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"I'm the primary's aide. Stop breathing on me."
"You smell pretty good, She-Body."
"You're not going to have a nose to smell with in about five seconds."
Eve paused outside her office door and rapped her fists against the sides of her head. This was her team, squabbling like a couple of five-year-olds while Mom was away.
God help her.
They were glaring at each other when she stepped in. Both jerked back, shifted attention to her, and struggled to look innocent.
"Recess is over, kids. Move it into the conference room. I tagged Feeney on my way down. I want all data on all cases streamlined and cross-checked by end of shift. We need to bag this bastard before he adds to his collection."
After she'd turned on her heel and strode out, McNab broke into a grin. "Man, I love working with her. You think we'll headquarter in her home office on this one? Roarke's got the best toys on the block."
Peabody only sniffed and began to gather discs and files. "We work where the lieutenant says we work." She rose, bumped into him, and felt her nerves sizzle. She stared dolefully into his cheerful green eyes. "You're in my way, McNab."
"I keep trying. So how's Charlie?"
She counted to ten, then replied, "Charles is fine, and it's none of your business. Now move your skinny ass." She gained some pleasure in elbowing him aside as she stomped out.
McNab merely sighed, rubbed his sore gut. "You sure do it for me, She-Body," he muttered. "Christ knows why."
Eve paced the conference room. She needed to put Bowers and that situation out of her mind. She was nearly there, she told herself. Just a little more cursing, a little more pacing, and she would have put Bowers in some deep, dark hole. With a few rats for company, she decided, and a single crust of moldy bread.
Yeah, that was a good image. She took two more cleansing breaths and rounded on Peabody as her aide entered. "Death scene stills, on the board. Work up a location map, highlighting each crime scene. Victims' names referenced with appropriate city."
"Yes, sir."
"McNab. Give me what you've got."
"Okay, well—"
"And keep the chatter and editorials to a minimum," Eve added and made Peabody snicker.
"Sir," he began, miffed, "I've got your top health and research centers in the cities in question. On mainframe, disc and hard copy." Since the hard copy was handy, he nudged it across the desk. "I cross-checked your short list of docs from New York. You can see there that all of them have an affiliation with at least one of the other centers. My research indicates that there are only three hundred-odd surgeons with organ plucking as a specialty who possess the skill required to have performed the procedure that killed all subject victims."
He stopped, damn proud of his quick, no-nonsense report. "I'm still running like crimes. The reason for the time lag stems from the filing and investigative avenues pursued in other areas."
He just couldn't stand it anymore. He sat on the edge of the desk, crossed his slick green airboots at the ankles. "See, it looks to me like some of the homicide guys either buried the cases because it's, like, who cares, or figured it was just another weird street crime. They gotta plug it in before IRCCA can pick it up on the first pass. Otherwise, we have to dig, which I'm doing. What I'm hitting mostly is cult and domestic stuff. I've got a lot of castrations performed in the home by irate cohabitators or spouses. Man, you wouldn't believe how many women whack a guy off permanent because he didn't keep his dick in his pants. Six new eunuchs in North Carolina in the past three months. It's like an epidemic or something."
"That's a fascinating bit of trivia, McNab," Eve said dryly. "But for now, let's stick with the internal organs." She jerked a thumb toward the computer. "Nar
row it down. I want one health center per city that fits."
"You ask, it's done."
"Feeney." Eve's shoulders relaxed fractionally when he strolled in, carrying his bag of nuts. "What have you got on the pin?"
"Nothing to that one. Three locations in the city carry that design in eighteen carat. The jewelry store at the Drake Center, Tiffany's on Fifth, and DeBower's downtown."
He juggled the bag absently, watching Peabody clip stills to the board. "The eighteen carat runs about five grand. Most of the classier health centers run an account with Tiffany's on the pin. They buy in bulk to give to graduating interns. Gold or silver, depending on placement. Last year, Tiffany's moved seventy-one gold, ninety-six silver. Ninety-two percent of those were through direct accounts with hospitals."
"According to Louise, most doctors have them," Eve commented. "But not all of them wear them. I saw Tia Wo wearing one, Hans Vanderhaven. And Louise," she added with a frown. "We'll have to see if we can find out who's lost one recently. Keep tabs on the three outlets. Whoever did might want a replacement."
She tucked her hands in her pockets and turned to the board. "Before we start, you need to know the commander's put a media block on us. No interviews, no comments. We're Code Five, so all data pertaining to any of these cases is now on a need-to-know basis. Files are to be encoded."
"Departmental leak?" Feeney wanted to know.
