Thankless in Death

about him blowing off some steam with his friends in Vegas. But she goes out, spends Christ knows on all this crap. Selfish bitch.”
    She paused, just for a moment, just one brief moment as that bitter anger Roarke heard wanted to spew. And it couldn’t be allowed.
    “The shoes make her look cheap, like she’s asking for it. He’s not going to give it to her. But when we find her, she’s going to look cheapand used, and her hair—she had that done today, I think—new color and style from her ID shot. Now it’s ruined and hacked. Bruised right nipple. Pinched it probably. Humiliate, humiliate. You humiliated me, now it’s your turn.”
    She examined the hands as she spoke, moved down the body checking for more wounds, anything left behind.
    “He tells her what he did to his parents. She’s the first one he’s been able to talk to about it, brag to. She’s safe because he’s going to kill her, but he gets to crow about what he’s done, how he’s got a big pile of money, and she’s got nothing. She is nothing.”
    Eve stepped out to examine the rest of the crime scene.
    Roarke stayed where he was a moment longer. You’re not nothing, he thought. She’s standing for you now, and she won’t stop. You’re hers now, so you matter.
    He wished he could cover her, but knew better.
    Instead, he went on to do what he could to help until Peabody arrived.

8
    EVE STUDIED THE SKINNY BATHROOM, THE still-damp towels on the floor, the pair of black boxers tossed in the corner.
    “He got off on it. Probably while he strangled her. Didn’t rape her, but killing her, watching her die, feeling all that, popped his fucking cork. Surprised him, I bet. Wasn’t expecting the sexual side benefit, so he came in his pants. Doesn’t give enough of a shit to take them, just leaves them, leaves the towels after he cleans himself up.”
    She met Roarke’s eyes in the mirror over the sink. “He’s a child—throwing stuff on the floor, and I’m betting those boxers are new, something he just bought, but he discards them. More, he doesn’t care about the DNA. It’s fine that we know he killed her. He wants credit for what he managed to do.”
    She started to mark the towels and boxers for the sweepers.
    “I’ll do that,” Roarke told her.

    “I misjudged him.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “I thought he had what he wanted. But killing his parents, taking everything he could from them, it showed him what he could do, what he could have. Now he wants more.”
    She stepped out, turned when Peabody came in, McNab right behind her.
    “Uniforms on the way to secure,” Peabody began. She paused, looked through the opening where Roarke had tied the beads up and back. “Jesus, he messed her up.”
    “I’ve got this. We need to alert everyone he might have a grudge against. His friends, former employers, coworkers, his grandparents.”
    “Do you think he’ll try for one of them?”
    “I didn’t think he’d try for the ex-girlfriend,” Eve said flatly. “I was wrong; she’s dead. Impress he’s killed again, but don’t ID the vic. I want all of them secured.”
    “I’m all over it.”
    “I can check her electronics,” McNab offered.
    “He took her comp and ’link. No door security or cams, no house ’link, so she must’ve only used a pocket. I haven’t looked for any other electronics yet. I find any, I’ll pass them to you.”
    “I can knock on doors for now.”
    He wore a long, and she bet billowy, orange coat over cherry red pants and a many-color striped tee. She saw the cop under it, but most wouldn’t. “That would save time, thanks, but for Christ’s sake show your badge so they don’t take you for an escapee from the circus.”
    He grinned at her, then took it out of one of a multitude of pockets, hooked it on the neck of his shirt before he went out.

    “No one tampered with the locks before me,” Roarke reminded her.
    “So he had keys, or made copies. She kept her tips, saved them. She’s had some time to start stockpiling more since he wiped her out. I didn’t see anything out in plain sight. Maybe she hides them.”
    “I’ll have a look.”
    “Appreciate it. I need to—”
    “Uniforms heading up,” Peabody informed her, sticking her head in the door.
    “Have one of them sit on Crabtree, get her statement. I want to know exactly when she left the building, where she went, when she came back. As close as she can nail it.”
    “Done.”
    “I want to talk to Mira. Now,”