Chapter Four
It always smelled of lemons soaked in bleach. The lights always burned bright, bouncing off the hard white tiles.
Eve didn’t want to think how many times she’d walked down the echoing tunnel of the morgue since she’d first picked up a badge. How many bodies she’d stood over.
Lawrence Chu wouldn’t be the first to end up on a slab after a vicious beating, but in her years as a cop, she had to rank him as one of the worst.
She’d walked halfway to Morris’s doors when she heard the echoing clomp. Peabody, she thought, and she’d gone with the cowgirl boots today. Pink, of course, which Eve had to admit was her own fault, as she’d, on a strange whim, bought them for her partner.
She stopped, waited until Peabody turned the curve in the tunnel.
Yes on the boots, then there was the red-streaked dark hair bouncing in a tail—the look Peabody had adopted.
At least in the area between the boots and the hair she looked cop-like enough with gray trousers, a white shirt, and a jacket in tiny checks of two tones of the gray. With the pop of dark red buttons.
She’d probably made the jacket herself, something beyond Eve’s comprehension.
“I have to say,” Peabody called out, “holy cow.”
“Why would you say that?” Eve demanded, because she’d instantly gotten an image of a herd of cows, standing on hind legs with halos glowing. “Cows aren’t holy.”
“Alternative to holy shit. Bella came over this morning to say hi. The victim, I mean jeez, he didn’t have much of a face left.”
Peabody caught up, blew out a breath. “I’d’ve come back uptown. It had to be a lot to handle.”
“Roarke stood in for you, and McNab.”
“Yeah, I got that from the report. You put in some serious overtime.”
“The dead don’t keep regular hours.”
“I hear that.”
“Nick Regel was first on scene. He said to say yo. Yo.”
“Yo back. I went through the Academy with his daughter.”
“So he said.”
They pushed through the doors.
Morris stood over what was left of Lawrence Chu. This morning’s music played soft. Eve decided Morris felt the victim deserved some calm after a horrendously violent storm.
In contrast, the chief ME wore a suit of bold, just shy of electric, blue under his clear protective cape. The shirt reached for the calm while the tie combined both with a metallic tone and diamond shapes.
He’d done his dark hair in a kind of braided topknot at the crown with a long tail flowing from it.
His eyes glowed green behind his microgoggles.
“Mr. Chu will take some time,” he told them. “A body might be struck by a train and have less damage.”
“Can you tell if a weapon was used?”
“You called fists and feet in your prelim, and I see nothing to contradict that. I’m a bit bloody at the moment.” Morris lifted his sealed hands. “Help yourself to a cold tube if you like.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I’ll grab one, if that’s okay.” Eyes averted from the slab and what lay on it, Peabody went to Morris’s mini-friggie for a tube of Diet Pepsi.
“If you see here.” As Morris leaned in toward the body, Eve stepped closer. “The shape and spread of the bruising. Pummeling, not a strike with, say, a pipe, a bat, a blunt, or a sharp. And forceful enough to break five ribs here, four here. Internal injuries? Every organ in his body was damaged.
“This break?” Morris shifted the arm. “Yank up, pressure there, force back. Snap.”
In her head she heard the snap of her own arm breaking. Just a child, fighting against Richard Troy. Father, tormenter, rapist.
Over and done, she reminded herself. Over and done.
“I can tell you that was one of the early injuries. The face? Head? Repeated, forceful blows resulting in a broken jaw, both cheekbones, the nose, the loss of five teeth—two of which the victim swallowed. Severe damage to both eyes.”
“He didn’t stop when he was dead, did he?”
“I still have work to do, but no, from where I stand the beating continued postmortem. From the condition of both hands? A heavy weight, likely the attacker’s weight, stomping down.”
Compassion radiated as Morris continued his work.
“Defensive wounds?”
“None that I’ve found. Some of the facial wounds were early in the attack, and the arm.
The victim would have been debilitated and in considerable pain.
At one point, again from my analysis, the attacker threw the unfortunate Mr. Chu violently against a solid object.
Likely a wall. There are spinal injuries, there’s brain damage, but the attack continued, violently, long after the victim was helpless, likely unconscious, and after he was deceased. ”
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Eve wondered.
“A vehicular crash, a fall from a great height, multiple assailants with bats, clubs, as well as fists and feet. But as you believe, and I concur, a single assailant without weapons? No. No, I haven’t seen this scope of damage.”
“He had to be jacked up on something, don’t you think?” Peabody stepped cautiously closer. “Zeus, or a Zeus cocktail. It’s not just strength, it’s fury and it’s seriously mega endurance.”
“Very likely,” Morris agreed. “Jacked up and pissed off, a dangerous combination. I have a friend from medical school, big guy, strong, does mixed martial arts—for fun.”
