She reached in her kit again, paused when Peabody hustled up. “Sorry it took me so long. Had to come crosstown and there was a jam on the subway. Hey, Morris!” Peabody, a red cap pulled low over her dark hair, rubbed her nose, looked at the body. “Oh, man. Someone put her through it.”

In her sturdy winter boots, Peabody sidestepped for a better view. “The message. There’s something about that. Dim bell.” She tapped at her temple. “Something.”

“Get her ID,” Eve ordered, then turned to Newkirk. “What do you know?”

He’d been standing at attention, but went even stiffer, even straighter. “My partner and I were on patrol, and observed what appeared to be a robbery in progress. We pursued a male individual into the park. The suspect headed in an easterly direction. We were unable to apprehend, the suspect had a considerable lead. My partner and I split up, intending to cut off the suspect. At which time, I discovered the victim. I called for my partner, then notified Commander Whitney.”

“Notifying the commander isn’t procedure, Officer Newkirk.”

“No, sir. I felt, in these circumstances, that the notification was not only warranted but necessary.”

“Why?”

“Sir, I recognized the signature. Lieutenant, my father’s on the job. Nine years ago he was part of a task force formed to investigate a series of torture murders.” Newkirk’s gaze shifted to the body, back to Eve’s. “With this signature.”

“Your father’s Gil Newkirk?”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction at her question. “I followed the case back then, as much as I could. Over the years since, particularly since I’ve been on the job, my father and I have discussed it. The way you do. So I recognized the signature. Sir, I felt, in this case, breaking standard and notifying the commander directly was correct.”

“You’d be right. Good call, Officer. Stand by.”

She turned to Peabody.

“Vic is ID’d as Sarifina York, age twenty-eight. Address is on West Twenty-first. Single. Employed at Starlight. That’s a retro club in Chelsea.”

Eve crouched down. “She wasn’t killed here, and she wasn’t wrapped in this cloth when she was brought here. He likes the stage clean. TOD, Morris.”

“Eleven this morning.”

“Eighty-five hours. So he took her sometime Monday, or earlier if he didn’t start the clock. Historically, he starts on the first very shortly after he makes the snatch.”

“Starting the clock when he begins to work on them,” Morris confirmed.

“Oh, shit. Oh, crap, I remember this.” Peabody sat back on her heels. Her cheeks were reddened by the wind, and her eyes had widened with memory. “The media tagged him The Groom.”

“Because of the ring,” Eve told her. “We let the ring leak.”

“It was, like, ten years ago.”

“Nine,” Eve corrected. “Nine years, two weeks, and…three days since we found the first body.”

“Copycat,” Peabody suggested.

“No, this is him. The message, the time-we didn’t let that leak to the media. We closed that data up tight. But we never closed the case. We never closed him. Four women in fifteen days. All brunettes, the youngest twenty-eight, the oldest thirty-three. All tortured, between a period of twenty-three and fifty-two hours.”

Eve looked at the carving again. “He’s gotten better at his work.”

Morris nodded as he made his study. “It appears the more superficial wounds were inflicted first, as before. I’ll confirm when I get her home.”

“Ligature marks, ankles, wrists-just above the slashes.” Eve lifted one of the hands. “She didn’t just lie there and take it, not from the looks of this. He used drugs on the others.”

“Yes, I’ll check.”

Eve remembered it all, every detail of it, and all the frustration and fury that rode with it. “He’ll have washed her, washed her clean-hair and body-with high-end products. Wrapped her up, probably in plastic, for transport. We never got so much as a speck of lint off any of the others. Bag the ring, Peabody. You take her, Morris.”

She straightened. “Officer Newkirk, I’m going to need a full and detailed written report, asap.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s your LT?”

“Grohman, sir. I’m out of the one-seven.”

“Your father still there?”

“He is, yes, sir.”

“Okay, Newkirk, get me that report. Peabody, check Missing Persons, see if the vic was reported. I need to contact the commander.”

B y the time she exited the park, the wind had died down. Small mercy. The crowd of gawkers had thinned out, but the media hounds were more dogged. The only way to control the situation, she knew, was to meet it head on.

“I won’t answer questions.” She had to shout to be heard over the questions already being hurled at her. “I will make a brief statement. And if you keep shouting at me, you won’t get that either. Earlier this evening”-she continued through the shouts and the noise level dropped-“officers of the NYPSD discovered the body of a woman in East River Park.”

“Has she been identified?”

“How was she killed?”

Eve simply stared holes into the reporters who attempted to break rank. “Did you guys just drop into the city out of a puffy cloud, or are you just running your mouths to hear your own voice? As anyone with half a brain knows, the woman’s identity will not be given out until after notification of next of kin. Cause of death will be determined by the medical examiner. And anyone stupid enough to ask me if we have any leads is going to be blocked from receiving any ensuing data on this matter. Clear? Now stop wasting my time.”

She stalked off, and was halfway to her own vehicle when she spotted Roarke leaning against the hood. She’d completely forgotten about him.

“Why aren’t you home?”

“What? And miss the entertainment? Hello, Peabody.”

“Hey.” She managed to smile even though her cheeks felt like a couple of slabs of ice. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Nearly. I did wander off.” He opened the car door, took out a couple of insulated takeout cups. “To get you presents.”

“It’s coffee,” Peabody said, reverently. “It’s hot coffee.”

“Should thaw you out a bit. Bad?” he said to Eve.

“Very. Peabody, track down contact info on the vic’s next of kin.”

“York, Sarifina. On it.”

“I’ll get myself home,” Roarke began, then stopped. “What was that name?”

“York,” Eve repeated, “Sarifina.” Something sank in her belly. “You’re going to tell me you knew her.”

“Late twenties, attractive brunette?” He leaned back against the car again when Eve nodded. “I hired her a few months ago to manage a club in Chelsea. I can’t say I knew her other than I found her bright, energetic, capable. How did she die?”

Before she could answer, Peabody stepped back up. “Mother in Reno-that’s Nevada-father in Hawaii. Bet it’s warm there. She has a sister in the city. Murray Hill. And the Missing Person’s data came through. The sister reported her missing yesterday.”

“Let’s take the vic’s apartment first, then the club, then the next of kin.”

Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s arm. “You haven’t told me how she died.”

“Badly. This isn’t the place for the details. I can arrange for transpo for you or-”

“I’m going with you. She was one of mine,” he said before she could object. “I’m going with you.”

She didn’t argue. Not only would it waste time and energy, she understood. And since she had him, she’d use him.

“If an employee-especially one in a managerial position-didn’t show for work a few days running, would you be notified?”

“Not necessarily.” He did what he could to make himself comfortable in the back of the police issue. “And I certainly wouldn’t know her schedule off the top of my head, but I will find out about that. If she missed work, it’s likely someone covered for her, and-or-that her absence was reported to a supervisor in that particular arm of the Entertainment Division.”