"Thanks." Peabody took out her communicator to signal Trueheart and fill him in on the assignment.
* * *
Eve went straight into a 'link conference with the primary in charge of the Denver homicide. Detective Green was seasoned and irritable.
Eve liked him immediately.
"Got a shit load of latents off the rooms. Coupla housekeepers, maintenance guy who dinked with the entertainment system after a complaint from the last tenants. Last tenants ID'd as Joshua and Rena Hathaway out of Cincinnati. Had the rooms for three days, checking out the day our girl checked in. They're clean. Got the vic's—just in the living area on him—coffee table, knife and fork, cup and saucer, juice glass. And we got Julianna Dunne's every-fucking-where."
He paused, slurped some coffee. "Got her visually ID'd from hotel discs, from the bellman and lobby staff. We're running hair outta the bathroom traps for DNA, just to sew her up."
"Sewing her up isn't the problem. It's bagging her first. Have you contacted Federal yet?"
Green shifted, snorted, slurped. "Don't see there's any fucking hurry for the Feebs."
"You're playing my song. That's a lot of latents to sort through, Detective. Seems to me it might take some time to clear out all the excess and pinpoint Dunne."
"Might. And shit has a habit of getting misplaced around here. Could be misplaced forty-eight hours anyway. Could be seventy-two if we have, say, a little equipment problem. Especially if I were pursuing other leads."
"There's a lot of data on her through IRCCA, but I've got more. Stretch that time frame out some, and I'll send you everything, including my personal notes."
"It so happens I'm a slow reader. And you know how you want to make sure you got everything in a nice package with a bow before you go and bother those busy Feebies with pesky stuff like murders. When I get to the point I have to make that call, I'll contact you first and give you some lead time."
"Appreciate it."
"Campbell was one of the good ones. The genuine article. You bag her, Lieutenant, and you can count on Denver to help you sew her up so she can't ooze her way out again."
When she'd completed transmitting the data to Green, Eve pushed away from her desk, walked to her window. She focused on the window in the building across the street.
Hours of disc time, Julianna had said. So you watched me, Eve mused, but you didn't see. Not what you thought you saw. Sisters, my butt. The only bond between us is murder.
Notching a hip on the narrow sill, she let her mind clear and empty as she watched the fretful air traffic. An ad blimp crept by hyping rental condos on the Jersey shore.
She'd gone to the Jersey shore once with Mavis for a very strange, very drunk weekend. Mavis had reminisced sentimentally about working the boardwalk one summer, scoping for marks, running cons. Just a couple of years before Eve had busted her for doing the same on Broadway.
That was a bond, Eve thought. If she had any sort of sister, it was Mavis.
Mavis changed her appearance more often than the average teenage boy changed his underwear. Julianna was doing the same now, but not for the fashion statement.
Or maybe that was part of it. It was that female exploration—one that had always baffled Eve—to re-invent oneself, to experiment with new looks. To attract someone? Maybe, maybe, she mused as she pushed away to pace. But there had to be more, something satisfying to self first. A person would look in the mirror and find themselves new, fresh, different.
When it came to fussing with hair and enhancements and treatments, Eve felt her personal space, and her control over self was violated. But it occurred to her that the opposite was true for most people. They liked having everything focused on themselves, on their appearance.
Julianna would have missed that in prison. Making use of the prison salon would hardly have satisfied her.
Would she risk giving herself that satisfaction here? Not in the city, Eve decided. She wouldn't be so foolish as to risk exposing herself to a beauty consultant in the same pool where she killed. Where her face was splashed all over the screen.
No, they were spinning wheels looking there.
People who worked on faces, on features and hair and bodies noticed faces and features and bodies. How many times had she heard Mavis and the terrifying consultant Trina chattering about this one or that one.
Eve didn't doubt Julianna was dealing with her own hair these days. Somehow most women appeared to know how, even though those who could afford it went to consultants. But she'd be yearning for a relaxing, indulgent day, even a weekend, of treatments.
And it would have to be top drawer.
Europe, Eve decided. She'd continue to check all the major salons and spa centers in the city, but her money was on Paris or Rome.
"Computer." She whipped back to her desk. "Run a global search on beauty salons, spas, and treatment centers. List top twenty. No, make that fifty. Worldwide."