Indulgence in Death - J. D. Robb [27]
He glanced up, shot her a smile that put a hitch in her stride. It resembled an actual human expression.
“Yo, Dallas, looking good. How’s it hanging, Peabody?” The weirdly human smile remained in place, and made the back of Eve’s neck itch. “First day back, and you got a DB. Fancy one, too. We don’t get many crossbow bolts through here.”
“Okay. Tell me about the bolt.”
“Top of the line. Carbon with a titanium core and barb. Front two-thirds of it’s weighted heavier for increased penetration, with the back third lighter. It’s got a specialized coating that helps you pull the bastard out of whatever you shot. It’s twenty inches long. Brand name’s Firestrike, manufacturer’s Stelle Weaponry. You gotta have a license and permit to purchase, and there’s an auto-check on that. Bastard costs a hundred through legit outlets.”
For a moment Eve said nothing, wasn’t certain she could. She hadn’t threatened, insulted, bribed, or even snarled, and he’d given her more data in one shot than she usually beat out of him in a full meet.
“Okay . . . That’s good to know.”
“No prints, no trace but the vic’s. But I got the code, manufacturer codes them in case of defect and whatnot. It was made in April of last year, shipped to New York from Germany. Only two outlets in the city. I got those.” He offered her a disc. “All the data’s in there.”
“Did you get bashed on the head recently?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Anything out of the vehicle?”
“We got the ’link transes and the trip log. We’re still processing the rest. It’s a damn big bastard. Prelim doesn’t turn up prints or trace, not even a loose hair, except for the driver’s. Cleanest damn car I’ve ever seen, if you don’t count the blood in the front.”
“Okay,” she said for a third time, at a loss. “Good work.”
“That’s what we do around here,” he said so cheerfully her stomach threatened to curdle. “You go catch the bad guy.”
“Right.” Eve slid a glance at Peabody as they left. “What the fuck was that? Is it like that vid, with the people and the pods and the dupes?”
“Oh, that’s a scary one. It’s sort of like that. He’s in love.”
“What with?”
“Who,” Peabody said with a laugh. “Apparently he met somebody a few weeks ago, and he’s in love. He’s happy.”
“He’s fucking creepy, that’s what he is. I think I like him better when he’s a dick. He kept smiling.”
“Happy makes you smile.”
“It’s unnatural.”
Still, she had a constructive chunk of data to work with. Back at Central she closed herself in her office to open her murder book, set up her murder board, and write up her initial report while Peabody contacted the two outlets to try to track down the bolt.
She tagged Cher Reo in the PA’s office.
“How was your vacation?”
Eve resigned herself to answering the question all day. “Good. Listen, I caught a case this morning.”
“Already?”
“Crime marches on. The vic’s got a sealed juvie. I need to unseal it.”
Reo sat back, pushed a hand through her fluffy blond hair. “You believe the juvie’s pertinent to the case?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I need to see it. Guy’s a successful business owner, husband, father, big fancy house in the burbs. No trouble on the surface, so far. The scan in autopsy shows multiple old wounds, mostly breaks. Might be abuse, might be from fighting. The past can come back to haunt you, right?”
“So they say. It shouldn’t be a problem for the primary on a homicide to view the records of the victim. I’ll make the request.”
“Appreciate it.”
“How’d he die?”
“Crossbow.”
Reo widened bright blue eyes. “Never a dull moment. I’ll get back to you.”
Eve programmed coffee, put her boots on her desk, and studied the board.
Moments later, Peabody gave a cursory knock and stepped in. “I’ve got a customer list for that particular batch of bolts. It’s a couple of dozen worldwide, with a handful off planet. There’s only one with a New York residence. I ran her, and she’s clean, but you have to be to get the license