“Dallas. You just caught me on the way to lunch.”
She pulled the chips out of her pocket. “Trade you for a quick summary.”
“I do have
a fondness for chips.” He stepped back in; she followed.
And saw three bodies on three slabs.
“Murder-suicide,” Morris said when he saw her study the other bodies.
“Yeah, I know. Baxter and Trueheart. The husband’s way of settling a divorce and custody dispute.”
“She fought. I can tell you, even before my full exam, she fought. She didn’t go down easy.” He patted Eve’s arm, stepped over to Kagen.
“On the other hand, he didn’t fight. Couldn’t, as he was drunk, then drugged. My summation includes the belief that the initial stimulant to bring him around failed. He was too far under. It’s the same barbiturate, the same stimulant as the other two victims. It’s simply in this case, the victim had consumed nearly three pints of beer and three shots of rye whiskey prior to the addition of the barbiturate.”
“It’s why she didn’t do as much damage as she did with the second victim. Maybe. The broken arm, that’s symbolic, as he’s left-handed, beat his wife.”
“Yes, dominant left. He also had a very good start on cirrhosis of the liver, and other health issues. His first wounds, and the last? Only three to four hours between. You’re quite right, she didn’t have or didn’t spend as much time with him.”
“No point torturing him until he’s conscious. And I think she may have had to break off. Then she had to get him back before one of the residents came home from night shift work. Used to be on the job, so he was helpful.”
“A stroke of luck.”
“So was the hair Peabody found that I’m hoping Harvo’s nailed down for us. He tell you anything else?”
“The scarring on his knuckles indicates he used his fists regularly over the years. The damage to his body tells me he drank to excess just as regularly, had a poor diet, sketchy dental hygiene. Not helpful.”
“You have to know the vic to know the killer. She knew all of this. He was likely the easiest mark of the three, and still she made mistakes. Gave him too much of the drug, had to rush her kill so she didn’t check the body well enough to make sure she didn’t leave anything.
“She’s getting sloppy,” Eve concluded, “and also taking bigger risks. She sat right at the bar with this one, long enough to order a drink, have a conversation, with the bartender right there. So …”
She tossed him the chips. “Thanks.”
Eve thought it through on her way to the lab. Definitely sloppy to overdose him. She had to know him for a heavy drinker. Then again, big guy, and she didn’t want to risk him having any fight left in him.
Sloppier yet to leave the hair.
Not the lavender wig. So she got rid of the disguise before she went to work on him.
She had to bank on Harvo matching the DNA.
When she reached the lab, Eve angled for Harvo’s glass-walled domain. The queen of hair and fiber sat on her stool at a leg of her work counter. She wore what could be termed a lab coat providing your definition thereof stretched wide, as her version was a bunch of inexplicable symbols scrolled over a field of bright spring green.
Her own hair, drawn back in a little bouncy tail, matched the field. A tiny glittery stud—green ranked as the day’s color—winked on the side of her nose.
She had tunes going, bouncy like her tail of hair, as her fingers—tipped in more green—danced over her screen.
She glanced over as Eve stepped in, shot out a smile. She snapped her fingers three times. The music shut off.
“Hey, Dallas. Hanging tough? Just finished your deal. Take off a load,” she invited with a gesture to another stool.
“I’m good, thanks. A little pressed.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know how that rides. So your hair had your vic’s blood and skin tissue all over it. And see, like, some started to scab over, so he was still breathing when she lost it on him—and it stuck in the blood. Just his blood and tissue, btw.”
“Could you get DNA?”