In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

stuck her thumbs in her pockets, drummed her fingers. "Good," she repeated and headed to her office to nag the lab for updates on Gregg.
     
     
The bickering with Dickhead put her in a cheerier mood as she read over the ME's reports.
     
     
Morris was going with surgical grade on the weapons used on Wooton. Her tox screen confirmed that her system was clear of chemicals.
     
     
Since she wasn't using, spending time trying to find her former dealer wasn't priority.
     
     
The canvasses of Chinatown and the surrounding areas had come up zero, one more time.
     
     
"No trace of semen with Gregg," Eve told Peabody as they headed to the Village. "ME findings indicate she was raped and sodomized, with the broomstick only. No prints on-scene other than hers, family members, and two neighbors who're clear. Hair fibers, man-made. Dickhead thinks wig and mustache, but isn't ready to commit."
     
     
"So we think he wore a disguise."
     
     
"In case he was seen around the neighborhood. He had to keep tabs on her, a few weeks, I'd say. Solidify her Sunday routine. How'd he pick her, though? Out of a fucking hat? How does he target this particular LC, this particular woman?'
     
     
.Maybe there's some connection. A place they shopped, ate, did business. A doctor, a bank."
     
     
"Possible, and it's a good line for you to tug. I'm more inclined to think -it was the area first. Neighborhood. Select the setting, then the character, then put on your play."
     
     
"Speaking of neighborhoods, this is really nice." Peabody gazed out at shady sidewalks, large old houses, pretty urban gardens planted in window boxes or pots. "I could go for this. one day. You know, when I settle down, start thinking family and stuff. You ever think about that? Kids and all."
     
     
Eve thought of the hate-filled eyes, staring at her out of a-dream. "No."
     
     
"Tons of time and all. I figure maybe to think about it in six, eight years anyway. Definitely going to be taking McNab on a long test drive before I commit to more than cohabbing. Hey, your eye didn't twitch."
     
     
"Because I'm not listening to you."
     
     
"Are, too," Peabody muttered when Eve pulled to the curb. "He's been really great working with me for the exam. It makes a difference having somebody rooting for me. He really wants it for me because I want it. That's... well, that's just solid."
     
     
"McNab's a moron the majority of the time, but he's_ in love with you."
     
     
"Dallas!" Peabody shifted in her seat so sharply her cap tipped over one eye. "You said the 'L' word and 'McNab' in the same sentence. Voluntarily."
     
     
"Just shut up."
     
     
"Happy to." With a happy smile, she squared her cap. "I'm just going to savor, in silence."
     
     
They walked three houses down to a three-story home that Eve imagined had once been a multifamily dwelling. Writing about killers was obviously profitable if Breen could afford something this up-market.
     
     
She went up a short flight of flagstoned steps to the main entrance, noted the full security system that must have made the man confident enough to keep the etched glass panes on either side of the front door.
     
     
There was a wife as well, she knew from her quick background check, and a two-year-old boy.
     
     
Breen collected partial professional father pay from the government as primary at-home parent while his wife earned a substantial salary as a VP and managing editor of a fashion rag called Outre.
     
     
A nice, tidy setup, Eve mused, as she rang the bell and held up her badge for scan. I
     
     
Breen answered the door himself with his son sitting astride his shoulders. The boy was holding on to Breen's blond hair like the reins on a horse.
     
     
"Go, ride!" the boy shouted and kicked his feet.
     
     
"Only this far, partner." Breen hooked his hands around the boy's ankles, either to anchor him, Eve thought, or to stop the busy little heels from digging holes in his armpits. "Lieutenant Dallas?"
     
     
"That's right. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Mr. Breen.
     
     
"No problem. Always happy to talk to the cops, and I've followed your work. I'm hoping to do a book on New York murders eventually, and figure you'll be one of my prime sources."
     
     
"You'll have to talk to public relations at Central about that. Can we come in?"
     
     
"Oh yeah, sure. Sorry."
     
     
He stepped back. He was in his thirties, of strong, medium build. From the definition in his arms, Eve doubted he sat