Immortal in Death

She was barely three blocks away, heading to Cop Central, when the answer came in.

"Lieutenant, we got a possible match. Need dental, DNA, or prints to verify. Our possible can't be identified by hologram."

"Because?" Eve asked, but she already knew.

"She doesn't have enough face left."

The prints matched. The primary assigned to the Jane Doe handed Hetta over to Eve without a backward glance. In her office, Eve stared down at the three files.

"Sloppy work," she muttered. "Moppett's prints were on file from her companion's license. Carmichael could have ID'd her weeks ago."

"I'd say Carmichael wasn't much interested in a Jane Doe," Peabody commented.

Eve reined in the anger, flicked a glance up at Peabody. "Then Carmichael's in the wrong business, isn't she? We've got links here, Peabody. From Hetta to Boomer, Boomer to Pandora. What probability did you get when you ran them, asked if they were killed by the same hand?"

"Ninety-six point one."

"Okay." Eve's stomach jittered with relief. "I'm taking all of this to the PA, doing a tap dance. I may be able to talk them into dropping charges on Mavis. At least until we gather more evidence. If they don't…" She looked Peabody dead in the eye. "I'm leaking it to Nadine Furst for broadcast. That's a code violation, and I'm telling you because as long as you're attached to me and this case, you can be held equally responsible. You're risking a possible reprimand if you stay. I can have you reassigned before this goes down."

"I would consider that action a reprimand, Lieutenant. An undeserved one."

Eve said nothing for a moment. "Thanks. DeeDee."

Peabody winced. "Don't call me DeeDee."

"Fine. Take everything we have over to EDD, hand deliver personally to Captain Feeney. I don't want this data transmitted through cha

She saw the light go on in Peabody's eyes and smiled. She could remember what it was like to be new and have your first shot. "Go over to the Down and Dirty Club where Hetta worked, tell Crack, he's the big one. Believe me, you won't miss him. Tell him you're mine, tell him Hetta's a corpse. See what you can get out of him, out of anybody. Who she hung with, what she might have said about Boomer that last night, who else she spent time with. You know the drill."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Peabody." Eve slipped the files into her bag and rose. "Don't go in uniform, you'll scare the natives."

The PA smashed Eve's hopes in ten minutes flat. She continued to argue for another twenty, but it was all spi

But he, and the prosecutor's office, were not prepared to drop the charges against Mavis Freestone. The physical evidence was too strong, and the case, at this point, too solid to warrant a backpedal.

He would, however, keep his door open. When and if Eve had another suspect, he would be more than willing to listen to her case.

"Puss head," Eve muttered as she slammed into the Blue Squirrel. She spotted Nadine immediately, already in a booth and grimacing over the menu.

"Why the hell does it always have to be here, Dallas?" Nadine demanded the minute Eve dropped down across from her.

"I'm a creature of habit." But the club wasn't the same, she noted, not without Mavis standing onstage screeching out her incomprehensible lyrics in her latest, eye-popping costume. "Coffee, black," Eve ordered.

"I'll have the same. How bad can it be?"

"Just wait for it. Are you still smoking?"

Nadine glanced around, uneasy. "This isn't a smoking booth."

"Like they're going to say something in a joint like this. Give me one, will you?"

"You don't smoke."

"I'm hoping to develop bad habits. You want the two bucks?"

"No." Keeping an eye out, just in case anyone she knew was around, Nadine took out two cigarettes. "You look like you could use something a little stronger."

"This'll do." She leaned over so that Nadine could light it, took one puff. Hacked. "Jesus. Let me try that again." She drew in smoke, felt her head spin, her lungs revolt. A

"It's a developed taste."

"So's eating dog shit. And speaking of dog shit." Eve slid her coffee from the serving slot and took one brave sip. "So, how've you been?"

"Good. Better. I've been doing things I didn't used to think I had time for. It's fu

"He's not crazy. He's just a killer."

"Just a killer." Nadine ran a finger along her throat where a knife had once drawn blood. "You don't figure being the latter makes him the former."

"No, some people just like killing. Don't dwell on it, Nadine. It doesn't help."

"I've been trying not to. I took a few weeks, spent some time with my family. That helped. It also reminded me that I love my job. And I'm good at it, even though I folded – "

"You didn't fold," Eve interrupted impatiently, "you were drugged, you had a knife to your throat, and you were scared. Put it behind you."

"Yeah. Right. Well." She blew out smoke. "Anything new on your friend? I wasn't really able to tell you how sorry I am that she's in trouble."

"She's going to be all right."

"I'd bank on you seeing to that."

"That's right, Nadine, and you're going to help me. I've got some data for you from an unidentified police source. No, no recorders, write it down," Eve ordered as Nadine reached in her bag.

"Whatever you say." Nadine dug deeper, found a pad and a pen. "Shoot."

"We have three separate homicides, and evidence points to one killer. The first, Hetta Moppett, part-time dancer and licensed club companion, was beaten to death on May 28, at approximately two A. M. The majority of blows were delivered to her face and head in such a ma

"Ah," Nadine said and left it at that.

"Her body was discovered, without identification, at six the next morning and tagged as a Jane Doe. At the time of her murder, Mavis Freestone was standing on that stage behind you, belting her guts out in front of about a hundred and fifty witnesses."

Nadine's brow shot up, and she smiled. "Well, well. Keep going, Lieutenant."

So she did.

It was the best she could do for the moment. When the broadcast hit, it was doubtful whether anyone in the department would have to guess who the u

She put in a few more hours at Cop Central, had the miserable job of contacting Hetta's brother, the only next of kin who could be tracked down, and informing him that his sister was dead.

After that cheerful interlude, she went back over every scrap of forensic evidence the sweepers had sucked up at the Moppett murder scene.

There was no doubt that she had been killed where she'd been found. The murder had been a clean, probably a quick hit. A shattered elbow had been the only defensive wound. No murder weapon had yet been found.