"You're late again," Eve began. "This is a bad habit. How the hell am I supposed to…" She trailed off, focusing on Peabody's face. Sheet white with eyes huge and dark. "What is it?"
"Sir. Bowers—"
"Oh, fuck Bowers." Eve snatched up the miserable coffee and gulped. "I don't have time to worry about her now. We're working murder here."
"Somebody's working hers."
"What?"
"Dallas, she's dead." Peabody took a concentrated breath, in and out, to help slow the rapid thump of her heart. "Somebody beat her to death last night. They found her a couple of hours ago, in the basement of her building. Her uniform, weapon, ID, had all been stripped and taken from the scene. They ID'd her by prints." Peabody swiped a hand over white lips. "Word is there wasn't enough left of her face to make her visually."
Very carefully, Eve set down her cup. "It's a positive ID?"
"It's her. I went down and checked after I heard it in the bullpen. Prints and DNA match. They just confirmed."
"Jesus. Jesus Christ." Staggered, Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes, tried to think.
Data is complete…. Display, vocal or hard copy?
"Save and file. God." She dropped her hands. "What have they got on it?"
"Nothing. At least nothing I could dig out. No witnesses. She lived alone, so nobody was expecting her. There was an anonymous call reporting trouble at that location. Came in about oh five-thirty. A couple of uniforms found her. That's all I know."
"Robbery? Sexual assault?"
"Dallas, I don't know. I was lucky to get this much. They're shutting it in fast. No data in, no data out."
There was a sick ball in her stomach, a slick weight rolling there she didn't quite recognize as dread. "Do you know who's primary?"
"I heard Baxter, but I don't know for sure. Can't confirm."
"Okay." She sat, tunneled her fingers through her hair. "If it's Baxter, he'll give me what data he can. Odds are, it's not connected to ours, but we can't discount it." Eve lifted her gaze again. "Beaten to death?"
"Yeah." Peabody swallowed.
She knew what it was to be attacked with fists, to be helpless to stop them. To feel that stunning agony of a bone snapping. To hear the sound of it just under your own scream. "It's a bad way," she managed. "I'm sorry for it. She was a wrong cop, but I'm sorry for it."
"Everybody's pretty shaken up."
"I don't have much time here." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll tag Baxter later, see if he can fill in some details. But for now, we've got to put this aside. I've got the interviews starting in less than an hour now, and I need to be prepared."
"Dallas, you need to know…I heard your name come up."
"What? My name?"
"About Bowers," she began, then broke off in frustration as the 'link beeped.
"Hold on. Dallas."
"Lieutenant, I need you upstairs, immediately."
"Commander, I'm prepping for a scheduled interview session."
"Now," he said briefly and broke transmission.
"Damn it. Peabody, look through the data I just accessed, see what rings, and make a hard copy. I'll review it on the way to interview."
"Dallas—"