Secrets in Death (In Death 45)

“He—fairly sure on he—could have stepped out, held the door shut for thirty seconds. Really wouldn’t have to bother,” she thought out loud as she circled the slab. “Even if she managed to get out and up the stairs in, say, a minute, nobody’s going to wade through the panic and—what? Do what?”

“Tourniquet off the blood flow—the flow that’s pumping out with every heartbeat. Just as you and the medicals attempted. Or cauterize the wound. Administer a transfusion.”

“Not going to happen in thirty seconds. Or ninety.”

She glanced at her wrist unit, then mimed slicing her arm.

“What do I do? That initial gush. I’m stunned, pissed. Look at my skin suit. What the fuck! I probably stumble back, grab at the wound. You son of a bitch. But he steps out, closes the door.”

“You’re already woozy,” Morris told her. “Your reactions are slowed within only seconds.”

“Right, so I stagger for the door, light-headed, maybe still too pissed to really be scared. I stumble toward the steps—it’s a good five feet. Already past the sixty-seconds mark by then. Maybe I try to call out. It’s noisy up there, and I’m weak. I pull myself up by the rail, brace a hand on the wall because I’m so dizzy. Maybe I grip the wound again, trying to stop the bleeding, but I can’t stop it. By the time I get up eighteen stairs, I’m past that two-minute mark. I still have to get to the doorway.”

“The blood’s no longer feeding your brain.”

“Not thinking now,” Eve murmured. “It’s just blind, animal instinct that keeps me moving forward. Really, I died back on the stairs. Zombie time,” she said and made him smile again.

“Basically.”

“Three minutes minimum before she made it into the bar.” She nodded at her wrist unit. “The suspect I’m leaning toward left the bar under two minutes before TOD, so likely no more than five minutes after the attack, likely nearer to four. He just had to walk up the stairs, across the bar, and out the door. I’d say he planned it out, timed it. He got lucky, as two couples were leaving as he did, but that was just a bonus.”

She intended to go back to the bar, do another round of timing the walk, at a brisk New York pace, from the restroom to the door. Just to nail it down.

But now she looked down at Mars. “Did she tell you anything else I can use?”

“As far as useful, you’ll be the judge, but she has a lot to say. I can tell you that though her official data lists her age as thirty-seven, I’d say she’s solidly a decade older.”

Eve frowned, slid her hands in her pockets. “DeWinter said the same. Still, a lot of people find a way to fudge their age. And she’s in entertainment.”

“Yes, however…” He let that go a moment as Peabody hustled in.

“It’s just now eight!”

“We started early,” Eve told her, noting her partner kept her line of sight several inches above the open chest on the slab. “Morris concludes she died roughly four minutes after the attack.”

“That’s fast.”

“And he tells me she’s about ten years older than her ID claims.”

Peabody lowered her gaze to Mars’s face. “Mid-forties then. She looks more like mid-thirties.”

“And so she should,” Morris confirmed. “She’s had considerable work done. Face and body. And yes, many people do,” he added before Eve could comment. “But not all that many have complete facial reconstruction.”

“Reconstruction.” Now he had Eve’s full attention. “How can you tell?”

“There are always little signs, even with exceptional work. And some I can feel by manipulating. The computer screening verifies. Her chin, her nose, her brow, even her eye sockets, her cheekbones—all underwent reconstruction.”

“Peabody, check and see if she was in any sort of major accident.”

“Her body,” Morris continued. “Breast enhancement, body sculpting that includes a butt lift, belly tuck—regular on both, as those treatments require tune-ups. Arm sculpting as well as calf implants.”

“Implants. On her calves?”

“To give the appearance of good muscle tone. She’s opted for a permanent bikini cut on the pubis.”

“That has to hurt,” Peabody muttered as she searched on her PPC.

“Also had the hair permanently removed from her legs, armpits. Plumping treatment—very recently—on the lips. Skin resurfacing. Again, I’d say with some regularity, and that’s full body, not only her face. She’s undergone sterilization, and has not given birth. Ah, and her hair? Root system coloring. She’s not a natural blonde, and undergoes what would be twice-yearly treatments to maintain this color.”