Page 71 of Random in Death

“Well, hell, you’re getting plenty of it now. The venues? Maybe not just for convenience. For the attention.”

Nodding to herself, she got out of the car. Not a clear picture, not yet.

But it was coming.

Chapter Ten

She’d grabbed Morris coffee from the in-dash AutoChef before she headed down the tunnel.

Another day, she thought, another teenage girl on a slab.

The ME wore a suit under his protective cape, one in pale, pale blue with a white shirt that had that same tender blue in needle-thin stripes. His tie, a bolder blue, coordinated with the cord he’d woven through the braid he’d rolled into a loop at the back of his neck.

She wondered if he dressed with such stylish formality for himself, for his position, or out of respect for the dead.

And decided all three.

He played rock again, but lowered the volume when Eve came in.

“Two in two days.” Eve gestured with the coffee before walking back to set it beside his sink.

“Another bud who will never bloom.” His eyes, enlarged behind the microgoggles, met Eve’s. “There’s a saying about youth being wasted on the young. I don’t agree, and hope she made good use of that youth while she had it.”

Eve thought of Big Bitch Brenda. “I like my youth just where it is. Behind me.”

“No stray thoughts of recapturing it?”

If she let herself, she could still feel that sucker punch. “Oh, hell no.”

“I suspect that puts you and me in the enviable position of being content with the here and now.” He set his microgoggles aside.

“So, onto the work that, oddly, contents us. Both the victims and the method used suggest one killer. Another healthy young girl who’d barely begun to live. No sign of previous illegals use, no signs of alcohol abuse. Her last meal, enjoyed, I hope, about four hours before death, was pizza and a fizzy lemonade.”

He walked back to the sink to rinse the blood from his hands, picked up his coffee.

“She’d recently ingested a twenty-four-hour pregnancy blocker.”

“She had a boyfriend—a couple of condoms in her bag, and his parents were out of town for the weekend.”

“Ah well.” After walking back, he laid a sympathetic hand on Arlie’s shoulder. “The best-laid plans.” Then he smiled as Peabody came in.

“I’m still not late!” she insisted.

“No, you’re not late. Same general area for the injection,” Eve added.

“Yes. Slightly lower on the left biceps than the first victim.”

“The second’s taller. She thought she’d gotten stung by a wasp. She had a thing about wasps.”

“A sharp, quick sting.” Morris nodded. “Yes, I can see that. From the site, he takes little care with the penetration. In fact, the opposite.”

“He wants them to feel it.”

“And they certainly would have. My initial analysis, which the lab will confirm, is the same mix of illegals as was used on Jenna Harbough. The needle itself was certainly dirty, and again coated as before. Her system would have reacted in the same way, or very nearly the same. Only minutes between injection, the onset of symptoms, and death.”

“And that’s the only thing that connects them. I can’t find anything else.” Wouldn’t find, she was nearly sure of it. “Arlie Dillon was Upper East, Jenna Harbough Lower West. Different schools, different interests, different lifestyles.”

“Other than their age and gender, their basic health,” Morris commented, “physically they’re not similar.”

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