“My tip. No point in wasting the resources until we take a look.” She pulled out her master as they approached the building. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s lived in this place during this century, but see here—that’s a new lock. Nobody’s bothered to bust it yet.”
“Looks like that’s it for security. No cams, no pads.”
“If it had them, they’re long gone. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, bypassing lock, entering premises to validate or refute report of a body by a confidential informant.”
She bypassed, drew her weapon. Then eased the door open. “Now, that’s a lovely stench. If this is the flight of the wild goose, that weasel’s going to get a serious scolding. Weapon and light, Peabody. Let’s start clearing.”
As she had hours before with Roarke, she swept the first level.
“This was probably a nice place once,” Peabody commented. “You can see some of the original flooring and plasterwork.”
“Sure. It’s a real fixer-upper. Level one clear,” she said for the record. “Crap, these steps better hold. If you fall through, I’m not hauling you out.”
“I believe that’s a comment on my weight. I may file an official complaint.”
Eve snorted out a laugh. “You do that. God, the smell just gets better. It’s like a shit pile bouquet perfumed with ... crap.”
“Shit is crap.”
“For Christ’s sake, Peabody, you’ve worked Homicide long enough you should be able to smell a DB even through this. Weasel said in the tub. Clear as you go,” she ordered, and sweeping areas made her way back to the ruined bathroom. “This must be Juicy.”
“I guess you owe the weasel an apology.”
“He’ll get his twenty.” Eve approached the tub. “Swimming in puke. An exaggeration, but close enough. Let’s ID him, call it in.”
“Dallas, it’s bad in here. If we don’t want to spend an hour in the sanitizer, we should put on protective gear.”
“Got a point.” Eve stepped back, and as Peabody bent to remove the cover-ups from the kit, reached up and behind her for the cam Roarke had positioned. She slid it into her pocket, disengaged, then took out her communicator.
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”
Dispatch, Dallas acknowledged.
She reported the body, the location, the situation, requested uniforms to assist. Done, she unsealed the protective wrap Peabody offered her.
As before, Eve used her pad for ID. “Victim is identified as Keener, Rickie, age twenty-seven. Mixed race male, five feet and nine inches, one hundred and thirty pounds. Brown and brown. Vic is curled in a broken bathtub, empty needle syringe is in the tub with him. Other illegals paraphernalia also in evidence.”
“TOD’s coming in at oh four hundred yesterday, Dallas. It’s reading approximate due to time lag and ambient conditions.”
“ME to confirm TOD.”
Peabody said what she believed she’d have said if they’d come across the body by a tip. “It looks like an OD. You can see his track marks. He went old school, but it’s not his first trip to Neverland.”
“Why the tub? There was a mattress in the next room, what could loosely be called a bed. He’s got bruising, a scraped elbow.”
“He could’ve gotten those seizing, banging against the tub. I think it’s cast iron.”
“Yeah. He’s got a sheet, and wasn’t a stranger to illegals. Maybe he screwed up his pop, or maybe he got something hotter than he knew.” She shook her head. “He’s got an address on record, and this isn’t it. So why here?”
“Maybe he came to shoot with somebody, OD’d, and the somebody put him in here and went rabbit.”
“Those are questions and possibilities. Well, Juicy’s ours now. So we’ll have to get the answers. ME will determine COD, but for now this is a suspicious death, and our case. Let’s get to work.”
6
SHE CAUGHT THE GRIMACES WHEN SHE SENT the uniforms out to canvass and knock on doors. It wasn’t the type of neighborhood where cops were greeted with an offer of
coffee, or even a pretense of respect. Nor was it likely anyone would admit to seeing anything or anyone even if they’d been a magical fly on the wall of the crime scene.