"I checked her pulse. Knee-jerk," Louise said with a shrug. "I knew she was dead, but I checked anyway. Then I took out my pocket-link and called nine-one-one. You think she was pushed? That's why you're here."

"I don't think anything yet." Eve turned back toward the building. Some lights had been on when she'd arrived, and there were more now so that it looked like a vertical chessboard in silver and black. "Homicide gets tagged on leapers like this. It's standard. Do yourself a favor. Go in, take a pill, zone out. Don't talk to the press if they wheedle your name."

"Good advice. Will you let me know when… when you know what happened to her?"

"Yeah, I can do that. Want a uniform to take you up?"

"No, thanks." She took one last look at the body. "As bad as my night was, it was better than some."

"I hear you."

"Best to Roarke," Louise added, then walked toward the doors.

Peabody was already standing, her palm-link in hand. "Got an ID, Dallas. Bryna Bankhead, age twenty-three, mixed race. Single. Residence apartment 1207 in the building behind us. She worked at Saks Fifth Avenue. Lingerie. I established time of death at oh-one-fifteen."

"One-fifteen?" Eve repeated, and thought of the readout on her bedside clock.

"Yes, sir. I ran the measurements twice."

Eve frowned down at the gauges, the field kit, the bloody pool under the body. "Witness said she fell about one-thirty. When was the nine-eleven logged?"

Uneasy now, Peabody checked her 'link for the record. "Call came in at oh-one-thirty-six." She heaved out a breath that fluttered her thick, straight bangs. "I must've screwed up the measurements," she began. "I'm sorry – "

"Don't apologize until I tell you you've screwed up." Eve crouched, opened her own field kit, took out her own gauges. And ran the test a third time, personally.

"You established time of death accurately. For the record," she continued. "Victim, identified as Bankhead, Bryna, cause of death undetermined. Time of death oh-one-fifteen. TOD verified by Peabody, Officer Delia, and primary investigator Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Let's roll her, Peabody."

Peabody swallowed the questions on her tongue, and the quick rise of her own gorge. For the moment she blanked her mind, but later she would think it had been like rolling over a sack full of broken sticks swimming in thick liquid.

"Impact has severely damaged victim's face."

"Boy," Peabody breathed through her teeth. "I'll say."

"Limbs and torso also suffered severe damage, rendering it impossible to determine any possible pre-mortem injury from visual exam. The body is nude. She's wearing earrings." Eve took out a small magnifier, peered through it at the lobes. "Multicolored stones in gold settings, matching ring on right middle finger."

She eased closer until her lips were nearly on the victim's throat – and Peabody 's gorge tried a second rising. "Sir…"

"Perfume. She's wearing perfume. You walk around your apartment at one in the morning, Peabody, wearing fancy earrings and fancy perfume?"

"If I'm awake in my apartment at one in the morning, I'm usually in my bunny slippers. Unless…"

"Yeah." Eve straightened. "Unless you've got company." Eve turned to the crime scene tech. "Bag her. I want her tagged for priority with the ME. I want her checked for recent sexual activity, and any injuries that are pre-mortem. Let's have a look at her apartment, Peabody."

"She's not a leaper."

"Evidence is pointing to the contrary." She strode into the lobby. It was small and quiet, and security cameras swept the area.

"I want the discs from security," she told Peabody. "Lobby level, and twelfth floor to start."

There was a long pause as they stepped into the elevator and Eve called for the twelfth floor. Then Peabody shifted her weight, trying for casual. "So… are you going to bring in EDD?"

Eve stuck her hands in her pockets, scowled at the blank, brushed metal doors of the elevator. Peabody 's romantic liaison with Ian McNab, Electronics Detective Division had recently detonated.Which, if anyone had listened to me, Eve thought bitterly,wouldn't be in many ugly pieces because it never would have existed in the first place.

"Suck it in, Peabody."

"It's a reasonable question on procedure, and has nothing whatsoever to do with anything else."

Peabody 's tone was stiff enough to communicate insult, hurt feelings, and annoyance. She was, Eve thought, good at it. "If during the course of this investigation, I, as primary investigator, deem EDD is needed for consult, I will so order."

"You could also request someone other than he who shall not be named," Peabody muttered.

"Feeney runs EDD. I don't tell Feeney which of his people to assign. And damn it, Peabody, this case or another, you're going to end up working with McNab, which is why you should never have let him bang you in the first place."

"I can work with him. It doesn't bother me a bit." So saying, she stomped off the elevator onto the twelfth floor. "I'm a professional, unlike some others who are always cracking wise and coming to work in weird getups and showing off."

At the door of Bankhead's apartment, Eve lifted her eyebrows. "You calling me unprofessional, Officer?"

"No, sir! I was…" Her stiff shoulders loosened, and humor slid back into her eyes. "I'd never call your getups weird, Dallas, even though I'm pretty sure you're wearing a guy's shirt."

"If you're finished with your snit, we'll go back on record. Using master to gain entrance to victim's apartment," Eve continued, and coded through the locks. She opened the door, examined it. "Interior chain and snap bolt were not in use. Living area lights are on dim. What do you smell, Peabody?"

"Ah… candles, maybe perfume."

"What do you see?"

"Living area, nicely decorated and organized. The mood screen's on. Looks like a spring meadow pattern. There are two wineglasses and an open bottle of red wine on the sofa table, indicating the victim had company at some point in the evening."

"Okay." Though she'd hoped Peabody would take it a little further, Eve nodded. "What do you hear?"

"Music. Audio system's playing. Violins and piano. I don't recognize the tune."

"Not the tune, the tone," Eve said. "Romance. Take another look around. Everything's in place. Neat, tidy, and as noted, organized. But she left a bottle of wine sitting open, and used glasses sitting out? Why?"

"She didn't have a chance to put them away."

"Or turn off the lights, the audio, the mood screen." She stepped through, glanced into the adjoining kitchen. The counters were clean, and empty but for the corkscrew, the wine cork. "Who opened the wine, Peabody?"

"The most likely conclusion would be her date. If she'd opened it, she would have, giving the indication of the apartment, put the corkscrew away, dumped the cork in her recycler."

"Mmm. Living area balcony doors closed and secured from inside. If this was self-termination or an accidental fall, it wasn't from this point. Let's check the bedroom."

"You don't think it was self-termination or an accident."

"I don't think anything yet. What I know is the victim was a single woman who kept a very neat apartment and that evidence indicates she spent at least a portion of this evening at home with company."

Eve turned into the bedroom. The audio played here as well, dreamy, fluid notes that seemed to drift on the breeze fluttering through the open balcony doors. The bed was unmade, and the disordered sheets were strewn with pink rose petals. A black dress, black undergarments, and black evening shoes were piled beside the bed.

Candles, guttering fragrantly in their own wax, were set around the room.

"Read the scene," Eve ordered.

"It appears as if the victim engaged in or was about to engage in sexual intercourse prior to her death. There are no signs of struggle here or in the living area, which indicates the sex, or plans for the sex, were consensual."