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“I’ve got an image of Dudley in the same fucking shoes he wore on Coney Island. Can you compare images, get me a match?”
“Bring it in. Amusement park’s image isn’t pristine, but we ought to be able to give you a solid probability.”
“Heading in now. I’m going to need you and that match later today. I need ammo, and plenty of it, to talk my way into search warrants.”
“We’ll take our best shot. What time later?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
She clicked off. “Book us a conference room.”
“For when?”
“For starting now until I’m damn well finished with it. I need more room to spread this out. I need a bigger board while you’re at it and a second comp, and I need Baxter and Trueheart.”
“I need a million dollars and a smaller ass. I was just throwing that in the pot.” Peabody shrugged off Eve’s snarl, and got to work.
A block from Central her communicator signaled. She used her wrist unit to answer.
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.
“No fucking way.”
Obscenities over official communication can result in a reprimand. Report to Central Park, Great Hill Jogging Track. See Detectives Reineke and Jenkinson.
“On what matter?” Eve demanded.
Possible homicide, possible connection to previous ongoing investigations. Urgent request for you from your detectives. Acknowledged.
“Acknowledged. Goddamn it,” she said as soon as she cut off the transmission. “Tag one of those guys now.” Eve cut west, cursing all the way, then headed back uptown.
“Reineke,” Peabody told her, on dash ’link.
“This better be damn good,” Eve warned him.
“We think it’s one of yours, Lieutenant. It looked like a suicide first glance, then when we got here, took a better look, it smelled of homicide. We ran the vic. Adrianne Jonas. She was what they call a facilitator for the rich. They want it, she finds a way to get it. She’s number one, get it?”
Yeah, she thought as her stomach sank. She got it. “Keep going.”
“She’s hanging from a tree right off the track here, by a freaking bullwhip. You don’t see bullwhips every day, and you don’t usually see some skirt in a party dress hanging by one. We figured it fit your vic profile pretty much down the line. Public place, vic considered the tops, screwy weapon.”
“Keep the scene secure.” She swung toward the curb, ignored the blare of horns. “Get the recording to Feeney, get the rest set up. Get what you can started. Run the list, Peabody. Work it. I’ll take this with the detectives on scene.”
“Dallas, how the hell did he do it? How’d he—”
“Just work it. Out. Out, now.”
Peabody had barely slammed the door before Eve hit the sirens, swung out, and headed uptown running hot.
She imagined Adrianne Jonas had been a beauty, but hanging victims just didn’t stay pretty. The whip had bloodied her throat, and she’d had time to claw at the constriction before she’d been yanked off her feet.
She’d lost her shoes, probably from her body jerking, twisting, legs kicking. They lay sparkling in the grass.
“Couple early joggers spotted her, called it in.” Reineke wiggled his thumb toward a pair of women huddled together talking to Jenkinson. “They said some woman hanged herself, and were pretty hysterical. Hard to blame. Uniforms got here, took a gander, and sent out for Homicide to take our sweep. Once we ID’d the vic, got the skinny on her, got a good look at what she’s hanging by, we figured, well, fuck us sideways, this is Dallas’s.”
“Yeah, you figured right. TOD’s going to be early this morning. Not last night. Last night was Moriarity’s round. Dudley just hit his early.”
“You’re on it. About three A.M. We went ahead and established TOD. You wanna talk to the wits? I can tell you we’ve gone round with them. They jog here three times a week, together for safety. They’re both clean. Live in the same building over on Hundred and Fifth.”
