Page 107 of Obsession in Death

“There you go. I’m going to run it back here so She-body gets the gander, too.”

Eve shifted the vehicle into auto. She might make it to Mavis’s quicker by attacking the traffic, but the time, she determined, was better spent studying McNab and Yancy’s collaboration.

The first composite showed a tall woman, solid build, excellent muscle tone. That excellent muscle tone was visible as the two detectives had dressed the image in a minuscule polka-dot bikini.

“Gotta take your jollies where you find them,” McNab claimed when Eve’s eyes flicked to the rearview again. “Plus it gives you a good sense of possible body type.”

“Hmm” was Eve’s comment. They’d gone with a short, almost centurion cut and mid-brown hair. Using Hastings’s description, they hit the same tone on the eyes. Thinnish mouth, straight nose, slightly rounded chin.

“Did you run any facial recognition?”

“We did some simultaneous, but the deal with standard features and shit is you get a few zillion hits, which is the same as none.”

Nodding, Eve moved to the next as the burly vehicle negotiated the snarly, rush-hour traffic.

Slimmer build now with tough-looking arms, lighter hair in a short, sharp wedge. And a gold metallic bikini this time.

And the next, a bit heavier, curvier, spiked hair, squarer at the chin, slightly fuller lower lip. Wearing a sparkly pink G-string and tiny bra in the shape of silver stars.

“The way we set it up, you can mix and match the features and elements,” he explained.

“Like playing Morph Dollies,” Peabody said. “I loved that toy when I was a kid.”

“I bet your morphing dolls didn’t garrote the other dolls.”

“Would that be iced or what?” McNab cut in before Peabody could answer. “Murdering Morphing Dollies. Roarke totally ought to produce that.”

“I’ll pass that on. This is good work, McNab. Wouldn’t bet my ass on the bull’s-eye, either, but this is good thinking, and good work.”

“All in a day’s.”

Letting it play in the back of her head, Eve went back to manual. She didn’t hold out much hope for parking close to the apartment, but stranger had happened.

When stranger did, she did a mental fist pump, and veered over before anyone tried to jump in ahead of her.

“Is this going to fit in the space?” Peabody wondered. “It’s nice to have the room and the muscle, but it’s hard to find a street slot with something this big.”

Jaw set, eyes fierce, Eve muttered, “I’m making it fit.”

She tried auto first as it would calculate all the necessary maneuvers, and not get pissed off at the blast of horns as they blocked a lane.

The target parking space is 11.2 centimeters short for this vehicle in order to comply to the standard required space allotted for vehicles parked front and rear. Please select another option.

“Bite me,” Eve snarled, switched back to manual.

“You wanna cut it sharp to the left,” McNab began, then zipped it when she seared him with one look.

But she did just that, slid back, cut in the opposite direction, slid out. Resisted giving those blasting horns the middle finger.

She kissed the curb, cut again, inched, swore. Then clicked to vertical, jimmied the wheel—ignored Peabody’s murmurings because they sounded a lot like prayers. Then lowered.

She figured she had about a finger-width front and back, and that was good enough.

“That clunker behind?” McNab commented. “That doesn’t have vertical option. Not going to be able to get out.”

“Not my problem—and I’m not going to be long.”

Her problem, she admitted, would be getting out again.