Morris smiled a bit. “Apparently being punched and kicked and tossed around, punching and kicking and tossing someone else around is fun for some. I’ve gone to a few of his matches, and he’s very good.
He couldn’t have done this. I don’t mean merely he isn’t homicidal.
He couldn’t have inflicted this kind of damage without chemical assistance. ”
“So we’ve got jacked up, on an as yet unknown substance, pissed off—at Chu directly and personally—knows how to break an arm, so possibly hand-to-hand training.
Smart, at least smart enough to get into his target’s electronics, and careful enough to wait until he could corner the victim, alone, in a locked, soundproofed room. ”
Eve paced away. “He could’ve gone after the wife, too, if he’d wanted to do more damage, if it had been a family thing, or more general.
She’d have been easy. But he didn’t. But he destroyed the office.
Wrecked the computer, the wall screen, knocked plaques and shit off the wall.
But family photo on the desk. Should’ve been on the floor, everything else was. But it’s on the desk, facedown.”
“So the victim’s family doesn’t see?” Morris pulled off his goggles. “Now, that’s fascinating.”
“On the desk, facedown, undamaged. What are coincidences, Peabody?”
“According to my brilliant LT? Bollocks.”
“He didn’t go after the wife because he doesn’t blame her for whatever he blamed Chu for. He doesn’t blame the sons, their wives, their kids. Just Chu.”
She studied the body. “What the hell did you do, Larry? What did you do?”
“Whatever he did, or didn’t,” Morris said, “I can’t imagine it deserved this.”
“The killer thinks he did. Thanks, Morris.”
“Oh, the previous victim? The accidental? Darwin confirmed that last night, and took good care of him. I’ve got a memo his family’s coming in later this morning.”
“Okay. Don’t climb ladders in slippery house skids.”
“Wise advice. I’ll see you both at the party. I’m looking forward to it.”
“You’re bringing your sax, right?”
“As requested.”
“It’s going to rock so hard.”
“Before that,” Eve said, “let’s try to solve a murder. We’ll drop in at the lab, see if we get lucky with the attacker’s blood.”
“Doubtful you’ll have any from his hands. The contusions tell me he was gloved. Gloved, not sealed.”
“Yeah, I thought so, but you gotta try.”
“Good hunting.”
As they walked out, Eve shoved her hands in her pockets. “Contact McKay, the houseman, see if he’ll come in.”
“Will do. We finalized the menu for the party last night. We wanted some adjustments to the previous finalized menu.”
“Okay.”
“That’s going to rock hard, too. Wait until my family sees my kitchen. Mavis’s, too. We’re going to cook and bake our asses off.”
“How much is tofu?”
“There will be tofu. Also pizza—my dad makes amazing pizza. Meatballs—organic. My sister’s bringing cheese made on her farm. My granny’s making her applesauce cake. We’re still harvesting from the garden, so fresh veggies. And more, more, more. My mother’s going to bless the house.”
“Bless it?”
“It’s a thing. A Free-Ager thing. It’s a pretty ritual.”
“All right.”
When they got to the car, Eve sat a moment. “Just contact the lab. Morris is right about the gloves. The chances they got any of the attacker’s blood is slim.”
She glanced over as she pulled out. “Did you invite Dickhead?”
“Well, we really had to. He is lab chief, plus you know he’d get all pissy if we didn’t. He comes to your holiday bash.”
“Yeah, yeah. DeWinter, too, right?”
With an apologetic smile, Peabody lifted her shoulders.
“I get it. Just preparing myself.”
As she drove, Peabody made the contacts.
“Only the vic’s blood and/or DNA on scene, so far. You know, the victim probably didn’t land many blows, if any.”
“They may still find some hair, some fibers.”
“If they do, Harvo—who’s also coming to rock it out—will work her queenly magic.”
By the time Eve pulled into the garage at Central, Peabody finished with McKay.
“He’s coming right in. The family contacted him early this morning. He’s pretty choked up.”
“We’ll take him. I’ll get the board and book going. We’re going to the vic’s lab after. And I want to see if we can do a meet with the big bosses.”
They got out, started to the elevator. “Chu knew something, had known it for thirteen years. Or did something, and kept doing it. It may not play into this, but we can’t overlook it.”
“I got the data Roarke sent on the financials. The next bonus was due in January. Maybe they decided enough was enough.”
“Not impossible, but if you want to keep something quiet, you don’t go for the overkill. It’s not about money. People sure as hell kill for money,” Eve said as they stepped into the elevator. “But this isn’t that.”
“Chu pushed for more, or discovered his conscience about whatever he’s known or done for the thirteen years.”