In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

built.
     
     
Peabody's ruler-straight hair was covered by a widebrimmed straw hat, and she was wearing lip dye that matched the sundress. "How are you supposed to work in that getup?' "Well, I "
     
     
"You said we? You brought McNab?"
     
     
"Yeah. Yes, sir. We were at the zoo. In the Bronx." "That's something anyway. Tell him to go check the out side security, and the discs for the lobby level and elevators. This building should have them."
     
     
"Yes, sir."
     
     
She went out to relay the order as Eve walked into the adjoining bath,
     
     
. He could've washed up after, she figured, but there was no sign of it. The bath was tidy, the towels looked fresh. Lois hadn't liked fuss, Eve mused, or clutter.
     
     
Must have brought his own soap and towel, too, or took some away with him.
     
     
"We'll want the sweepers to check the drains. Might get lucky," she said as Peabody came back in.
     
     
"I don't get it. This isn't like Wooton. Nothing like Wooton. Different type of victim, different method. There was another note?"
     
     
"Yeah. It's sealed."
     
     
Peabody studied the scene, tried to commit it to memory as the recorder did. She noticed, as Eve had, the little vase of flowers on the nightstand, the square catchall box on the dresser that said I LOVE GRANDMA in pink swirly letters on the top, and the framed photos ' and bolos that stood on the dresser, the nightstand, the small desk by the window.
     
     
It was sad, she thought. It was always sad to see those bits and pieces of a life when the life was over.
     
     
But she tried to shake it off. Dallas would shake it off, she knew. Or bury it, or use it. But she wouldn't let herself be distracted by the pity.
     
     
Peabody looked again, making the deliberate shift from woman to cop. "Do you think there's more than one killer? A team?"
     
     
"No, there's only one." " Eve lifted one of the victim's hands. No polish, she noted. Short nails. No rings, but a faint pale circle where one had been, and habitually. Third, finger, left hand. "He's just showing us how versatile he is."
     
     
"I don't understand."
     
     
"I do. See if you can find where she kept her jewelry. I'm looking for a ring, band style."
     
     
Peabody started on the dresser drawers. "Maybe you could explain what you understand, so I can."
     
     
"Victim is an older woman. No sign of forced entry or struggle. She let him in because she thought he was okay. He was probably suited up as maintenance or repair.. She turns her back, and he hits her over the head. She's got a laceration on the back of the skull, and there's some blood on the living room rug."
     
     
"Was she an LC?"
     
     
"Doubtful."
     
     
"Got her jewelry." Peabody lifted out a clear-sided box with insets of varying sizes. "She liked earrings. Got a few rings, too."
     
     
She brought the case over, holding it while Eve poked through. Exposure to Roarke, and his propensity for dumping glitters on her had taught her to spot the real stuff from the costume. Lois's body adornments were mostly costume, but -there were a few good pieces as well.
     
     
He hadn't bothered with those. Unlikely he'd even looked. "No, I don't think so. I think she was wearing a ring, a kind of wedding ring, and he took it off her finger. A symbol, a souvenir."
     
     
"I thought she lived alone."
     
     
"She did. Another reason he picked her." She turned away from the box of pretty stones and metal, looked back at Lois Gregg. "He carries her in here. He's got his equipment again, likely in a toolbox this time. Restraints for her hands and feet. Strips off her robe, ties her up. Finds what he wants to use to rape her. He's going to wake her up then. He didn't get to play with the other, but this one's different."
     
     
"Why?" Peabody set the jewelry box back on the dresser. "Why is she different?'
     
     
"Because that's what he's looking for. Variety. She screams when she comes around and realizes-when it comes into her like a flood what's happened, and what will happen. Even though part of her rejects it, refuses to believe, she screams and struggles, and begs. They like it when you beg. When he starts on her, when the pain spurts into her, hot, cold, impossible, she screams more. He'd get off on that."
     
     
Eve lifted one of Lois's hands again, then moved down to her feet. "She bloodied her wrists and ankles trying to get free, straining and twisting against the restraints. She didn't give up. He'd have enjoyed that, too.