Eyes narrowed, she ordered the image of Lola Starr to freeze, pull into close-up.
“Skin reddened left buttocks,” she murmured. “Missed that before. Spanking? Domination thrill? Doesn’t appear to be bruising or welting. Have Feeney enhance and determine. Switch to DeBlass tape.”
Again, Eve ran it. Sharon laughed at the camera, taunted it, touching herself, shifting. “Freeze image. Quadrant—shit—try sixteen, increase. No marks,” she said. “Continue. Come on, Sharon, show me the right side, just in case. Little more. Freeze. Quadrant twelve, increase. No marks on you. Maybe you did the spanking, huh? Run Castle disc. Come on Georgie, let’s see.”
She watched the woman smile, flirt, lift a hand to smooth down her tousled hair. Eve already knew the dialogue perfectly: “That was wonderful. You’re terrific.”
She was kneeling, sitting back on her haunches, her eyes pleasant and companionable. Silently, Eve began to urge her to move, just a little, shift over. Then Georgia yawned delicately, turned to fluff the pillows.
“Freeze. Oh yeah, paddled you, didn’t he? Some guys get off on playing bad girl and Daddy.”
She had a flash, like a stab of a knife through the brain. Memories sliced through her, the solid slap of a hand on her bottom, stinging, the heavy breathing. “You have to be punished, little girl. Then Daddy’s going to kiss it better. He’s going to kiss it all better.”
“Jesus.” She rubbed shaking hands over her face. “Stop. Put it away. Put it away.”
She reached for cold coffee and found only dregs. The past was past, she reminded herself, and had nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the job at hand.
“Victim Two and Three show marks of abuse on buttocks. No marks on Victim One.” She let out a long breath, took in a slow one. Steadier. “Break in pattern. Apparent emotional reaction during first murder, absent in subsequent two.”
Her ’link buzzed, she ignored it.
“Possible theory: Perpetrator gained confidence, enjoyment in subsequent murders. Note: No security on Victim Two. Time lapse on security cameras, Victim Three, thirty-three minutes less than Victim One. Possible theory: More adept, more confident, less inclined to play with victim. Wants the kick faster.”
Possible, possible, she thought, and her computer agreed after a jittery wheeze, with a ninety-six-three probability factor. But something else was clicking as she ran the three discs so closely together, interchanging sections.
“Split screen,” she ordered, “Victims One and Two, from beginning.”
Sharon’s cat smile, Lola’s pout. Both women looked toward the camera, toward the man behind it. Spoke to him.
“Freeze images,” Eve said so softly only the sharp ears of the computer could have heard her. “Oh God, what have we here?”
It was a small thing, a slight thing, and with the eyes focused on the brutality of the murders, easily missed. But she saw it now, through Sharon’s eyes. Through Lola’s.
Lola’s gaze was angled higher.
The height of the beds could account for it, Eve told herself as she added Georgie’s image to the screen. Each woman had their head tilted. After all, they were sitting, he very likely standing. But the angle of the eyes, the point at which they stared . . . Only Sharon’s was different.
Still watching the screen, Eve called Dr. Mira.
“I don’t care what she’s doing,” Eve spat out at the drone working reception. “It’s urgent.”
She snarled as she was put on hold and her ears assaulted with mindless, sugary music.
“Question,” she said the moment Mira was on the line.
“Yes, lieutenant.”
“Is it possible we have two killers?”
“A copycat? Unlikely, lieutenant, given as much of the method and style of the murders has been kept under wraps.”
“Shit leaks. I’ve got breaks in pattern. Small ones, but definite breaks.” Impatient, she outlined them. “Theory, doctor. The first murder committed by someone who knew Sharon well, who killed on impulse, then had enough control to clean up behind himself well. The second two are reflections of the first crime, fined down, thought through, committed by someone cold, calculating, with no connection to his victims. And goddamn it, he’s taller.”
“It’s a theory, lieutenant. I’m sorry, but it’s just as likely, even more so, that all three murders were committed by one man who grows more calculating with each success. In my professional opinion, no one who wasn’t privy to the first crime, to the stages of it, could have so perfectly mirrored the events in the second two.”
Her computer had ditched her theory as well, with a forty-eight-five. “Okay, thanks.” Deflated, Eve disconnected. Stupid to be disappointed, she told herself. How much worse could it be if she were after two men instead of one?
Her ’link buzzed again. Teeth bared in annoyance, she flipped on. “Dallas, What?”