“He took care of his body,” Morris continued. “Healthy weight, good muscle tone. And his face, his hair. The mark here?” Morris laid a gentle finger on the forehead. “From the glue used to hold the wig in place, and the solvent I used to remove it. More slight damage from the removal of the glue used to hold his lips and eyelids in place, his right palm and fingers, glue to hold the hat.”
“Dickhead says it’s Grip All glue.”
“Strong—very strong, and not meant for skin. Easily accessible. I have some myself, and seal up or wear gloves before using it.”
“If it runs like Culver, the killer had him three to four hours before he dosed and strangled him.”
“If there was sexual penetration within that time frame, it would most probably be evident. It’s not.”
“No, it’s not about sex. It’s… ego,” she decided. “Basically it’s about ego. Ren was no more than a vase of flowers to him, or a doll to dress up. Peabody suggested it might be about the costumes, the making of them. They’re all custom-made, high-quality materials, high-quality workmanship. Maybe the art angle isn’t painting. Maybe it’s design.”
“Ah. And where is our Peabody?”
“Talking to Leonardo about just that.”
“An excellent source.”
He walked to the sink, washed his hands, then got them each a cold tube.
“Thanks.” She cracked it, drank. “The guy who managed the porn theater he used said Ren wanted to move into the business end of sex work.”
“He had an ambition.”
“Yeah, and he has a mother who gives a shit. She’s in the Bronx, and wants to see him, make arrangements. Probably with his sister.”
“He’ll be ready for them to visit by one this afternoon.”
“I’ll let her know.”
She studied the body again. Even in death, Bobby Ren looked about sixteen.
“He moved fast. He had everything ready for both him and Culver. Knew when and where to scoop them up, had the transportation, the place, the drugs, the costume, all of it. The costumes have to take time, the scoping out who you’ll put in them takes time. He’s been planning this for a while. A good long while.”
“And if he’s taken that good long while for two, he very likely has a third painting, costume, and model selected.”
Eve’s eyes went hard, went flat.
“I know he does. I have more to work with now. It’s all about who gets there first.”
She tagged Peabody on the way out. She heard voices, saw swirls of color in the background.
“I’m heading to Central.”
“Give me another fifteen, maybe twenty here. I’ll walk in.” She flashed a grin. “I live really close.”
“Oral report before you write it up. Later.”
New York wasn’t just wide-awake now, but just bitchy enough to entertain her.
A delivery truck blocking a side street received a chorus of blasting horns and inventive, shouted curses. On the next corner pedestrians risked life and limb trying to beat the Walk sign by a few seconds.
A woman in boots up to her crotch, blond hair down to her ass, and a red dress barely covering either body part strode along the sidewalk. A man trying to one-eighty his head on his neck to keep her in view walked hard into a recycler.
Another woman leaned out a fifth-story window and heaved out piles of clothes while a man below shouted: “Come on, Doris, goddamn it! It wasonetime!”
An emergency vehicle screamed in the distance, and somewhere closer an airjack hammered stone and thundered the air.
God, she loved New York.
