In Death 25 - Creation in Death

“Morris, can I get a bottle of water?”
    “Help yourself.”
    “You need air,” Eve said without looking at her, “go get some.”
    “Just the water.”
    “This pattern might be new,” Eve continued, “but the rest is consistent. More creative, maybe, a little more patient. You do what you do long enough, you get better at it. Longer, deeper wounds along the rib cage, over the breasts. Wider burn areas, deeper bruising up the calves.
    “Increases the pain, gradually. Wants it to last. Cuts and burns on her face. No bruising there. Sap her and she might lose consciousness. Don’t want that.”
    The doors swished open. Feeney walked in, came straight to the table. He looked down. “Ah, hell,” was all he said.
    “We’ve got one new wound type. Circular pattern of punctures. See what you think of it.”
    Eve bent close to the ruined face, her eyes behind the goggles unflinching. “No bruising here that would indicate he gagged her—or not tightly. Nothing that would mar the skin. He has to have a place, a very, very private place. So she can scream. Tox back?”
    “Yes, just before you came. There were small traces of a standard sedative in her bloodstream. Barely registered. She’d have been awake and aware at TOD.”
    “Same MO. Puts her to sleep when he’s busy with other business.”
    “There were traces, too, of water and protein in her system. The lab will confirm, but…”
    “He likes to give them enough nutrients to keep them going,” Feeney said.
    Eve nodded. “I remember. Then ends it this way.” She lifted the victim’s hand, turned the wrist up. “Crosshatches, but not too deep. She’ll bleed out, but it’ll take time. Adds to his clock.”
    “I expect, given the prior blood loss, trauma, two hours. Three at the most. She would have lost consciousness before the end of it.”
    “Any trace of what he used to wash her down?”
    “Yes. In the scalp wounds, and the punctures under the nails. I sent it to the lab.”
    “Send over some skin scrapings, some hair. I want to see what kind of water. City water? Suburbs?”
    “I’ll take care of it.”
    “He’ll be starting on the second.” Feeney looked at Eve as she took off the goggles. “Probably has the third picked out.”
    “Yeah. I’m going to see the commander. For now, you tag a couple of your best men. I want them running and analyzing data as we get it, running probabilities. First on scene was Gil Newkirk’s son.”
    “Son of a bitch.”
    “Yeah, you reach out to Newkirk, senior? He’s out of the one-seven, so’s his kid. I’m bringing the son in on the uniform end of the task force, if his lieutenant doesn’t have a problem with it.”
    “Who’s the LT?”
    “Grohman.”
    “I know him,” Feeney told her. “I’ll handle it.”
    “Good.” Eve checked the time, calculated. “Peabody, book us a conference room, and I want it for the duration. They give you any lip about it, toss them to Whitney. We’ll meet there for the first briefing at oh-nine-hundred.”
    As they headed out, Eve shot a look at Roarke. “I take it you want to stick for the briefing.”
    “You trust correctly.”
    “I’m going to need to clear that with Whitney.”
    “All right.”
    “Take the wheel. I’ll see what I can do.”
    She put the call through, unsurprised to find Whitney already at his desk. “Sir, we’re heading into Central now from the morgue. We’re booking a conference room.”
    “Locked in A,” Peabody said from the backseat.
    “Conference room A,” Eve relayed. “And I’m scheduling the first briefing at oh-nine-hundred.”
    “I’ll be there. So will Chief Tibble.”
    “Yes, sir. I’ve brought in Captain Feeney as we worked together on the previous investigation. I’ve asked him for two additional e-men to run data. I would like to put Officer Newkirk on the uniform part of the task force as he was first on scene, and is the son of an officer who was involved in the previous investigation.”
    “I’ll clear that for you.”
    “Sir, Feeney’s on that. I want four additional men. Baxter, Trueheart, Jenkinson, and Powell. I’ll reassign whatever caseloads they’re currently carrying. I need them clear for this.”
    “It’s your call, Lieutenant, but Trueheart’s an aide, not a detective, and doesn’t have extensive experience.”
    “He’s tireless, sir, and has an excellent eye. Baxter’s given him some seasoning.”
    “I’ll trust your judgment.”
    “Thank you. I’ll need