In Death 23 - Born in Death

through here. No ’link in place by the bed, and one on the floor here.”
    “What does that tell you?”
    “It looks like the vic grabbed the ’link, made a run for the bathroom. Maybe hoping to lock herself in, call for help. She didn’t make it.”
    “Looks like. Wakes up, hears somebody in the apartment. Probably figures it’s the sister. Maybe she calls out, or just starts to roll back over. Door opens. Not the sister. Grabs for the ’link, tries to run. Could be. New lock on the door—a good one, with a security peep. Maybe somebody’s been bothering her. Run her, see if she’s made any complaints in the last couple months.”
    She rose, walked to the hall door. “Killer comes in this way, she’d see him from the bed. Smart to grab the ’link, sprint off in the opposite direction toward a room with a lock. Pretty smart—quick thinking, too, if you’ve just woken from a sound sleep.”
    She moved back to the bed, walked around it, judging the distance toward the bath, and saw something glint just under the bed. She crouched down, then lifted a kitchen knife with her sealed fingers. “Now why would she have a carving knife in the bedroom?”
    “Big-ass knife,” Peabody returned. “Killer’s?”
    “Then why not use it? I bet it’s from her kitchen. New locks,” Eve continued, “and a knife by the bed. She was worried about someone.”
    “No complaints on file. If she was worried, she didn’t report it.”
    Eve searched the bed, under the mattress, shook the pillows. Then walked into the bath. Small, tidy, girlie again. Nothing to indicate the killer had been in it. But Eve pursed her lips when she went through the cabinet and found men’s deodorant, Beard-B-Gone, and men’s cologne.
    “She had a guy,” Eve said, moving back in to riffle through the nightstand drawers. “Condoms here, edible body oil.”
    “Bad breakup, maybe. New lock’s a given if you’d given an ex access prior to. Could be he didn’t like being dumped.”
    “Could be,” Eve repeated. “That sort of deal usually includes sexual assault. Check her ’link for the incomings and outgoings last couple of days. I want to see the rest of the place.”
    She stepped out, reexamined the living area. Bad breakup, she’d expect the ex to bang on the door awhile. Come on, Nat, goddamn it! Let me in. We gotta talk. Guy’s pissed enough, and the door’s flimsy enough, most likely kick it down. But you never knew. She went into the kitchen. Good-sized, and from the looks of it, a place the vic had used. A knife block, with one missing, sat on the spotless white counter.
    She worked her way into the second bedroom, set up as a home office. Lifted her brows. The place had been thoroughly tossed. The data-and-communication center Eve imagined had sat on the glossy steel desk was missing.
    “No d-and-c unit in the office,” she told Peabody.
    “What kind of office is that?”
    “Exactly. Not a single disc in there, either. As other electronics, just as easily lifted and hocked, are still on-scene, the comp was the target. The comp and the vic. So what did Natalie have that someone else wanted?”
    “Not only enough to kill her, but to make sure she hurt first.” Pity edged Peabody’s voice as she glanced back toward the body. “Nothing on this ’link but the call from the sister, ten this morning, and a call out, at seven-thirty A . M ., to Sloan, Myers, and Kraus. She called in sick. It’s an accounting firm, offices on Hudson. Entries prior to this—actually yesterday morning—were deleted. EDD can dig them out. You want to listen to what there is?”
    “Yeah, but let’s take them in. I want a run at the sister again.”
    On the way to Central, Peabody read off background data on the victim from her PPC. “Born, Cleveland, Ohio. Parents—both teachers—still married. One sib—the sister, three years younger. No criminal. Accountant with Sloan, Myers, and Kraus the past four years. No marriages, no cohabs on record. Resided the Jane Street address past eighteen months. Previously on Sixteenth in Chelsea. Previous to that was Cleveland, parents’ addy. She worked for an accounting firm there, part-time. Looks like a kind of internship while she was in college.”
    “Numbers cruncher, moves to New York. What’s the lowdown on the firm here?”
    “Hold on. Okay, big-deal firm,” Peabody began, reading the data from her PPC. “High-dollar clients, several corporations. Three floors at the Hudson Street