Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

“Puts him out,” she continued. “Whoever’s driving helps her get him inside once they get where they’re going, maybe helps her string him up.”

“Only one deviation I’ve found thus far,” Morris told her. “Have a look at his toes.”

He offered her, then Peabody, microgoggles. Peabody eased back a step.

“That’s okay. I can see fine from here.”

Eve adjusted hers, bent down with Morris. “With McEnroy, there were scrapes and bruises on the balls and heels of his feet. He’d swing, you see, when the prod struck, or jerk. And his feet would beat on the floor or ground. But in this case—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. She elevated him a little higher. He barely had his toes on the floor surface, so he’s digging in with them to stay up, to try to relieve the weight on his arms and shoulders. They’re scraping over the floor when he swings. Anything under the toenails?”

“Funny you should ask.” Smiling, Morris straightened. “Yes, I scraped substance from under them, sent it to the lab. It’s not fiber, so not a rug or carpet, not fabric. I don’t think it’s wood. Stone or concrete perhaps.”

“Good, that’s good. She didn’t think of that, did she? Wanted him to hurt so she didn’t think of that.”

“One can never overestimate a human being’s capacity for cruelty.” Morris drew off his goggles, met Eve’s eyes. “But this one runs wide and runs deep. I hope you’re closer to her than she is to the next.”

“We think she’s using a support group for women to pick her targets,” Peabody told him.

“That’s cruel in itself, isn’t it? To take that circle of compassion and outreach to inflict suffering. Ah well, we’ll do what we do. I’ll have the full report to you this afternoon.”

“Appreciate it.”

Eve dug credits out of her pocket as they walked out, then tossed them to Peabody. “Cold caffeine.”

Peabody went for two tubes of Pepsi—hers Diet. “You okay?” she asked when Eve rubbed the cold tube against her forehead.

“Yeah. Little headache.”

“I’ve got blockers.”

“No, it’ll pass.”

“Are you worried about Tibble?”

“No. We did our job. If he has to give us a smack for it, we take the smack, then go out and keep doing our job.”

“You said ‘we.’” Smug, Peabody bopped her shoulders. “Ass partners.”

Back in the car, Eve sat for a moment, then cracked the tube. “We’re going to tell a second woman the guy she lived with liked to have some strange when she wasn’t around. She may get her bitch on over that—and we’ll be the ones that falls on.”

“It’s hard to get bitchy about the bitch on when we had to tell her the guy’s dead, and now we’re going to tell her he’s dead because he went off with the strange.”

“Here’s the thing.” Eve drank. “He cheated—on his ex with the current. Why the current believes he wouldn’t cheat on her is beyond me, but that’s usually how it goes. But, thinking from the killer’s perspective, there’s no evidence this one drugged women, raped them, abused them. He hired them. We’re going to talk to the booker, see if he went for the violent end of things with LCs, but there was no sign of that in the bedroom setup. The toys were toys. No illegals, just aids. You add the money in—him maneuvering the ex with the company she started. But even with that, he doesn’t reach the level of McEnroy.”

“But she went at him harder.” Following, Peabody nodded. “The other way around would make more sense.”

“Yeah. So that’s not in play. It’s not—from a twisted thinking—the punishment fits the crime. It’s either escalation or she had more reason to want Pettigrew to suffer.”

“Taking us back to the ex.”

“To the ex, to someone else he screwed with, or to the current.” Eve pulled out. “Let’s go to Brooklyn.”

“Okay, warrant’s in.” Peabody studied her ’link. “Jenkinson and Reineke are on tap to handle it. And … hey, the offices for Discretion are on the way to Brooklyn. We’d have time to hit there before we talk to Horowitz.”

“Even better. Plug it in.”

As she did, Peabody frowned. “They might want a warrant, too. Discretion, right?”