Page 16 of Devoted in Death

“I didn’t know him well, but I liked him.”

“Do you know of anyone named Tina in connection with him?”

“As I said, he had a large and... Tina?” Morris let out a quick laugh. “Earnest Tina.”

“That’s the one. You know her?”

“No, not at all. She came in one night—oh, before the holidays. Closer to the beginning of December, I think. I couldn’t settle one night, and took my sax, went into the club. He was there already, as were some others we both knew. She came in—a brunette, yes, an attractive brunette, took a table, looked very disapproving. He went over, talked to her for a short time. I thought, Lover’s quarrel, as she appeared very angry.”

He paused, took another drink as he narrowed his eyes. “Let me think back. He... Dorian put a hand over hers, as if to pat it, and she snatched it away. I can’t tell you what was said, but she did most of the talking, then—somewhat dramatically—stormed out. I do recall her parting shot: ‘I’ll never forgive you. Never.’ With tears in her eyes.

“Someone teased him when he came up to play again, about his angry girlfriend, and he said, No, not a girlfriend, not a friend. Earnest Tina, he said, and he didn’t go for too much earnest. Pissed because she thinks I’m slumming—that’s what he said, and laughed, and said, Let’s jam one for Earnest Tina.”

“No last name.”

“No.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Yes, I’m sure I can.”

“Well enough for Yancy?” she asked, referring to the police artist.

“I can certainly try if it helps in any way. The E in the heart. E and D inside the heart the killer carved in him.”

“There’s that. I don’t know if someone who takes themselves that seriously would use the initial from a sarcastic nickname, but maybe. I want to talk to her, so if Yancy can get a sketch close enough for us to run through facial recognition, we’d pin her down.”

“I’ll contact him myself, make arrangements.”

“Appreciate it.”

“All right.” Morris drew in air, turned back to the body. “That helped, oddly enough. Now, let’s talk about what was done to him.”

He picked up microgoggles for himself and Eve, understanding Peabody would happily skip the more up close and personal, and began.

“The blow on the back of the head, heavy, blunt object, from the shape of the wound, my conclusion is a wrench. A pipe wrench.”

“Plumber’s tool.”

“Yes, and easy to come by. This is the oldest injury. I haven’t finalized my reconstruction, but...” He ordered the image on screen, watched with Eve as the computer-generated figure of the victim was struck from behind by another.

“It reads the blow came from above and behind.”

“Driving down,” Eve noted, “from over the attacker’s head. So, yeah, yeah, the vic was bent or leaning over when struck. To pick something up, reach for something, tie his damn shoe, but angled down, exposed. He wasn’t killed in the alley.”

“From the crime scene images you sent, I agree.”

“Attacked, then transported somewhere so the killer could take some time with him. Attacked, put in a vehicle. Logically, attacked at or near the vehicle, dragged in. The first strike would have put the vic out, right?”

“Rendered unconscious, yes.”

“So, easy to restrain him.”

“Duct tape. I believe the lab will concur,” Morris told her. “Gummy residue in the wounds, wrists, ankles.”

“But not the mouth.”

“The wounds at the corners of the mouth were caused by rubbing and struggling against a strong, thin cord. Some silicone residue on the teeth and tongue.”

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