In Death 21 - Origin in Death

I'll kill you. Rip out your internal organs with my bare hands then strangle you with your own large intestine."
    "Can I get my hair extensions first?" Peabody tried a game smile.
    "I'll give you hair extensions." She might have leaped, but Roark wrapped his arms around her from the back, held her in place. "Better run," he warned Peabody, but she was already heading out the door at a trot.
    "You could always kill Trina," Roarke suggested.
    "I don't think she can be killed." Eve thought of the hair and skin specialist, and possibly the only entity on or off planet that terrified her. "Let go. I won't murder Peabody-yet-because I need her."
    He turned her around, gave her a squeeze. "Anything else I can do for you, Lieutenant?"
    "I'll let you know."
    On the street there was no sign of Peabody. Waving Roarke off, she sat down on the steps to wait for the sweepers. Since her day was already ruined with the prospect of an evening beauty treatment, she called the lab and had a round with the chief tech, Dick Berenski, not-so-affectionately known as Dickhead.
    "Fruit was clean-and delicious." His skinny face oiled onto her screen. "Cheese, crackers, tea, the whole shot. Cheese from cows and goats. Prime stuff. Too bad for his bad luck on dying before he ate."
    "Did you consume my evidence?"
    "Sampled. Ain't evidence as it ain't tampered with. Got a couple strands of blond hair-natural blond. One off his sweater, two off the sofa. Nada on the murder weapon. Sealed tight. No prints on the snack tray either. Nothing on the food, plate, napkin, utensils. Nothing nowhere."
    No prints, she thought after she broke connection. If Icove had gotten the tray, odds are he'd have left prints on something. So that added weight to her theory.
    "Uh,sir?"
    Peabody stood a safe distance away on the sidewalk. She rolled to the balls of her feet like a woman prepared to run. "I spoke with another neighbor. Same tone. I did verify the domestic's statement regarding family routine and schedule."
    "Dandy. Why don't you come over here and sit down, Peabody."
    "No, thanks. Stretching my legs."
    "Coward."
    "No question about it." Her face worked itself into an expression of mournful apology. "I didn't really do anything. It's not really my fault. I just ran into Mavis and said how I was thinking about new hair, and she grabbed that ball and sprinted for the touchdown."
    "You couldn't intercept from a pregnant woman?"
    "She's fat, but she's spry. Don't kill me."
    "I've got too much on my mind right now to plan your murder You'd better hope I stay busy."
    Back at Central, she set Peabody up with the masses of data Nadine had unearthed. Let her read until her eyes bleed, Eve thought, nearly satisfied.
    She whipped around from Peabody's desk and grabbed Baxter by the collar. "You sniffing at me?"
    "The coat. I was sniffing at the coat."
    "Cut it out." She released him. "Sick bastard."
    "Jenkinson is Sick Bastard."
    "Yo," Jenkinson called from across the room.
    "If you can't keep your squad straight, Dallas, I worry about you: command abilities."
    She angled her head at Baxter's winning smile. "You ever had face or body work, Baxter?"
    "My intense good looks are a product of exceptional genes. Why? Something wrong with my face and body?"
    "I want you to go through the Wilfred B. Icove Center. Soft clothes. You want a consult with their top face guy."
    "What's wrong with my face? Women melt when I use the power of my smile upon them."
    "The top face guy," Eve repeated. "I want to know exactly what process you go through for the consult. I want the fee schedule, the vibe. I want to know what kind of shape they're in with both Icoves in the morgue."
    "Happy to help, Dallas, but let's consider this. Who'd believe I want something done to this face." He turned his head, lifted his chin. "Check the profile, if you dare. It's a killer."
    "Use it to snuggle up to some of the female staff. Get me the what. You want a tour of the place before you put your face in their hands, and like that. Got it?"
    "Sure. What about my boy?"
    Eve looked over where Officer Troy Trueheart, Baxter's aide, sat in his cube doing paperwork. He was still as fresh as spring grass, but Baxter was fertilizing. "How's his lying coming along?"
    "Better."
    Maybe, but he was young, built, and pretty. Better to send in a seasoned cop-self-described killer profile or not. "Give him a pass on this. It should only take you a couple hours."
    She tagged Feeney, offered to buy him what passed for