Page 47 of Fury In Death

With sealed hands she lifted the top lip.

“Visual shows three missing teeth, mangled tongue. Both eyes are swollen closed.” She eased one open a slit. “And the whites of both eyes are bloody. Gashes on forehead and on the back of the skull. I think his neck’s broken.”

She eased back, got her gauges.

“TOD, twenty-two-fourteen. So last night. Let’s roll him.”

As she assisted, Peabody winced. “Jesus, Dallas, he’s like a bag of broken bones.”

“Because he is. Right hip’s displaced or broken. Victim’s wearing what appear to be lounge pants, a long-sleeved tee. He’s barefoot. Left foot’s broken, three toes broken or severely sprained on right foot. From the looks of the bruising, the blows were from fists or open hands, feet.”

She straightened up.

“He was watching screen. It’s busted to shit now, but he was watching screen. Smashed wineglass over there, bowl of chips busted and scattered over there. He fought back. Big guy, maybe strong guy, and he fought back, at least initially. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time and find some of the assailant’s blood.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No, he’s careful. Under all that fury, he’s still careful. Trashed the room, either during the fight or after. Broken chairs, broken vase of flowers over there, lamp, side table. That fireplace, like the one in the living area, only the glass front’s shattered. Art torn off the walls, smashed. But look at those shelves there, Peabody.”

“Everything’s pulled off, broken or dropped. But there are two frames and they’re turned to face the wall.”

Eve walked over, turned one. “The vic, and most likely the cohab.”

“Verified in the run. They’ve been together for nine years.”

She turned the second. “Vic with an adult male; an adult female; the cohab; a minor female, maybe twelve; a minor male, ten or so; an infant. Since she’s wearing a fancy dress, female. Christmas shot in front of the tree, living area.”

“Vic has a daughter from his first marriage, age forty-one—the boy, the girl, and the infant are her children. The adult male would be the daughter’s spouse. Just FYI, the cohab has no marriage, no offspring.”

“Family. Family matters. He doesn’t damage family. Does he have one? Did he lose one?”

She turned back. “Morgue, sweepers. Flag for the blood samples. Luck happens. Flag the body for Morris.”

She took one last look.

“Let’s go up and talk to the cohab.”

As they walked back toward the stairs, Callendar approached from the opposite direction.

“Still got stuff to look over, but figured you’d want to know what time the security was compromised. And I wouldn’t have found the how and when so easy if you hadn’t given me the skinny on the first murder. Damn-sight slick, and even with knowing how on the first, I couldn’t quite finesse so—don’t get twisted—I tagged Roarke.”

“He’s the one who’d get twisted if he didn’t want to consult, not me.”

“Well, he didn’t twist. I got lucky, and he was just coming out of a meeting. He gave me a boost on it, and, you know, voilà, the security on the rear glass door—that’s the one right off the lounge—was shut off, remotely, using Ezra Dent’s—also Joleen Everly’s—code at twenty-one-twenty-six. The security reengaged, remotely, at twenty-two-twenty-two.”

“Good data. It took him, what’s that? Ah, forty-eight? Forty-eight minutes after shutting it off to turn Dent into a bag of bloody bones. This one fought back some. And, still, he’s out in just under an hour.”

“I got to say,” Callendar put in, “pounding somebody for forty-eight minutes takes a lot of wind, a lot of muscle, and a lot of motivation.”

“Odds are he kept pounding for a time after. The vic’s ’link is smashed to shit in there, but you could bag it up, take it in.”

“Will do. There’s an office over that side, with a D and C unit. Do you want me to check that out?”

“Check it out. We’re heading up to talk to the cohab. Morgue and sweepers are coming in.”

Eve went up the curving stairs, noted the holographic art decorating the walls on the second-floor loft. The fact that the images seemed to move struck her as just a little unnerving.

“These are excellent, really exceptional, if you go for it,” Peabody commented. “This artist?” She gestured to a painting of lines, angles, symbols in shades of red and gray, a few hints of blue. “She’s one of the top holographists in the world.”