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“Jesus, Berenski, are you twelve?”

“Hey, maybe the program’s evidence from a crime scene.”

“Yeah, one where several adolescent boys masturbated to death. You may not be on the clock, but I am.”

“Ten minutes recreational. Got you the shoe, didn’t I?”

He had, and she told herself to remember that and not crush his egg-shaped head between her hands. “Annalisa Sommers. Hair anal.”

“Work, work, work.” He swiveled around on his stool. “Gave that to Harvo, my best hair guy. She’s a fricking genius, even if she won’t put out.”

“I like her already. Where is she?”

He pointed one long, skinny finger toward the right. “That way, then left. Redhead. Hasn’t sent me a report yet, so she’s not done.”

“I’ll check it out.”

Peabody let Eve get a few strides away, and kept her voice low. “That program come with male characters?”

Dickhead grinned. “Oh yeah.”

“Ice.”

Eve made her way into one of the glass-walled analysis rooms and saw the redhead. “Harvo?”

“That’d be me.” She looked up from her work, studied Eve with eyes the color of spring grass.

Eve figured Harvo was the whitest white woman she’d ever seen still breathing. Her skin was the color of milk powder against those bright green eyes and the thin slash of mouth dyed the same screaming red as her hair.

She wore the hair in a tuft, maybe three inches high and straight up from the crown of her head. She wore a baggy black tunic in lieu of a lab coat.

“Dallas, right?” Her nails were short, and painted in thin, diagonal stripes of black and red.

“That’d be me.”

“Peabody, Detective.”

Harvo nodded at both of them, gestured them in. “Harvo, Ursa, Queen of Hair.”

“What have you got for me, Your Majesty?”

Harvo snickered, scooted a bit to the left on her stool. “Hairlike trace recovered from vic and surrounding scene,” she began. Strands of it were secured in a clear, disc seal on the work counter. Harvo popped it in the comp slot, brought its magnified image on screen.

“Hairlike?”

“Yeah, see, it’s not human hair or animal hair. Dickhead bounced it to me because when he eyeballed it, he made it as man-made fiber. Guy’s freaking brilliant. Too bad he’s a complete ass-wipe.”

“Hear me loudly not disagreeing.”

Harvo chuckled again. “I also serve as Fiber Princess. What you got here . . .” She revolved the image, increased magnification. “Is manufactured.”

“As in rug?” Eve tugged her own hair.

“Not so much. Not likely to find this in hair enhancements or replacements. This is more fur than hair. Something you’d find on a toy—stuffed animal, droid pet. It’s coated, meeting federal flame retardant standards and child safety laws.”

“A toy?”

“Yep. Now, we analyze the makeup, the dye, the . . .” She glanced up at Eve as text and shapes began to flash on her screen. “You want the process and deets?”

“No, though I’m sure they’re endlessly fascinating. Bottom-line it.”

“Gotcha. Through my amazing, almost mystical powers, I’ve made the manufacturer of the fiber, and its various uses for it with this particular gray dye. Droid pet, feline, common tabby. They do kittens, young cats, full-grown, even your aged family mouser. Manufacturer is Petco. I can hunt up retail outlets if you want.”

“We’ll take it from here. Fast work, Harvo.”

“I am also Goddess of Speed and Efficiency. Oh, and Dallas, fibers were clean. No skin oils, no detergents, no soil. I’d say this little kitty was new.”

“Thoughts, Detective?”

“How do you think Harvo gets her hair to stand up like that? It’s really jazzed. But that’s not what you meant.”

“Not even remotely.”

“Someone could’ve given Sommers the droid. We’ll need to check with the friends she had dinner with after the play. It’s also possible somebody lost the thing in the park before Sommers came along, and she saw it, picked it up. Not so easy to check that out. If we crap out with the friends, we start checking the retail outlets for purchases, and try to match any with the lists EDD is already running on the chance the kitty cat was his.”

“Sounds like a plan. Start