She doubted the sheets had been changed this year, and from the varying stains decorating them, she had to be grateful she wouldn’t be the one dealing with them.
Peabody made a soft gagging sound. “I don’t know if it’s scientifically possible, but I swear there’s about six months’ worth of trapped boy-farts in this room.”
“Oh, it’s possible,” Eve said, breathing through her teeth. “It’s possible.”
With more reluctance than she’d have felt approaching a mangled corpse, Eve stepped to the narrow closet, nudged it fully open with an elbow.
And spotted a bright, shiny red bag hanging by its silver chain.
“Field kit, Peabody.”
“I got a mini can of sealant right here.” Peabody passed it to her, and Eve sealed her hands, passed it back so Peabody could do the same.
“Looks like most of his clothes are gone from in here—if he ever actually used the closet. But he leaves this.”
“He could be flopping somewhere else and doesn’t want anybody else to see it,” Peabody suggested. “Maybe even at Banger HQ.”
“Yeah, we could try there, see if Reo can expand the warrant for entry. We might get him, but we’d send up a flag to the other two, and whoever put out the hit. He might be there, but he’s in the wind if he’s lucky, dead if he’s not.”
She took the purse off the hook, opened it.
“And look here.”
Peabody looked inside, saw the pair of oversize hoop earrings in gaudy fake gold. “Jesus, Dallas, he didn’t even clean her blood off them.”
“They’re Duff’s, but we’ll send them to the lab, confirm. Unless you’ve got evidence bags in your pocket, we’re going to need a kit.”
“Loose pants,” Peabody said, and took off.
“Tell the uniforms to stand down, but hold,” Eve called out.
She took the earrings out, studied them. Not just blood, she noted, little bits of flesh, too.
Shiny things, she mused as she stepped out of the closet, scanning the room. Would this particular murderous magpie leave his shiny things behind if he ran?
Dirty clothes left, and a couple of shirts, on the ragged side, on the closet floor. No shoes.
Holding the purse carefully, she got down, looked under the bed. A few more scattered clothes, a lot of dirt and dust, another plate holding a moldy smear of God knew what.
No shoes.
She opened one of his three dresser drawers, found a pair of truly filthy socks that hadn’t made it to the floor.
Peabody hustled back in. “Gave up, took the elevator. I justified it because it’s quicker.”
“Bag the earrings, then put them back inside the purse, bag that. No shoes in his room.”
“He might only have one pair,” Peabody pointed out as she bagged the evidence, marked and sealed it.
“Yeah, maybe. Here’s what we’re going to do. We get the two cops from last night to sit on the place, that’s Officers Zutter and Norton. See if he goes in or out. Make that happen—and while you’re at it, ask them if they know the finger-snapping guy. Maybe we can push there.”
She paced as she thought it through. “He’s going to have a ’link, and he’s seventeen years old. He’s going to use it, unless he’s dead. Let’s put EDD on that. See if they can locate him. I’ll do that. You find out who in the bullpen’s not working something hot. Bring them up to speed. Let’s get them out to the Sky Mall to talk to the mother.”
“If the kid had the time right, she might be on her way home.”
Eve glanced at her wrist unit, said, “Shit. You’re right. Long commute. We’ll get them to sit on this place, talk to the mother when she gets home. She hasn’t been in his room, not for weeks anyway, and not likely since he put in the lock. She doesn’t know where he is, but she might know something.
“Christ, who could live with this smell?”