“That’s not vocation. That’s being a perv.”
“A six-year-old can’t be a perv.”
“The seeds are there.”
He laughed again. “I like you. I didn’t get to see the vid or read the book. I used to see vids and read books,” he said wistfully. “But I looked you up. You’d be Peabody?”
“Yeah, nice to meet you.”
“I’d like you just from this conversation. I’d like you for getting a woman in distress to the hospital. But I really like both of you after looking you up. I know Daphne’s in good hands with you guys. But she’s in my hands first. Has to be. To add more complicated medical jargon: She’s a fucking wreck. We’re going to help her, and she’ll get stronger and steadier. I’m just asking you not to push from your end.”
“How much stronger and steadier will she be when she knows the bastard who did this to her, who killed her husband, is in a cage?”
“You make a good point. Let’s try this. We’ll both do what we do. I’ll try to cut you some slack. You cut Daphne some slack.”
“I can agree to that. We’re keeping a cop on her door. She should know that. It may help her.”
“Officer Marilynn Wash,” Peabody said with a glance at her ’link. “Just checked in. She’ll be on for eight, then her relief—already in line—is Karen Lorenzo, followed in another eight-hour shift by Zoey Russe.”
“All girl cops. Good touch.” Del glanced at his wrist unit, dumped more coffee into his mug. “I had to give Daphne something to soothe her out. She has a hard time with the exams. Give her a few hours, okay? She’s not going to remember anything else right now. And I need to ease her into talking to a rape counselor. Add on a grief counselor now.”
“I have one on tap who can serve as both.”
“I don’t want some—”
“Dr. Mira.”
The defensive look on his face eased away. “Dr. Charlotte Mira?”
“That’s right. Objections?”
“Not only none, but I’d be grateful for her.”
“She’ll contact you. Set it up. If any of those missing pieces shake loose, I want them asap.”
“You’ll have them. I’ll feel a lot better myself when the bastard who did this is in a cage.”
With a nod, Eve left him contemplating another mug of terrible coffee.
“Get me a meet with Mira,” she told Peabody as they walked. “And see who in the bullpen can handle some interviews. Odds of it being a party guest are pretty slim at this point, but they have to be covered. We’ll take the caterer.”
“On it. Hey, wait, wait. I got a sort of something on the like crimes.” Hustling to keep up, Peabody studied her screen. “We got a pair of assaults, rapes, beatings. In-home deal, same as this. First one last summer, and the vics said he looked like Dracula. Second this November. Described assailant as a ghoul.”
“Mask or makeup?”
“Unsure, both cases. And in both cases he restrained the male, beat him with fists and a sap, beat and choked the female, raped her. He put on sound effects. Howling wolves in the first, screams and rattling chains in the second. Added lights in the second. A strobe light.”
Peabody glanced up quickly as they moved into the elevator. “Had a knife in the second attack, cut both vics a little, threatened to slit their throats if the male didn’t give him the combo of the safe, and the female didn’t shout he was the best. That she wanted more. He left all vics alive, releasing them—evidence indicates—he took the contents of the safe, a few other items, and raped her a final time.”
“Who’s on it?”
“Detectives Olsen and Tredway, Special Vics Unit.”
“Reach out. We need everything they have.”
4
Morning traffic thickened with loaded maxibuses lumbering, cabs and cars inching along the black ribbons of roads, and pedestrians pouring onto sidewalks.
Ad blimps blasted their relentless hype. Their current focus beat the retail drum for Valentine’s Day.
Eve didn’t get it, just didn’t get it. Who the hell decided everyone was supposed to go mad with romance and gift buying on some random day in February? Hadn’t everybody just gone mad with good cheer and gift buying in December?
When would it end?
When she said as much, snarling her way through the next vehicular tangle, Peabody sent her a sad, sad look.
“But it’s for sweethearts.”
“Oh, bollocks. It’s just another scam designed so restaurants and shops can con people into spending money on expensive dinners, bunches of flowers, and the sparkly things some poor schnook buys on credit thinking he’ll get lucky. You want to be sweethearts, stay home and bang your brains out.”