The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [721]
Their problem.
She hooked her badge to her waistband, headed in.
“Suit’s here,” one of the uniforms called out, and she stopped in her tracks.
She turned, very slowly, caught him in the crosshairs of her cold gaze. “Don’t ever call me a suit.”
She left him, withered, and moved toward the crumpled body of Meredith Newman. “First on scene?” she asked the uniform standing by.
“Yes, sir. My partner and I responded to a call from this location, reporting a body in the alley between the buildings. One of the owners of the restaurant stepped out in the alley on her break, and observed what appeared to be a body. Upon responding, we—”
“I got it. Have you secured the witness?”
“Yes, sir, along with other kitchen staff who also entered the scene in response to the first witness’s screams.”
Eve puffed out her cheeks as she looked around the alley. “How many people have tromped around on my scene?”
“At least six, Lieutenant. I’m sorry, they’d already come out, looked around—and moved the body—by the time we arrived. We moved the civilians back into the restaurant and secured the scene.”
“All right.” She did another study of the alley. Short and narrow, dead-ending into the graffiti-laced wall of another. Confidence, arrogance again, she decided. They could have dumped her anywhere, or simply destroyed the body.
Still, there was no security here. No cams on any of the exit doors. Pull in, dump, pull out. And wait for somebody to trip over what’s left of her.
“Seal up, Trueheart,” she ordered, and continued to examine the body as she drew out her own can of Seal-It. “Record on. What do you see?”
“Female, early thirties, clothes removed.”
“You can say naked, Trueheart. You’re of age.”
“Yes, sir. Ligature marks, wrists, ankles. What appear to be burn marks on shoulders, torso, arms, legs, indicate torture. The throat’s been deeply cut. There’s no blood. She wasn’t cut here, but killed elsewhere and put here.”
Eve crouched, turned one of the dead hands at the wrist. “She’s cold. Like meat you put in a friggie to keep it fresh. They had her stowed. She’s been dead since the day they grabbed her.”
But she got out her gauge to estimate the time of death and confirmed. “Burn marks on her back and buttocks as well. Bruising might be from the grab. Abrasions are consistent with the body hitting the pavement, rolling. Way postmortem.”
She fit on her goggles, examined the area around the mouth and eyes. “It looks like they taped her up. Skin’s reddened here, shows a pattern that would match tape, but there’s no residue.”
She sat back on her heels.
“What else do you see, Trueheart?”
“The location—”
“No, the body. Focus on her. She’s been dead for days now. There’s evidence of considerable torture. She had her throat cut, and going with previous pattern, she was alive when the knife went in. What do you see?”
Concentration settled over his face. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“She’s clean, Trueheart. What do you do when somebody inflicts burns on your body strong enough to singe flesh? You don’t just scream your lungs out and beg for mercy. You piss yourself, you soil yourself, you puke. Your body erupts, and it voids. But she’s clean. Somebody washed her down, even to removing the residue from whatever they used to blindfold and gag her. We won’t find any trace on her.”
She bent close, sniffed the skin. “Smells like hospital. Antiseptic. Maybe the lab boys can give us more there. For what it’s worth. She bit right through her own lip,” Eve observed, then pushed to her feet.
She put her hands on her hips, studied the alley. The usual overworked recyclers, but it was clean, too, as alleys went. Some graffiti—sort of artsy—but none of the nasty debris left behind by sidewalk sleepers or junkies, even the street LCs and their clients.
She turned to the first on-scene. “What do you know about this place—this restaurant here, this business next door.”
“Actually, it’s a Free-Ager center—classes, crafts, like that. And the restaurant’s run by the group.