Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,69
on the display and took it on the in-dash.
“Dallas.”
Harvo, her spring-green hair spiked up, said, “Yo. Got the goods for you.”
“You’re in early.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t get to the sample yesterday, so I came in early because, you know, poor kitty. And fuck the fucker who killed it and wants to do the same to Roarke.”
“I appreciate it. What can you tell me?”
“Got details, solid, as Berenski already did the blood work.”
“He did.”
Harvo lifted her shoulders. “Dickhead’s a dickhead, but he comes through when it’s, you know, family time. So. Young female tabby with a history of mange, still on meds.”
“Mange.”
“Yeah, which was being treated—along with flea treatments. I’m betting she was looking and feeling a lot better before the bastard cut her up, because the hair sample’s healthy. I’m going to send you the medical name for the topical—the dry shampoo. Blood work confirms the oral meds and supplements. Somebody was taking good care of her, Dallas. You can only get the mange med from a licensed vet.”
“This is good, Harvo.”
“Well, natch.” She fluffed at her hair, then her eyes turned sober. “You get anything more, I’m all over it.”
“Thanks.”
“Report on its way in five—just wanted to give you the heads-up. Cha.”
“Yeah, uh, cha.” Whatever the hell that actually meant.
So, a cat who’d had fleas, mange. A stray? Maybe taken to a shelter, or just taken in by a cat lover. And importantly, taken to a vet who’d have records.
She didn’t want to think, yet, of how many vets New York boasted. She could work with the data, drill down into it.
She checked the time, considered, and headed for the morgue. She could work there until Morris came on, save a little time.
And where are you, Cobbe? Still sleeping, she thought, on nice smooth sheets paid for in blood.
Enjoy it while you can, you bastard, because your time’s coming.
As she walked the white tunnel, bootsteps echoing, Eve texted Peabody.
At the morgue now. Go straight to Central. Review Harvo’s incoming report. Start search for applicable vets.
More time saved, potentially, she thought.
She prepared to find a seat, start her morning report, but, through the porthole windows of his doors, spotted Morris already at work.
She swung through. “Early morning or long night?”
He glanced up. “A little of both. I had a floater last night, accidental death as it turned out. Demonstrating one shouldn’t drink to excess, chasing vodka tonics with Erotica, while going on a moonlight sail.”
“Bad choices will get you every time.”
“Won’t they just? Your kitty didn’t have a choice.”
Eve studied the cat on the slab. “No, she didn’t. I didn’t expect you to come in early to work on her.”
Morris bent back to his work, examining stomach contents.
“The one who did this would like to do the same to Roarke?”
“Yeah, he would.”
“Then it’s the least you should expect.” He straightened a moment.
He wore a clear protective cape over one of his excellent suits, a steely gray with pale, delicate pinstripes, offset by the bold blue of his shirt. His dark hair coiled in a braid with a thin cord of that same bold blue woven through.
Microgoggles hung around his neck as his eyes met hers.
“When I lost Amaryllis, you were there for me, not just professionally, but as a friend, as family. So was Roarke.”
“That’s just …”
“The way it is, and should be. Threaten one of ours, deal with us all. I can tell you while this poor creature had no choice, she did, before her death, have someone who cared for her.”
“Harvo said she’d been treated for mange and fleas.”
“I agree. You can see the remnants of both, but you’ll need the goggles. She’d been well tended. I can tell you she was fed the morning she died, and enjoyed a few treats about two hours before TOD. I can run the analysis of the contents here.
“She’s been spayed, about three weeks ago, no more than four. A healthy female, common tabby, of approximately one year, with signs of early malnutrition, the previous mange, fleabites. Equate her to a sidewalk sleeper who’d been taken into a shelter, cleaned, treated, fed, and given that shelter and care for a month. She rebounded because someone took the care.”
“Okay. I can work with that.”
“She suffered,” he added. “Her killer tortured her. I wish I could say he paid for it, the sadistic fuck, but I found traces of leather under her claws and in her teeth. No skin or blood.”
“He wore protective gloves so she couldn’t scratch or bite him.”