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“I have four dead bodies. But we can play that way. Peabody?”
The doctor just lifted a hand, waved it. “He elected not to use his full name. Just John, and neglected to check the privacy form. So. The patient had two broken metatarsals on his right foot, along with a hairline fracture of the first cuneiform.”
He picked up a tablet, tapped, swiped. And showed Eve a diagram of a foot.
“So … A couple of broken toes, and a hairline deal on this part here, before the arch?”
“Basically, yes. There’s little you can do, other than wand, wrap, and treat for discomfort, advise the patient to rest the foot. All of which I did. He also had some minor bruising along his diaphragm. There were no internal injuries. He left—perfectly ambulatory, and with the medication in no particular discomfort.”
“No follow-up, no referral.”
“Offered and declined. He said he was traveling—and he had a couple of suitcases with him. He claimed someone had dropped a heavy case on his foot at the transpo center, then he’d tripped over it, jamming it into his diaphragm. He’d assumed the foot was just bruised, but soon decided it might be more, so came in for exam and treatment. He paid for the exam, the treatment, the meds, the wrap, and the soft cast in cash.”
“How long before it heals?”
“It depends. With daily wand treatments, rest, he could be fine in a matter of days. Without the follow-ups, a couple of weeks. The first treatment is the most intense.”
“Yeah, been there. If he comes back, decides to do another treatment, contact me. Don’t let him know, just keep him waiting, or draw the treatment out. He’s violent, he’s dangerous, and he won’t hesitate to kill.”
“Then I’ll hope he doesn’t. We often have children in here.”
“Just give him a seat, tell him to wait his turn, and tag me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
The minute she walked outside, Eve strode over, kicked her own tire. “Crap! He just has to luck into a fast, efficient medical. He couldn’t get bogged down with hackers and bleeders and pukers for an hour.”
She kicked the tire again, then walked around to the driver’s door, sliding behind the wheel to a cacophony of horns.
“Cab,” she said yet again to Peabody.
“Already on it.”
15
AFTER BOMBING WITH THE CAB ANGLE, EVE swung back into Homicide, arrowed straight to her office. She’d update the board and book while Peabody contacted every potential target on the list.
Once she had, had reviewed her notes, written an updated report, she sat, coffee in hand, and studied her board.
Parents to ex to teacher.
He wasn’t killing chronologically. Not by a measure of intimacy. Not by financial gain as he’d known or had certainly believed Farnsworth had more there than Lori.
Was it, in his mind, by level of offense? By what or who insulted or angered him most? Ease of access?
Circle back, she ordered herself.
First killing, mother. Impulse. Fit of rage, convenience of weapon.
Second killing, premeditated, lying in wait, choice of weapon.
Third, planned, lying in wait, purchase of weapons, elements of torture.
Fourth, planned, possible lying in wait—probable, she decided—uncertain if he found the murder weapon or brought it with him. More extensive torture, additional use of vic for financial gain and very likely for false ID.
Different weapon for each, but the use of the bat on three out of four, use of tape and cord on the last two.
And all four killed in their own homes.
He’d probably stick with that, she decided, but ran a probability to back up her own conclusion. Would he sully his own nest, wherever he built it? And he liked, didn’t he, killing them where they felt safest. Pawing through their things, eating their food.
