“He used powder. What he did, he ground up pills. Maybe got a prescription because he used medical grade on both. He ground up the pills, mixed the powders, and dosed the wine.”
Something beeped, and he swiveled, rolled. “Yeah, yeah. Same with today’s guest. Same mix, not the exact mix, not the exact amount, but close. Both of them had some wine already. Add this? They’re good and out. Pretty quick and for probably, given the dose, four, maybe five hours.”
He swiveled again, swiped again. “Thing is, what Morris tells me, he didn’t need that long. Dosed them five to ten minutes before TOD.”
“He wanted to be sure. He needed them good and out before he killed them. He’s a coward.”
“They’re dead either way.”
“What else have you got?”
“Got your glue—running the second now, but we know it’ll match. It’s Grip All. That’s the brand name. You can get it in any hardware venue, hobby shop, craft stores, name it. Same with the wire. Nothing you couldn’t pick up in half a million places. Common use, hanging pictures, so art supply store, hobby store, craft store, like that. It’s thin, coated, strong.”
“How about the paint on the board, second vic?”
“We’re working on it, Dallas. Jesus.”
“Yeah? Us, too. I just got off the ’link with the second vic’s mother.”
“Oh, well.” He made a puffing sound. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re working on it,” he repeated. “We’ve got no prints, no DNA. No fibers on the skin or the outfits. Get us the guy, and between us and Morris, we’ll match his hands to the bruises on the DBs.”
Another ding, another slide down the counter. “Same glue on both, same wire. That’s what I got. And it ain’t nothing.”
“Okay. We’re going to see Harvo.”
He held up one of his spider fingers, wagged it. “Don’t give her any grief.”
“When have I given her any grief?”
He shrugged. “Just reminding you.”
“And so he remains a dickhead,” Eve muttered as they wound their way through the maze of the lab.
“Some are born dickheads.”
“Profound, Peabody. Profound and true.”
Harvo sat at her station in the glass-walled box that always reminded Eve of a rare animal habitat. Yet she’d found it also profound and true that some thrived in glass-walled boxes.
Harvo qualified.
Her weird machines hummed as she bent over one of her scopes. She’d gone with her invisible boots today, with her visible toes painted in a neon rainbow. She’d streaked her hair to match.
She wore white cropped baggies with wide rainbow cuffs and a white T-shirt covered with multicolored question marks.
While she’d have fit right in with EDD’s fashion circus, when it came to hair and fiber, Harvo ruled the lab.
Eve rapped knuckles on the jamb of the open door.
Harvo looked up, shot out a smile. “Hey, and welcome to my queendom. Domicile tripping, Peabody?”
“Mag beyond the ult.”
“Party up?”
