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“Yeah, one of our prime suspects is in the morgue.” Eve stayed braced, in case the baby decided to erupt again. “Callendar hit hot on Omega. I’m waiting to hear back from her. I’ve got a couple of lines to look down. I could . . . I’ll go up.”
“Do you want my input?”
“It can wait.”
“I can take her.” Mavis moved over, reached for Belle. “She’s about ready to go down again. Poor little Belly Button, Mommy’s got you. Thanks,” she said to Mira.
“I loved it.”
Baffled, because the statement seemed sincere, Eve started upstairs. “Reo’s still here, isn’t she?”
“Yes. She went up to bed about two, I think. Are you looking for input from the ADA, too?”
“At some point, yeah.”
“Why don’t I go get her?”
“It could wait . . . But why should it? Yeah, why don’t you go get her?” Eve continued up to her office, and glanced back at Peabody. “I said you could have a couple hours.”
“I’m awake. And I’m hungry. I’m going to get some breakfast stuff out, if we’re going to have a consult. You looking for protein or carbs?”
“Whatever.” Eve turned into her office. She went straight to her board and updated it. As she started to run probabilities, Peabody set a plate and a fresh mug of coffee on her desk.
“Bacon and eggs seemed right. Dr. Mira, how about some breakfast? I’m serving it up.”
“Oh. That’s an idea.” Mira came in, walked to the board. “Whatever Eve’s having is fine.” She studied the dead photo of Sandy. “One wound?”
“Yes. One stick, dead in the heart.”
“Personal again. Close work. Different weapon, different methodology than Coltraine, but the same sentiment, if you will. He likes to watch then die. Likes to be connected. Businesslike about it, but not removed.”
“Killing’s business for cops. You could say.”
“Leaving him naked. Humiliation, as with using Coltraine’s own weapon on her, taking it and her badge from the scene.”
“I guess so.” It threw her for a moment—and Eve realized it shouldn’t have—to see the woman who’d been cuddling and soothing a screaming baby one minute coolly profiling a killer the next.
“It’s a cover-up, a way to make it look like he got rolled and done,” Eve continued. “Like taking Coltraine’s jewelry, her wallet, were or could be interpreted as a cover-up, to make it initially appear as robbery. But the humiliation follows. It’s a benefit. He was covered with ratty blankets, dirty clothes, filthy tarps.”
“The killer disliked him, found him of little worth. Easily disposed of.”
“Ricker likes to dispose of people who outlive their usefulness to him.”
“Ricker may have ordered the murder, but the person who carried it out would—or certainly could—choose the method. The time, the place. Thank you, Peabody.” Mira sat with the plate Peabody brought her. “You’re focused on Coltraine’s squad. Let’s look at them.”
“I smell food.” Cher Reo, disheveled in pajamas covered with yellow daisies stopped on her way into the room to sniff the air. “And coffee. Food and coffee, please.”
“I can be the waitress.” Mavis followed Reo into the room. “Belle’s sleeping, and I’m starved. I feel like French toast.”
“Mmm,” Reo said. “French toast.”
“I’ll make it two. Hey, Nadine, want to be a threesome with French toast?”
“I’d be a fool not to. Who got killed?” Nadine demanded as she strolled in. “Mira wouldn’t spill.”
“Jesus, go away,” Eve ordered, but resisted yanking at her hair. Or Nadine’s. “I’m working.”
“I’ll keep it off the record.” Nadine grabbed a slice of bacon from Eve’s plate. “I can help. We’re the smart girls. Let’s solve some crime!”
