Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(8)

“I’m sorry, we’re sure.”

“How? I mean how did she die? What did they do to her? I’m not going to fall apart again, okay? I need to know.”

“There were abrasions and lacerations on one of her wrists and one of her ankles that indicate she was restrained for some time. My on-scene examination indicates a severe neck wound caused her death.”

“They … they cut her throat.” He closed his eyes, then covered his face. “One second, give me a second. Her family. I have to tell her family. We talk every day. They’re going crazy, and I have to tell them.”

“We’re going to notify her family when we leave here. It’s best if we tell them. Could we see the bedroom?”

“The bedroom? Oh, sure. I have a little office, too. It’s more of a closet, but you can look in there. I can open the comp for you. You can look at anything that will help.”

“We appreciate that.”

He rubbed his eyes; Eve saw his shoulders tremble before he stiffened them.

“I need to contact my supervisor. She gave me her personal contact when Lauren went missing. I need to tell her I’m not coming in.”

“That’s fine.”

“When can I see her? When can we—her family and I—see her?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as that’s cleared. Roy, the ME? She couldn’t be in better hands.”

“I remember from the vid, and I’ve seen him in court, too. You’ll find who did this. You’ll find who treated her this way.”

When they left, Eve had a good sense of her victim. Lauren Elder had close family ties. Her mother had done several of the street scenes on the walls, and she kept a photo of her family on her dresser—a beach vacation scene from the background—and with everyone mugging for the camera.

She’d kept her clothes—a little on the conservative side, Peabody had confirmed—ordered in the closet she’d shared with her cohab. She hadn’t gone for a lot of frills, a lot of sparkles. Her ambitions had run to one day owning her own bar. She’d kept a memory book of photos—family, her circle of friends, coworkers—so loyal and sentimental.

She’d lived within her means, and kept a careful record of tips—considerable, which led Eve to believe she’d been good at her job.

No nail polish and minimal makeup in her supply.

Whoever the killer had wanted her to be, she hadn’t matched the image inside.

“They made a nice place.” Peabody settled in for the drive to Brooklyn. “You can tell most of the furniture’s family castoffs, but they made it nice. I don’t think he’s going to be able to stay there now. It’s too much them.”

“He’s been waiting for us to knock on the door since she went missing. He wasn’t ready, because you never are, but he’s been waiting for us.”

Her family wouldn’t be ready, either, she thought.

“Contact Detective Norman, fill him in, and get his files. We’ll need to talk to the staff at the bar, so let’s see if we can set that up, at least to start with Buddy, since he was the last we know of who saw her.”

“Buddy’s his actual birth name. Buddy James Wilcox. Who names their kid Buddy?”

“Buddy’s parents. She had a routine,” Eve continued, and whipped around a slow-moving mini. “Roy said she’d had the seven-to-closing shift for the last eight months. They’d try to grab dinner together about six, and she’d head to work by six-forty-five. He’d head to his night class at the same time. Except for Sundays when they both had off, Mondays for her, and Saturdays for him. Some Saturdays he’d hang out at the bar for a while, but mostly he studied. Work nights, she walked home between two-fifteen and two-thirty. Same route. Three blocks north, one east.”

“She was nabbed on that route.”

“Did he get lucky or did he know her routine? He knew, that’s how I see it. She was a type he wanted. Need a consult with Mira, but that’s what plays. Her age, coloring, build. Something about her hit the marks, and he could do the rest with the clothes, the tat, the hair.”

“He kept her for ten days,” Peabody added. “Plenty of time to make those adjustments.”

“The tat, at least, is fresher than ten days. I think.”

“A good-sized tat, with detail,” Peabody pointed out. “Had to take a couple of hours.”

“Precise work, maybe a pro. But is she going to stay still while you’re poking all those needles into her flesh?”

Even the thought of it had Eve’s back muscles quivering.

“You could strap her down, but there’d be movement if she was conscious.”

“I’m going to get a tat.”

In reflex, Eve nearly hit the brakes. “What? Why? What?”

“Not right now this minute. I have to decide on what and where. Just a little one.” Peabody held up her thumb and index finger to indicate an inch or two. “I’m down to the back of my shoulder or my ankle. Something girlie maybe.”

“Something girlie, carved into your living flesh. Forever.”

“That’s why it has to be the exact right symbol or image.”

“Tiny needles injecting ink into your body. Which you pay for. On purpose.”