffled a bit. I’ll give you some time if you need it, work from here this morning.”
She started out, stopped, walked back, wrapped her arms around him, squeezed. “I forget to do that.”
He tipped her head back, kissed her. “I see it as you remember.”
“Working on it.”
She headed straight to her office, thinking more coffee first, then diving straight in before the others crowded it. She’d have close to an hour to review, rethink and research.
But when she walked into her office, Peabody already sat at an auxiliary station, gulping coffee.
“You’re early.”
Eve nodded, kept going toward the kitchen and coffee. “You too.”
“I figured I could give the other case an hour before we started back on James and Parsens.”
The other case, Eve thought as, considering the morning, the others, went for a pot instead of a single mug.
She’d dumped that one on Peabody, and said she’d be there to help. So far, she hadn’t been.
“Fill me in.”
Peabody glanced over as Eve came back in. “You’re sure?”
“Fill me in.”
“Okay. DB’s a floater, surfaced at Pier 40. ME says six days in the water.”
“Who’s the ME on it?”
“It’s Porter. DB’s, male, between twenty-five and thirty, mixed race. He’s a John Doe as his face was bashed in, then the fish – you know. And his fingers were severed.”
“By the killer, or the fish?”