When she was done, Roarke leaned over the chair to kiss the top of her head. “Devastating for them. Painful for you.”
“I can’t think about it now.” Couldn’t let herself feel it, not now. “He used a remote, likely a disposable ’link, you say, both times. To set up and to close.”
“The same device, both times,” Roarke confirmed. “As were the e-mails. We have various locations. I’ve listed them for you.”
“I’ve got to go finish putting this together. You saved me some time, so I won’t be punching you.”
“My face is relieved, yet strangely disappointed.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
“Neither do I, as when I’ve cleared up some business I need to clear up, I’ll be coming down to Central to see if I can be of use to Feeney.”
“I’d tell you Feeney can handle things, but with nine dead, I’m not turning down any help. No point, is there, in telling you not to buy a bunch of food for a bunch of cops?”
He sent her a cheerful grin. “None at all if I’m hungry.”
When they were out on the street, he cupped her face in his hands. “No point telling you to catch an hour’s sleep, even if it’s on the floor of your office.”
“Probably not today.” Her ’link signaled. “Hold on. Dallas.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I can’t. My husband’s standing right here. He might get suspicious.”
“He’ll understand,” Peabody claimed, “when you both hear what I found. Guess whose mommy had a scorching affair with a dead French chef before he was dead. Like twenty-five years ago.”
“Delaflote boned Dudley’s mother?”
“That’s the word, mostly in French. It was a BFD in Europe back then. The vic was younger, and she was still married to the father. She left him—the husband—and set up house with Delaflote. Didn’t last more than about six months, but it broke the marriage, and, according to the gossip back in the day, caused serious embarrassment for the Dudley family.”
“That’s worth a ‘very fond of.’ ”
“Aww, I’m all about the love.”
“Find me a connection between Adrianne Jonas and Moriarity, more than he was an occasional client, then we’ll talk love. Status with the shoe?”
“I’ve been buried in illicit affairs, fashion, marital high jinks, and celebrity scandals. I’ll check.”
“I’m heading to the morgue. When I’m done, I’ll be in. Polish it up, Peabody.”
“I think it’s starting to shine. I really do.”
Eve clicked off. “I have to go.”
“What about the shoe?” he demanded as she jumped in her car.
“The bastard was wearing the same shoes we caught on security when I interviewed him this morning. Cookie crumbs.”
He watched her go, and decided he’d pick up a few dozen cookies before he met her at Central.
Peabody tagged her back as she strode down the white tunnel of the morgue. “I’m still at ‘very fond,’ ” Eve said.
“You may be ready for ‘sweet on,’ at least. Unofficially, McNab says if it’s not the same damn shoe, he’ll eat it with barbecue sauce.”
“He’ll eat anything with barbecue sauce. I need official.”
“Feeney just confirmed, officially, that the shoe Dudley was wearing this morning is the same size, the same make, the same color as the shoe on the amusement park security.”
“Close but not sweet enough.”
“He can’t state unequivocally it’s the same shoe. He can give that an eighty-eight-point-seven probability.”
“I want ninety plus. See if he can enhance the images any more, or squeak that out. Ninety’s better than eighty-eight.”
“I’ll relay.”
Eve stuck the ’link in her pocket, and pushed through the autopsy suite’s doors.
Morris looked up from his work. “Well, Dallas, we’re having a hell of a summer.”
“It’s going to be hell for two smug bastards before it’s done.”
“Before we get into this, I want to thank you for arranging this gathering tomorrow.”
“Oh. I think—”
“I find myself pulling back, too often, from friends. It’s easier, and more self-indulgent, to be alone. I need a nudge out of that cycle from time to time.”
“Yeah.” And there went her very rational, reasonable plan to postpone the whole deal. “Well.”
“Can I ask a favor? I’d like to bring someone.”
Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Ah, sure . . . I didn’t realize you were . . .”
“Not that sort of someone. Chale—Father Lopez. He’s a good friend now, and I know you think highly of him. He’s fond of you.”
A lot of fondness going around, she thought. A priest at a cop party. Mostly cops, she corrected. What the hell. “No problem. It’ll be good to see him again.”
“Thanks. And now for your doubleheader.”
“Ha. I called it a two-for-one sale. We’re both sick.”
“How else do you get through a hell of a summer? Our Frenchman is actually from Topeka, by the way. Born Marvin Clink.”
“No shit?”
“Peabody did the run, which included the full data, and legal name change. In any case, your supposition on scene was correct. Death by harpoon. It’s been identified as such, and you’ve had the weapon—the gun, I think it’s called—ID’d by the lab.”
“That’s not your usual line. You verified with Dickhead?”
“We’re all pulling a bit more. And I was curious. He’s in love, you know.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“It’s a bit disturbing.”
“Yes!” She gave him a shove of solidarity. “Thank God. It gave me the serious creeps.”
Humor lit his dark eyes, and gave Eve her first lift of the day. “Which is unkind, but I confess to the same. You have the weapon ID on your office unit by now. This was another heart wound. In simple terms the barb pierced the chest, ripped straight through the heart and out the back. Your spear’s been removed, as you see, logged and sent to the lab. There are no other wounds. He had consumed just shy of eight ounces of white wine. I’m having the type analyzed.”
“I have the bottle.”
“And we’ll confirm. He’d eaten a light meal several hours before death. A salad, grilled shrimp, asparagus in wine sauce, and a small amount of vanilla bean crème br?lée.”
Despite the circumstances, her stomach yearned. “Sounds pretty good.”
“I hope it was. He did have more current stomach contents that from the variety and amount I’d say came from sampling what he was cooking, along with a little cheese, a couple of crackers. There were no drugs in his system. He was a smoker.”
“It all fits.”
“He’s had some face and body work,” Morris continued. “Minimal. He kept in good shape, his muscles are nicely toned.”
“What about her?” Eve moved to Adrianne’s body.
“She didn’t die as quickly. She’d consumed about sixteen ounces of champagne, and neutralized the effects with Sober-Up. We’ll get you the timing on that. Some party food in her stomach. Caviar, toasted bread, some berries, some raw vegetables, and so on—very light amounts—consumed over a period of two to four hours before death. No sign of sexual activity, forced or consensual.”
He lifted her hand. “There’s some light bruising on the heels of her hands, on her knees, consistent with a fall, these deep scrapes on her throat—consistent with the blood and flesh under her own nails. She’d clawed at her throat, and you see she broke three of her nails, snapping two below the quick.”
“Dragging at the whip.”
“It circled her neck three times, and with force. Tearing the skin in these patterns here, constricting her airway, bruising her larynx.”
“She couldn’t have screamed.”
“No. And if you look . . . Do you want goggles?”
“No, I can see.” But she bent down closer. “He jerked her—maybe even pulled her off her feet. Then jerked again, but upward—that would be dragging her up, hoisting her on the branch. Her neck’s not broken.” She glanced at Morris for confirmation, got a shake of the head. “So it would’ve been painful and terrifying, and endless. Just a minute, maybe two, but endless.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” With Eve, he looked down at the body. “She would have suffered.”
“Her parents will be contacting you.”