Page 47 of Thankless in Death

She picked up a broken capsule with tweezers, sniffed.

“To wake her up,” she said, and as Roarke offered an evidence bag, dropped it in. “You could go through her bag there, see if he took her wallet, check for her keys, her ’link.”

Saying nothing, he picked up the handbag on the floor.

“The cord’s tight,” Eve said. “It cut into her. He wanted that, wanted to give her pain as well as fear.”

“No wallet,” he said. “No ’link or notebook, no PPC. Her key’s here.”

“Took whatever money she had in there, electronics. Her ankles are tied together, no visible bruising on her thighs. I don’t think he raped her. He wasn’t interested, or he can’t get it up. No, wasn’t interested,” she decided, trying to see inside him.

“If he’d thought about it, he’d have used something to rape her with. It just didn’t occur to him. He’s not especially sexual or doesn’t see rape or sex as a weapon of power. Not yet.”

“Why remove her clothing?”

“To humiliate, to terrify. She’s completely vulnerable. He whacked her hair for the same reason. It dehumanizes her.”

Make her nothing, Eve thought. She knew the type who wanted to make someone nothing. Her father had been the same.

“He punched her, hard, more than once—in the face, in the stomach. It’s more personal than his parents. Or maybe he just had more time and space. Experimenting?

“She’d been shopping. So he dumped the new stuff, destroyed it.”

With her gauge she measured time of death. “Nineteen-fifty-five. He took just over an hour with her. Risky, but he enjoyed it so much. Little cut here on her throat. Maybe he had a knife. Threatened her, scared her, but he didn’t really cut her. Strangulation’s more personal, and you get to watch them suffer and die, face-to-face.”

“She’s very young,” Roarke said quietly.

“She’s as old as she’ll ever be.”

A cruel statement, Roarke thought, unless you knew his cop and heard the bitter anger under the words.

“No jewelry,” Eve added. “I bet she was wearing some. Out with a girl pal, yeah, she had some on. He took it, whether it’s worth anything or not. She doesn’t get to keep it. Kick me out, bitch? You’re going to pay for that. Tell me to get a job, tell me to get the hell out? Fuck you.”

“Why the shoes?”

“Sexy. It’s a porn thing, right? Naked woman in high, sexy heels. Kind of slutty?”

“Hmmm.”

“She bought them today probably. Pissed him off. She’s so goddamn worried about the rent, about money, she whines about him blowing off some steam with his friends in Vegas. But she goes out, spends Christ knows on all this crap. Selfish bitch.”

She paused, just for a moment, just one brief moment as that bitter anger Roarke heard wanted to spew. And it couldn’t be allowed.

“The shoes make her look cheap, like she’s asking for it. He’s not going to give it to her. But when we find her, she’s going to look cheap and used, and her hair—she had that done today, I think—new color and style from her ID shot. Now it’s ruined and hacked. Bruised right nipple. Pinched it probably. Humiliate, humiliate. You humiliated me, now it’s your turn.”

She examined the hands as she spoke, moved down the body checking for more wounds, anything left behind.

“He tells her what he did to his parents. She’s the first one he’s been able to talk to about it, brag to. She’s safe because he’s going to kill her, but he gets to crow about what he’s done, how he’s got a big pile of money, and she’s got nothing. She is nothing.”

Eve stepped out to examine the rest of the crime scene.

Roarke stayed where he was a moment longer. You’re not nothing, he thought. She’s standing for you now, and she won’t stop. You’re hers now, so you matter.

He wished he could cover her, but knew better.

Instead, he went on to do what he could to help until Peabody arrived.

EVE STUDIED THE SKINNY BATHROOM, THE still-damp towels on the floor, the pair of black boxers tossed in the corner.