He lay faceup, and from the angle of his neck, the bruising harsh against the skin, she judged his neck had been broken before whoever broke it dumped his body in the water.
The droids had ID’d him with scanners, but she sealed up, took out her Identapad, made it official.
“Victim is identified as Banks, Jordan.” She rattled off the data for the record before taking out her gauge for time of death. “TOD, oh three hundred twenty hours. Witnesses notified nine-one-one at five-twelve. He wasn’t in the water long. He’s not wearing a coat, a wrist unit, or shoes.”
She searched the pockets of his pants. “No wallet, no ’link. It looks like a mugging, but it’s not. Just not.”
Taking out her penlight, she examined the bruising on the neck. “Not from a blow. Maybe a fall, but . . .” She ran the light over the left side of the face, studied as she heard Peabody’s clomping winter boots.
She rose, turned to her partner. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Just turn around.”
When she did, Eve stepped up behind her, cupped her right hand under Peabody’s chin, pressed her left to the left side of Peabody face, gave her partner’s head a quick—but gentle—twist.
“Hey!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Eve stepped back. “Somebody knows how to kill, quick and quiet. No defensive wounds. He never saw it coming. Didn’t expect it. Knew who was behind him, and wasn’t worried. Could be they stunned him first, or had a weapon, but why kill covert, combat style, if you could just stun and toss him into the water to drown, or use the weapon?”
Peabody fussed the scarf back around her neck. “This is Karson’s ex, right? You interviewed him yesterday?”
“And he lied through his teeth. I could see it.”
“He was in this?”
“I don’t know if he knew he was, but he was. And they didn’t leave this loose end alive.”
Peabody stepped closer to the body. “His neck’s broken. Can you really break somebody’s neck with just your hands?”
“If you’re strong enough, and know how. Military, he’s going to be military.”
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her long leather coat, stared over at the skyline, gray against gray. “How the hell did they get him here? Three in the morning, he comes here, meets them. Or they come here together. No defensive wounds, no sign of struggle. He came willingly. Did he walk—he doesn’t strike me as somebody who’d walk this far. Let’s check for cabs, private car services for pickups at his address and for drop-offs in this area. Drop-offs between two and three-twenty this morning.”
She played her light over the grass, the path. “We’ll call it in, sweepers and the dead wagon. Crime scene might find something. Get that going. I’ll finish with him.”
When she had, ordered the bag and tag, she left the beat droids guarding the crime scene, and filled Peabody in on the witnesses’ statements as they walked back to the car.
“The water has to be freezing.”
“I’d say they were too young and drunk to care.” Eve got into the car, said, “Coffee.”
“Oh yeah.” Peabody programmed it. “If Banks is tied in, it gives us a lead.”
“He’s tied. So we’re going to see Karson.”
“Now? It’s pretty early.”
“Not for Banks.”
Eve dealt with the nurse—a different one but almost as disapproving—and bullied her way into Karson’s room.
The patient was awake, with the morning reports murmuring on her wall screen. The nurse fussed over her, checking monitors, fluffing pillows.
“Lilian, I’d really love some coffee.”
“I’m going to order up your breakfast now.” She gave Karson a pat on the hand before sailing out.
“It’s terrible coffee,” Karson said, “and I know it’s whining, but, God, I can’t wait to get out of here. Do you have information?”
“Ms. Karson, I regret to inform you that Jordan Banks is dead.”
“What? What?” She used her good arm to try to push up, winced, dropped back. “Jordan? How? My God.”
“He was murdered in the early hours of this morning.”
“Murdered? How could—how? Where? Oh, my Jesus. I need a minute.”
She covered her hands with her face, rocked, rocked. “Murdered. Dead. I can’t . . . I despised him. I came to despise him. He made a fool out of me, and I hated knowing I’d let him make a fool out of me. Now he’s dead.”
She dropped her hands. Her eyes shone damp, but tears didn’t fall. “We were involved, for about eight months. Up until a few weeks ago.”
“I know.”
“Of course you know. It’s your job to know. I can’t think. I just can’t think.”
“Would you like some water?” Peabody offered.
“I’d like a drink, a goddamn double of anything with a kick. I’d like for an hour to pass where people I know aren’t dead.” She closed her eyes, seemed to breathe herself under control. “How was he killed? Can you tell me?”
“The medical examiner will determine cause of death.” Eve weighed the odds. “I believe his neck was broken.”
“He was in a fight? That’s just impossible. He wouldn’t know how.”
“No, not a fight. How much did you tell him about the details and timing of the merger?”
“I . . . Too much.” As her breathing pitched again, she gripped the sheet in a fist. “Are you saying Jordan had something to do with the bombing? I can’t believe that—won’t.”
“I don’t know that. You gave him details?”
“I thought I was in love with him. I thought he was in love with me. His family . . . they understand business. Jordan’s more interested in the arts—and really that’s not entirely true, either. He’s more interested in women, and how to use them—wealthy women. But I thought he had an interest in my business—a caring interest—and I shared some of my thoughts, plans, hopes with him. He had advice, sometimes it was reasonably good advice. And he listened, he was supportive. And I was an idiot.”
“I don’t think so,” Peabody put in. “You cared for him, and thought he felt the same. You thought of him as a partner, on a personal level.”
“I did. I thought . . . I really thought we had a future together. More fool me.”
“We need to be able to share with our partners,” Peabody continued. “To talk to them, to have them listen. It’s natural and human.”
“I hope I feel that way again someday—when I find someone worthy of trust. But now—I said I despised him, and I don’t say that lightly. But I can’t believe he’d have had any part in what happened. In terrorizing that family, in killing people. I might’ve died, too. We slept together for months, all but lived together.”
“Why did you break it off?” Eve asked her.
She sighed now. “He’d started to ask for money. Just a loan. The first time I didn’t think much of it. Just a few thousand—cash. The second time, those few weeks ago, it bothered me. He’d never paid back the first, and obviously didn’t intend to. I balked, he let it go. But then I found out he’d been cheating. Another woman—wealthy, of course, and married in this case. When I confronted him with it, he shrugged it off. Literally shrugged,” she added, her eyes glittery with temper.
“He’d needed the money I hadn’t been willing to give him, so he’d tapped another source. Really, it was my fault—or so he said.”
“Ballsy,” Eve replied.
“I wish I’d kicked him in them. Still, I did kick him out, then and there. It didn’t seem to bother him a bit. In fact, he said he’d finished with me in any case.”
“Despised seems kind of a wussy word.”
Karson smiled a little at Eve. “It does, doesn’t it? Regardless, he’s not a violent man. A user, an opportunist, a lazy, worthless son of a bitch, but not a man who’d kill.”
“He might have been a man who’d know others who would.”
“Oh, Christ, I don’t know. What time is it? Early.” She answered her own question as she glanced at her wrist unit. “Too early to tag up Juliette. My friend,” she added. “Someone to lean on.”