“Yes, but when we use the micros, you can see the detail bruising, both sides of the nostrils.” He picked up the pair Eve had laid aside, then offered them to Peabody when Eve jerked a thumb at her partner.

Putting them on, Peabody leaned down. “I just see a big mess of bruising.” She focused, frowning, as Morris shined a pinpoint light over the side of Natalie’s nose.

“Okay, yeah. I get it. I don’t think I’d have seen it, but I get it now. He had her mouth taped, then he clamped her nose closed – hard, with his thumb and finger. Cut off her air.”

“With the broken nose she’d have had considerable trouble breathing. He made it harder.”

“Interrogating her,” Eve said to Morris. “If it was a straight torture killing, he’d have done more. Cut her up some, broken more bones, burned her more severely and over more of her body. There’d most likely be some sexual abuse, or trauma to the breasts and genitals.”

“Agreed. He just wanted to hurt her. On the male, he skipped the interrogation portion of the program. Went from beating to strangling.”

“Because the woman told him what he needed to know, gave him what he needed to have,” Peabody concluded.

“And the second vic had to die because the first told the killer her boyfriend knew what she knew, or had seen what she’d seen. The motive’s in her,” Eve murmured.

At Central, Eve sat at her desk downing coffee and adding data and notes to her initial reports. She put in another call to the PA’s office to check on the warrant, got the runaround.

Lawyers, she thought. The accounting firm’s lawyers had knee-jerked a motion to block the warrant. Not unexpected, Eve mused, but they’d get it – not likely before the end of the business day, however.

She knee-jerked herself and called to harass the lab. The evidence had been gathered, was being processed. They weren’t miracle workers. Blah, blah.

What she had was two DBs – a couple – killed in their separate homes a few blocks apart, about an hour apart. Female first. Same employer, different departments. Violent deaths, missing comp units and data discs.

No known enemies.

The killer had to have personal transportation, she mused. Can’t go hauling d-and-c units from murder scene to murder scene.

Frowning, she checked her incoming to see if Peabody had determined the types of units the victims owned. And found her efficient partner had copied her the list of units registered to both. Two desk units, two PPCs. And that didn’t include the memo books – no required registration with CompuGuard – they must have owned, which, like the comps, hadn’t been on either scene. Good equipment and fairly compact, she thought as she took a look at the models, but she couldn’t see the killer hauling Copperfield’s machines up Byson’s emergency evac.

No, he’d had a vehicle to transport them, to lock them safely away while he finished his night’s work.

Where did he park? Did he live close to either scene? Did he work alone? Brought the binding tape with him, and probably the stunner, the laser pointer or whatever tool he’d used for the burns – preparation. Used weapons on hand for the killings. Opportunistic.

Knew female vic’s building lacked security cams, alarms. And that the second scene had better security. Scoped them out first, preparation again. And/or had personal knowledge of the scenes.

Had he been inside before the murders?

Prior personal contact with the victims?

She rose, set up her board, then sat again, angling her chair so she could study the faces of her dead.

“What did you know, Natalie? What did you have? What did you figure out? Had you worried, whatever it was.”

Called in sick the morning of the murder. Put on an extra lock, security peep, in a place you were moving out of in a few months. Yeah, you were worried.

But not enough to tell the sister, or the boss she was allegedly friendly with.

But Bick went into work that morning. Maybe not as worried, maybe to keep an ear to the ground.

And not worried, not scared enough to have the boyfriend come over, stay the night.

Not scared for your life, Eve concluded, despite the knife in the bedroom. Shook, upset, nervous – careful. But not scared for your life. Probably felt stupid, even a little embarrassed when you brought that knife into the bedroom with you. But you’re not scared enough to call the cops, even move in with the fiancé for a few days.

Maybe working on something. Liked your space, your quiet. But it gets dark, you’re a little wiggy.

To refresh herself, she called up the replay from Palma ’s pocket ’link, reviewed the transmission to her sister.

‘Hey, Nat!’

‘Palm. Where are you?’

‘Somewhere over Montana. Vegas/ New York runs, remember. We’re loaded with them today. Back and forth, full shuttles. I’m getting into New York late. Still okay if I crash with you, right?’

‘Sure. I really want to see you. I’ve missed you.’

‘Me, too. Hey, something wrong?’

‘No. No. Just a lot on my mind.’

‘You had a fight with Bick.’

‘No. We’re fine. I’m just…there’s a lot going on. It’s…listen, you’re off tomorrow, right?’

‘After a shift like this, you bet. Want to ditch work and have a girl day?’

‘I really do. We could do some shopping.’

‘Wedding plans.’

‘Yeah. And I could clear my head, maybe run something by you.’

‘You’re not changing your colors?’

‘What? No, no. It’s nothing to do with that. It’s about – ‘

‘Damn, Five A’s beeping me again.’

‘You go. We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning. Oh, you’ve got the new key, the code I sent you this morning?’

‘Right here. Sweetie, you look so tired. What – oh, for God’s sake. Beep, beep, beep. Sorry, Nat.’

‘It’s okay. You go. I’ll see you soon. Palma, I’m really glad we’ll have some time.’

‘Me, too. Pancakes for breakfast?’

‘You bet.’

‘Bye!’

Stress level up on the vic, Eve thought. No need to run a voice analysis. She could hear it plainly and see it in the vic’s eyes. Not fear, but tension and fatigue. She was going to tell her sister, whatever it was. Lay it out for her as she’d laid it out, Eve was sure, for her fiancé. Lucky for Palma, she’d been out of the loop at the time of the murders.

Looking for advice, someone to share the burden. I know this thing, found this thing, suspect this thing. I’m not sure what I should do.

Closing her eyes, Eve brought Natalie’s apartment back into her mind. Female, tidy, matching this and matching that. The clothes Eve had pawed through had been the same. Definite style. Hard-working accountant. Practical and organized. New lock. Careful and cautious.

Whatever she’d known or had that had killed her, she hadn’t known or had it long. Eve judged Natalie Copperfield as a woman who knew her mind. Shared the information with someone else besides the boyfriend, maybe. If so, it had been the wrong person.

Taking the list provided, Eve began a standard run on the victim’s coworkers, superiors, and the heads of the firm. Then she tagged Peabody on the interdepartment ’link. “Do a search and run on the other tenants in Copperfield’s building. Maybe she saw something at home, or in the neighborhood.”

“I was heading there. Just went over the statement from the neighbors, both scenes. Nothing on the surface on either.”

“So we go under. I got the click on a search of their financials. I’ll look there.”

“They weren’t blackmailers. There’s no vibe.”

“We look anyway.”

No vibe, Eve agreed, but brought up Natalie’s data. What she found was, she supposed, what should be expected for a number cruncher. Organized, frugal, balanced accounts. The occasional spree, and a big, fat chunk laid out three months before at White Wedding for a dress, veil, undergarments.

There hadn’t been any fancy wedding dress in the apartment. Eve relayed the same to Peabody.