His eyes, exotic, sort of beautiful, smiled at her from behind his safety goggles.
Rylan’s chest, already spread, lay open to him.
“The cat woke me up, so I got an early start.”
“Our Galahad’s not ill, I hope.”
“No, fat and healthy. He wanted breakfast, and apparently we’re there to serve. Anything I can use yet?”
“As you see, I haven’t gotten far, but I can tell you that at this point, I see a healthy, well-proportioned female who took care of her body. Though slightly underweight—as many are in her profession—she has exceptional muscle tone. A lovely face as well, and no signs I’ve found thus far of any surgical enhancements.
“Your TOD concurs with mine,” he added. “She was enjoying some lightly salted popcorn and Diet Coke when she died.”
“I don’t get how anybody enjoys popcorn if it’s only lightly salted, but it takes all kinds. COD?”
“I’d suspect the ice pick plunged into her brain stem.”
“Ice pick.” Eve nodded.
“You’re looking for one with a spike about three inches long, with a diameter of three millimeters. It has a wooden sheath, as I found microscopic traces of wood in the wound.”
“That’s good, that’s helpful.”
He ordered his work screen on. Eve watched a spine, and what she assumed was the brain stem attached, revolve in bright yellow and blue.
“The spike entered between the first and second vertebrae, penetrated the brain stem, disrupting the central nervous system in a slightly upward angle. With that penetration, the brain ceased to transmit orders to breathe, to regulate body temperature and blood pressure, heart rate. That cessation would result in, most likely, a short seizure as the body—cut off from the brain—objected, you could say. Death followed quickly, a matter of seconds.”
“How good would you have to be to make that shot, in that spot?”
“A bit of practice.” Morris lifted his shoulders. “From reasonably close range on a sitting target, you wouldn’t need more than a rudimentary search to know where to aim, and your aim could be off a bit and produce the same results. If you’re thinking the killer needed medical training or expertise, I have to say no. May have had, certainly, but wouldn’t need it.”
“Okay.” Hands in pockets, she wandered. “Okay. Ice picks are easy to come by. They use them in bars, commercial kitchens. She worked in a place that has a bar and a commercial kitchen.”
“I thought she worked in the theater. That’s a cast recording playing now, from one of the plays she worked in.”
“She did, and doubled as a waitress. Broadway Babies.”
“Ah, a very entertaining place, if you’re in the mood for it.”
“Home bars and kitchens, too,” Eve mused. “You can pick one up at a hardware or home store, no problem.”
“I have one myself,” Morris told her. “I’ll send her tox off, but from what I’m seeing she lived clean. No signs of chemical abuse, addictions. No recent sexual activity. She never had a child and, though the blood work will confirm, I don’t see any signs of pregnancy.”
“That fits with what I know about her. So ice pick, specific kill spot for fast, quiet work. I don’t think she’s going to give us much more.”
“The dead only know what they know.”
“Yeah. And this one? She never saw it coming.”
With the rest of her morning’s agenda in place in her mental file, Eve pulled into Central. She’d juggle whatever she had to for the Mira consult, she thought as she wound her way up, shifting from elevator to glide, but she had a reasonably clear picture of the victim.
Talented, friendly, happy, unencumbered sexually or romantically with no hard-edged breakups. Financially steady, as long as she kept the second job, which by all accounts she enjoyed anyway.
Take away the method, Eve thought, and she’d have pegged Rylan as a random.
She jumped off the glide on her level as Peabody popped out of a viciously crowded elevator.
“Hey, good timing. Anything from Morris?”