“I’m going to make the notification when I get to Central. She didn’t have a sign of either parent in her apartment, and neither live in or around New York. But I’ll let you know if they, or anyone, wants to come see her or make arrangements for her.”
“They brought her into this world. I hope they care enough to see her out of it.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Morris?” Peabody paused at the door. “Can I ask why you decided to be an ME?”
He sent her a surprised look, then an easy smile.
“It’s simple, really. There are those who tend to the living and those who tend to the dead. Those, like me, work to find answers to give those like you. Those who stand for the ones who had their lives taken.”
He laid a hand on Lessa’s head again. “The dead also need tending.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me add congratulations on your new home.”
“Double thanks. We’re going to throw a hell of a party soon.”
“I look forward to it.”
As the doors closed, they heard him say, “Music at previous volume.”
Chapter Four
Since they wouldn’t get anything substantial from the lab yet, Eve headed straight to Central.
After she made the notification, she would set up her board and book. Then take time to reevaluate, to think.
And contact Mira, she decided. She had no doubt this one would need the valued analysis of the department’s best profiler.
“A human replication of an old, important painting,” she said aloud. “Left on the doorstep of people who own an art gallery. The arrow’s pointing, and with bright, flashing lights, to an artist. If not a painter type, a want-to-be-a-painter type, certainly someone connected to the art world.”
“Another gallery owner,” Peabody speculated. “An employee with a grudge. An art collector, or somebody who lost their art collection somehow.”
“And some of the pieces reverted to that particular gallery. That’s not bad. What it doesn’t feel like? Victim specific. Culver’s dead because,first, street-level LC who can be hired on the spot, and she fit the costume, had, basically, the right look. Close enough for replication.”
“Did he kill her because she wasn’t close enough? Maybe he started painting her, and she couldn’t hold the pose, or he saw the flaws? Or his work just sucks, he can’t bring his vision to life, but it has to be her fault?”
“The painting lacks life, so now so does she?” Eve folded that one into the mix. “He always planned to kill her. All of the above may be true, but he always planned to kill her. Maybe it’s as simple as, well, the original model’s dead, so this one has to die, too.”
“Or, if it’s to smack at the Whittiers, it’s: ‘See what you made me do?’”
“Also not bad.”
“I’m getting the hang of this detective thing.”
Eve had to smile as she pulled into Central’s garage. “You’re coming along.”
“Yay me. If he just wanted to replicate the painting, maybe on canvas, too, he didn’t have to kill her. He just pays her, and bye. But you’re right, he always planned to kill her.”
“And always planned to dump her, in costume, in pose, where he dumped her.”
“Yeah.” Peabody whooshed out a breath. “It’s too weird and time-consuming, and risky, for otherwise. Add people might have wire and glue handy, but most don’t have sealant hanging around. Plus, to copy the painting, he could hire plenty of others who had a similar look. He could’ve hired a professional artist’s model.”
“And,” Eve said as they walked to the elevator, “if he’s an artist or a wannabe, maybe he’s hired one in the past. Or he just goes for LCs. Those are angles. Give like crimes a shot. Victims dressed as famous paintings, or icons.”
They stepped onto the elevator.
