Secrets in Death (In Death 45)

“I’m going to guess whatever Mars dug up on her isn’t wholesome. Where’s she based?”

“Pretty sure in New York, they shoot the series here. I can do my own digging. But no way she’d be mistaken for a six foot male. She’s little. More like five-two.”

“We’ll talk to her. It’s unlikely some random person with that name went to the same place at the same time as Mars. She preys on rich and famous.”

“And we’ll be interviewing the rich and famous: Annie Knight, Wylee Stamford, and Missy Lee Durante. And yeah, she’s based in New York,” Peabody continued as they crossed the garage. “I’ll pin down where she’ll be when we want to work her in.”

“DeWinter first.” Eve settled behind the wheel. “Plot out the best timing for the potential marks, and we’ll take all three where they are, or push for a conversation at Central.”

Eve backed out of her slot, turned toward the exit. “And make sure the teenage actress is of legal age.”

“Hold on. Nineteen.” Peabody tightened her safety harness as Eve shot out onto the street. “No need for a child services rep.”

Eve maneuvered through traffic while Peabody worked her ’link and PPC to access schedules.

“Stamford’s easy,” Peabody announced. “He’s doing an event at Sports World in Brooklyn, from three to five today. We should be able to catch Knight at her offices-slash-studio up until five-thirty.”

“I thought you said she did some late-night thing. That’s not late.”

“It’s recorded from like four to five-thirty, then broadcast later.”

“Why?”

“Because … I don’t know, exactly.”

“Never mind.”

“I haven’t pinned down Durante yet.”

“Stamford, Knight, Durante, unless the kid turns out to be sooner and closer.”

Once they entered the hive of the lab, Eve aimed straight for the stairs, past workstations, cubes, glass work spaces where techs did their odd and geeky work.

She found DeWinter, dark eyes huge behind microgoggles, holding a skull.

“Is that Mars?”

“It is.” DeWinter chose some sort of thin gauge, turned the skull, switched on the narrow beam of light. And said, “Hmm.”

“What does that mean?” Eve demanded.

“She had superior work. Whoever operated on her face was—or is—an artist, and one with exceptional skill. I suspect the same on her body work, but I’ve only taken a cursory study there.”

“Are you going to be able to give me a face?”

“We’re working on it,” DeWinter replied, and angled the gauge toward the jaw. “I’ve seen this sort of reconstruction on accident victims who’d suffered severe facial damage. In those cases, you can see the damage as well as the repair or alterations, can date both.”

“In this case?”

“No indications of previous trauma or damage.”

She turned to a screen, ordered magnification. Studied the skull in her hand and on screen. “This complete reconstruction rarely falls under the umbrella of vanity—though some can and do become addicted to cosmetic surgery. However, what I see indicates all of the work was done at the same time. Minor work here and there after, what would be considered tune-ups. But the initial work—jawline, cheekbones, nose, eyes, forehead? All done between twenty to twenty-five years ago. I should be able to narrow that window.”

DeWinter turned back, pulled down the goggles. “I’ve worked on cases where the remains were identified through DNA, and like this, the dead had undergone a facial transformation. Criminals seeking to es

cape either the law or a rival, for instance. Someone with the connections and the finances—and the need—to completely change identities.”

“And her DNA coordinates with Larinda Mars,” Eve said.