Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(9)

“Jewelry?”

“Three earrings—studs. Two silver hearts, one blue star, a silver heart on a chain. She’d have had her ’link, her ID, under twenty in cash, her tablet, schoolwork—assignments, a binder to hold assignments—earbuds, the makeup she was allowed—and what she snuck in, which her mother knew about. Hairbrush, hair ties, and a small first aid kit. Her father insisted both kids carry the basics. We didn’t find a trace of any of it.”

Whoever grabbed her wanted it to look like a runaway at first glance, Eve thought when she ended the call. Like the killer wanted it to look like a mugging.

To buy time, she assumed, in both cases.

And that led her to believe the snatch and the murder rested on the same person or persons.

She got up to start her murder board.

She kept at it when she heard Peabody clomp down the hall to her office.

“Send the report to Detective Driver.”

Peabody pulled out her PPC and did so.

“Devon’s going to do the next of kin notification, and reciprocate by sending us their files. They concluded a snatch, not a runaway. I’m going to agree with that. The victim didn’t strike out for the bright lights of New York after soccer practice with under twenty in her pocket.”

Eve didn’t turn. “I can feel you giving the AC begging glances. Get your damn coffee. Get me more.”

“It was more like longing glances than begging.”

“We’re going to run the parents to cover it. Look for any debts, any payouts that don’t square. Devon’s done that, but we cover it. She had a boyfriend—sort of. We’re going to look at him and see if he has a perv older brother, uncle, father. Run her coaches and teachers, same deal.”

“Okay.”

“And we look for any connections to New York, because they brought her here, and they kept her here. No signs of restraints or force—so far.”

“Maybe kept her drugged.”

“The tox will show it, just like Morris will determine if somebody used her for sex. Why do you grab up a pretty young teen if not for ransom—and no ransom demands made—or sex?”

“Like a house droid? Slave labor?”

“Not with those hands and nails. If anything, she’d had some pampering there, with that—what do you call it—kind of manicure deal.”

“French. You’re right. She had a classic French manicure—fingers and toes. Nothing flashy, all classy.”

“Classy,” Eve repeated, and grabbed her coffee. “If it was for sex, he wanted that classy. Or … let’s check child pornography. Thirteen’s on the cusp of that. It’s more pubescent porn. Photos, vids.”

Eve looked at the ID shot on her board, that young, fresh, open face. “Pretty redhead, clear white skin, some curves. Youthful but what—budding?”

“It’s so sick.”

“Yeah, and so’s jamming a sharp piece of wood in a kid’s chest. McNab did some time in Vice—check with him.”

Since the EDD ace was Peabody’s cohab and main squeeze, checking with him added a plus.

Eve stepped back from the board, studied it.

“A pretty young girl walks the half mile home from school—same route every day. That makes a snatch easy. But the nice neighborhood makes it stickier. Somebody took some time, to watch, to plan. Had transportation. I’m betting somebody’s done this before. Maybe selling the kids he snatches. For sex, for underground porn sites.

“It has to be worth it, to keep her for months, to keep her clean and healthy, closed in or drugged, or convinced she’s living the high life. Has to pay off. Has to pay enough to transport her out of state.”

“Maybe that just happened,” Peabody suggested. “And something went wrong there, and she got away.”

“Could be. Could very well be. You’ve had her all this time, you maybe get a little careless, and she tries to bolt.”

She looked at the picture from the crime scene.

“Where the hell did that weapon come from? Close to where she bolted, if so?”

She went back to her desk to open the murder book on Mina. “Check with McNab, and let’s put together a list of known pedophiles—in and around Devon, in New York.”

“Holy shit, that’s going to be a long list.”

“Girls—eleven to fourteen. Younger won’t work, older’s beyond that scope of sick. No brutality—unless Morris turns some up. He kept her school uniform,” Eve murmured. “The pants. But the shirt? Roe said long sleeves when she was snatched—we need to verify that absolutely, because she had on short, cuffed sleeves when she was killed. Maybe we can track the shirt.”

“They could change the pants, but not the shirt,” Peabody concluded. “But why keep the pants?”

“Maybe he has a collection. That’s the file from Devon coming through. Go.”

Eve read the files from the initial incident report through the steps and stages of the investigation, the interviews, statements, the timeline the investigators put together. She studied the map of the neighborhood, the location of the house to the school, both to the grove of trees.

Thorough, she decided. The Devon detectives weren’t morons or slackers. They’d worked it, and hard, covered the ground, then covered it again.