The contents of upended drawers scattered over the floor mixed with debris from closets, cabinets. In limp gray puffs, the stuffing spilled out, like disgorged intestines, from the cushions of the faded sofa and armchair.
“It’s empty, but let’s clear it anyway.” Eve drew her weapon, peeled off toward the tiny bedroom.
It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d come in sooner, she thought, replacing her weapon. But damn, it was annoying.
“The killer wanted to make sure he got all copies of the recording. Or Asner didn’t have the original in the office. Either way, this is a thorough job. Careful, too,” Eve observed as she picked her way through, “even with the mess. He didn’t heave things around—too much noise, somebody might complain that time of night.”
“He kills Asner, tosses the office. He took Asner’s wallet, and the vic didn’t have any key code on him. So—”
“Yeah. And I missed something. The vehicle. The killer didn’t have to have transportation. No PI can function without his own ride. He could have taken Asner’s vehicle.”
She took the steps in her mind. “Loading it up, driving it here, tossing the apartment, then ditching the car somewhere, ditching or destroying the electronics. It’s thorough. He had more time to think this one through.”
“But it’s still stupid, Dallas.” Peabody toed a pile of drawer junk. “It’s a recording of a couple of Hollywood stars getting some. It’s just … it’s just not big enough for all this.”
“Yeah, it seems stupid. Seems like overkill—all around. So, there’s more somewhere. Could be Harris had Asner do another job, and he dug up something on the killer. We could be chasing our tails on the recording. Red herring, or only part of the story.”
“His fee was pretty steep.”
“So, maybe fifty for each job. Fuck.” Eve slapped her hands on her hips. “We’re ru
nning in circles. Let’s get a search team in here, save ourselves the time. And we need to verify Asner has a ride, and if so get a BOLO out for it. I want the search team to bring sensors. Asner might’ve had a hidey-hole the killer didn’t look for or find. No computer or ’links here, so he took them. It’s a lot of hauling. Let’s check around, see if anyone saw somebody loading up last night.”
After spending considerable time learning nobody saw anything, heard anything, knew anything, there or at the office building—and being offered tattoos at ten percent discount, Eve and Peabody walked back to the car.
“Sometimes I think about it.”
“What?”
“Getting a tattoo,” Peabody told her. “Just a little one. Something fun, or meaningful, or—”
“Why would you pay somebody to cut a picture into your flesh?”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“Stick with temps.” Eve pulled out her communicator at its signal. “Dallas. Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Have it hauled in. It’ll need to be processed. They found Asner’s ride parked at the Battery Park Marina.”
“Marina, water, dumping ground.”
“Yeah. I think we should do a run, see which of our friends has a boat. What’s better than dumping a bunch of electronics off a pier?”
“Dumping them out in the river.”
“It could be our killer’s using a brain this time around. Let’s head in.” She wanted to put her feet up, and start using hers.
She found the ME’s report when she got to her office, and wished she’d felt able to carve out the time to talk to Morris in person. Still, the report verified her own on-scene. Multiple blows from behind, with the falcon statue. Reconstruction indicated two blows of considerable force came after the victim was prone, and the first two of four had been enough to kill.
The tox showed the vic had several ounces of bourbon in his system at TOD. No other signs of violence or struggle.
Eve added the report, Asner’s picture, the crime scene and apartment photos to her board.
Then she got a large coffee, sat down, put her boots on her desk.
She studied the board while she drank her coffee.
All sorts of connections, she thought. All sorts of egos. Throw in sex, money, fame.
Start with sex, she decided.