as in building ships and using them to transport cargo and people on cruises. I don’t know her personally, but can tell you she was known as a wild child who lived for parties, extensive travel, shopping, drink, drugs, sex until a few years ago.”
“She looked like money,” Eve recalled. “She didn’t look wild.”
“I believe she designs or helps design the decor on the cruise ships, and does some nonprofit work these days. Is she a suspect?”
“About as far down the list as you can get at this point, but you never know.”
“You do,” he corrected. “Or you find out. How did she die, your mother of two?”
“Somebody broke her neck. Unless Morris tells me different,” she added as she pulled up to the morgue. “I’m going to go talk to him. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Eat something,” he repeated.
“Yeah, yeah.” But she grinned at him before she broke transmission.
Sometimes you got lucky, she thought remembering Daniel Yung’s words. She’d hit the mega-jackpot with Roarke, a man who understood her and loved her anyway.
And sometimes, she thought as she walked into the long white tunnel of the morgue, luck ran out as it had for Marta and Denzel Dickenson.
Too early for change-of-shift she decided as her footsteps echoed. People were either dealing with the death toll the city hauled in during the night, or doing paperwork in offices, or things she didn’t particularly want to think about with body parts in labs.
She paused at Vending, rejected even the idea of what passed for coffee at this particular establishment. She ordered a tube of Pepsi instead, and chugged some caffeine into her system as she headed for Morris’s area.
If he hadn’t been notified and come in, she’d contact him with Yung’s request.
But she heard the music—weeping sax, tearful bass, as she pushed through the double doors.
He had Marta Dickenson on the slab, had opened her with a Y-cut and delicately lifted out her heart to weigh it.
He glanced over at Eve, his dark eyes large behind his microgoggles.
“Our day began when hers ended.”
“She was putting in overtime at the office. Her day didn’t end very well.”
“She has children. I checked for rape, no sign of sexual assault, but signs she’s borne at least one child.”
“Two.”
He nodded as he worked. He wore chocolate brown under his protective cape, a perfectly cut suit with a cream-colored shirt. He’d braided his hair, left it in one, long, complicated black tail down his back.
“I was going to pull you in if you weren’t on her.”
“I took the night shift this week. Restless.” But he glanced up again. “Any particular reason you’d want me on her?”
“She’s Judge Yung’s sister-in-law.”
“Genny?”
Eve’s eyebrows winged up. “You’re on a first-name basis with Yung?”
“We share an appreciation for the same types of music. This is her brother’s wife? Denzel’s wife. I met them once, when Genny had a musical evening at her home. I didn’t recognize her, but Genny always spoke so warmly of her.”
“The judge is clearing the road, seeing that we have full access and in a speedy fashion.”
“You don’t suspect the husband?”
“No, but you’ve got to look. COD’s the broken neck?”
“Yes. Someone very strong and very skilled. It wasn’t from a fall. The report said she was found at the bottom of a stairway.”
“A short one, and no, not a fall. She didn’t fall. They put her there when they were done, tried to make it look like a mugging. It wasn’t.”
“She has some minor injuries. Facial bruise, the injured lip, both from a blow—a hand, not a fist—slight bruising around her mouth, bruising on her right wrist, slight bruising on both knees and her left elbow, the abrasion on the heel of her right hand.”
“Knees and hand. Like she skidded on some kind of rug or carpet?” Eve held up her hand, shoved the heel of it forward.
“That would be my conclusion. I found fibers in the hand abrasion, and sent them to the lab.”
“Blue fibers?”
“Yes, as your notes stated you found on her pants. You’d marked for Harpo, so I sent her the ones I removed.”
“Good.”
“I’ve barely started on her, and don’t have much.”
“Any stun marks? Any tox?”
“Very light marks from a stunner, just above her left shoulder blade.”
“I’d figured no on that,” Eve murmured, hooking her thumbs in her front pockets as she walked closer to the body. “If you want it to look like a mugging, leaving stun marks is seriously stupid. Your average mugger’s not going to have access to a stunner. They use