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She ran through the mix, using street names, watched the faces of her cops darken.
“Most of you have seen the result of that exposure, on scene. But to keep it in the forefront. Screen One on, display in turn crime scene stills one through eight.”
She waited and she watched as each still flashed on, held, flashed to the next.
“EDD has spliced together some transmissions from pocket ’links recovered on scene. Captain Feeney?”
He puffed out his cheeks, pushed to his feet. “Some of the vics were on their ’links prior to exposure. We got eleven ’links with some form of transmission, and seven of those continuing transmission during the incident. In all but two of those cases, the other party had already disconnected or the transmission went straight to voice mail. One transmission was made to Freeport, and we’ve contacted the other party to request a copy of the transmission from their end. As the other party was stoned out of his mind during the transmission and after, we’re currently working with the local Freeport PD to obtain. Th
e other was made to an individual in Brooklyn. Detective Callendar was dispatched to speak with the individual, and has just obtained the ’link.”
He glanced at her.
Callendar, in tight red skin-pants and a scooped yellow shirt that showed off her considerable assets, shifted in her seat. “Schultz, Jacob J., age twenty-four. Single. He was cooperative, and also, if not stoned, considerably under the influence. He believed the transmission, which he replayed for me at his residence, was a practical joke played by his friend. I did not disabuse him of that belief.”
She shifted again so her black hair, done in a mushroom cloud of curls, bounced. “He was toasted, Lieutenant. You’d have to be seriously toasted to hear and see what’s on that ’link and think it was somebody’s idea of a big yuck.”
“Can you put it up?”
She nodded at Eve, rose. “We made a copy. The ’link’s sealed and logged.” Moving to the computer, she slid the disc in. “On screen, Lieutenant?”
“On screen.”
“Vic on screen is Lance Abrams, age twenty-four. Ah, he’s number twenty-nine.”
Callendar stepped back as the young, good-looking face came on screen.
“Yo, Jake! ’S on?”
“Decomp time. Might’ve had a half day, but the fucker was a day and a half. Brew’s going down easy.”
“I hear that. Stopped off for a couple, and I got a line on that sweet blonde I told you about.”
“Big Jugs? In your wet dreams, jerkoff.”
“I’m telling you, and she’s got a friend. How about it? I said we’d hit a couple of clubs, get some chow. She busted with her boyfriend, man, and she’s prime for it.”
There was a long slurping gulp as, Eve assumed, beer went down.
“You want me to come all the way in so you can get laid?”
“She’s got a friend.”
“How big are her tits?”
Abrams grimaced, pressed his fingers to his temple. “Fuck, need a blocker. You want to party or not?”
“I got brew, prime smoke, and I’m tapped till payday. Why don’t you bring them here? I’ll show you a party.”
“Asshole.” The attractive face became a mask of ugly rage. “You fucking prick.”
“Got my fucking prick here, too,” Jake said placidly, “and my good left hand.”
“Fuck up, fuck up, fuck everything up. I’m coming over there and fuck you up.”
“Yeah, yeah, you and what ninja army? Take a snap of the friend, yeah? Let me see if I want to get laid. What’s with the screaming, man? You at some sex club?”
“They’re coming.”
