The In Death Collection 06-10 Read Free Page B

soothing voice musical in its Irish lilt.
    Eve merely elbowed Strobie aside. “This is a police emergency.” She lifted her badge to the electronic eye for verification. “Entrance is imperative.”
    “One moment, Lieutenant.” There was a quiet hum as her face and ID were scanned, then a discreet click of locks. “Entrance permitted, please be aware that this residence is protected by SCAN-EYE.”
    “Recorder on, Peabody. Back off, Strobie.” Eve put one hand on the door, the other on her weapon, and shouldered it open.
    The smell struck her first, and made her swear. She’d smelled violent death too many times to mistake it.
    Blood painted the blue silk walls of the living area, a grisly, incomprehensible graffiti. She saw the first piece of Thomas X. Brennen on the cloud-soft carpet. His hand lay palm up, fingers curled toward her as if to beckon or to plead. It had been severed at the wrist.
    She heard Strobie gag behind her, heard him stumble back into the lobby and the fresh floral air. She stepped into the stench. She drew her weapon now, sweeping with it as she covered the room. Her instincts told her what had been done there was over, and whoever had done it was safely away, but she stuck close to procedure, making her way slowly over the carpet, avoiding the gore when she could.
    “If Strobie’s finished vomiting, ask him the way to the master bedroom.”
    “Down the hall to the left,” Peabody said a moment later. “But he’s still heaving out there.”
    “Find him a bucket, then secure the elevator and this door.”
    Eve started down the hall. The smell grew riper, thicker. She began to breathe through her teeth. The door to the bedroom wasn’t secure. Through the crack came a slash of bright artificial light and the majestic sounds of Mozart.
    What was left of Brennen was stretched out on a lake-sized bed with a stylish mirrored canopy. One arm had been chained with silver links to the bedpost. Eve imagined they would find his feet somewhere in the spacious apartment.
    Undoubtedly the walls were well soundproofed, but surely the man had screamed long and loud before he died. How long had it taken, she wondered as she studied thebody. How much pain could a man stand before the brain turned off and the body gave out?
    Thomas Brennen would know the answer, to the second.
    He’d been stripped naked, his hand and both his feet amputated. The one eye he had left stared in blind horror at the mirrored reflection of his own mutilated form. He’d been disemboweled.
    “Sweet Jesus Christ,” Peabody whispered from the doorway. “Holy Mother of God.”
    “I need the field kit. We’ll seal up, call this in. Find out where his family is. Call this in through EDD, Feeney if he’s on, and have him put a media jammer on before you give any details. Let’s keep the details quiet as long as possible.”
    Peabody had to swallow hard twice before she was sure her lunch would stay down. “Yes, sir.”
    “Get Strobie and secure him before he can babble about this.”
    When Eve turned, Peabody saw a shadow of pity in her eyes, then it was gone and they were flat and cool again. “Let’s get moving. I want to fry this son of a bitch.”
     
    It was nearly midnight before Eve dragged herself up the stairs to her own front door. Her stomach was raw, her eyes burning, her head roaring. The stench of vicious death clung to her though she’d scrubbed off a layer of skin in the locker room showers before heading home.
    What she wanted most was oblivion, and she said one desperate and sincere prayer that she wouldn’t see the wreckage of Thomas Brennen when she closed her eyes to sleep.
    The door opened before she could reach it. Summerset stood with the glittery light of the foyer chandelier behind him, his tall bony body all but quivering with dislike.
    “You are unpardonably late, Lieutenant. Your guests are preparing to leave.”
    Guests? Her overtaxed mind struggled with the word before she remembered. A