"I'll see you tonight."

"Catch the bad guys, Lieutenant, but stay safe doing it."

"That's the plan."

She found her coat, the snowflake hat she'd become weirdly attached to, a made-by-Peabody scarf, and fresh gloves on the newel post.

Her car, heater running, waited outside.

She glanced in the rearview mirror once at the warmth and comfort of home, then headed out to the morgue and the dead.

The sleet didn't wait for afternoon and started to fall, mixed with snapping little bits of ice, by the time she fought her way downtown.

That didn't stop the ad blimps blasting about cruise wear, white sales, inventory clearances, but it did cause the already lumbering maxibuses to slow to a crawl. And since even the thought of winter precipitation caused the majority of drivers to lose any shred of competency they might own, she spent most of her trip avoiding, leapfrogging over, and cursing every cab and commuter.

The long white tunnel leading to the dead came as a relief, even when she passed an open door and heard someone's cackling laugh.

To her mind no one should cackle in the dead house. The occasional chuckle, fine. But cackling was just creepy.

She pushed through the doors to the autopsy room, into the cool air and the quiet strains of classical music.

The three victims lay on slabs, almost side by side.

Morris had a protective cloak over his steel-gray suit. He wore a royal blue shirt that picked up the needle-thin lines in the suit jacket and had twined cord of the same color through the complex braid of his dark hair.

Microgoggles magnified his eyes as he glanced up from the body of Ellissa Wyman.

"A cold, dreary morning to start our day."

"It's probably going to get worse."

"It too often does. But for our guests, the worst is over. She made me think of Mozart." He ordered the music down to a murmur as he lifted the goggles. "So young."

He'd already opened her, and gestured with a sealed hand smeared with blood toward his screen.

"She was healthy, had exceptional muscle tone. I see no signs of illegals or alcohol abuse. She had a hot chocolate soy milk, chocolate substitute and a soft pretzel about an hour before death."

"A snack before she hit the ice. They have carts selling that kind of thing right outside the park. She'd been skating just under twenty-five minutes before she took the hit."

"Laser strike, mid-back, almost severing the spine between the T6 and T7 thoracic vertebrae."

"Yeah, I got that. Severing?"

"Very nearly, so this was a high-powered strike. Had she survived it, she would have been a paraplegic without a long, expensive and brilliant treatment. But with the intensity of the strike, she would have been gone in seconds."

"The classic 'never knew what hit her.'"

"Exactly so, and a blessing as, though I've only begun on her internal organs, I see considerable damage."

She might not have been big on internal organs, but Eve had passed squeamish in autopsy long ago. So she accepted the goggles Morris offered, took a closer look.

"Am I looking at massive internal bleeding?"

"You are. With a burst spleen as was her liver." He gestured to his scale, where that particular organ sat.

"Are internal injuries like this usual with a laser hit?"

"I've seen it before. But it's more common in combat injuries, where the enemy is intent on destroying as many opponents as quickly as possible."

"The beam pulses like vibrates once it hits the target, right?" Straightening, Eve took off the goggles. "I've heard of this. It's outlawed in police weaponry, in collections."

"I believe so, yes. This would be Berenski's area."

"Yeah, I heard that. He's my next stop."

After setting the goggles aside, Eve studied Wyman's body, turned to the two waiting for Morris.

"So somebody got their hands on a military weapon, or adapted another to military level. And somebody wanted to make sure these three people went all the way down."

"It's difficult to see why anyone would want to end this young woman's life. Of course, she may have been a stone bitch with a wait list of enemies."

"Doesn't look like it. Solid family, still lived at home, doing the work/college thing, with the ice-skating a big passion."

As she spoke, Eve circled the body a young, slender girl who'd never known what hit her. "She was still friendly with her ex-boyfriend. I took a look through her room yesterday when I notified the parents. On the girlie side, but not crazy with it. No hidden stashes, no weird shit on her electronics though EDD will take a harder look there."

"A normal sort of not-quite-adult who hadn't yet determined what to do with her life, and assumed she had all the time in the world to figure it out."

"That's how I see it," Eve agreed, "right now anyway. Her family's going to contact you about seeing her."

"I spoke with them last evening. They'll be in mid-morning. I'll take care of them."

"I know you will."

Turning away from Wyman, Eve studied the other victims. "If there was a specific target, I think it was the second victim."

"Michaelson."

"Yeah. But that's just theory, just gut. I've got nothing to hang it on."

"As your gut's generally reliable, and in much better shape than Michaelson's, I'll keep that in mind when I examine him."

"He knew what hit him. According to the wits who tried to help him, he was conscious, alive, at least for a minute or two."

"An agonizing minute or two," Morris added, nodding. "That would be part of the reason for your gut on him."

"Part of it."

"I noted in your report you're consulting with Lowenbaum. I'll copy him on all findings."

"Affirmative. How many LDSK investigations have you worked?"

"This would be my third and first as chief ME." With his own goggles lowered, he gave her a friendly look out of long, dark eyes. "I've got, what, about ten years on you?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

He smiled at her, knowing that, especially for a cop, she took great care not to intrude in the personal business, or into the personal data, of colleagues.

"Roughly ten, which makes us both a bit young for any real memories of the Urbans, when such things were all too common. Technology that creates the weapons used on these three people increases what we'll call the science of the kill. And restrictions on those weapons decrease the accessibility, and the use of them for that purpose."

"But sooner or later."

"Yes, sooner or later. I don't know a great deal about this sort of weapon, but I'll learn." He looked down at Ellissa again. "So we can do our best for her, and the others."

"I'll go see if Dickhead knows as much about laser weapons as Lowenbaum says he does."

"Good luck. Oh, Garnet tells me you're having drinks."

"What? Who?"

"DeWinter."

"Oh, DeWinter." Dr. DeWinter, Eve thought, forensic anthropologist. Smart, a little annoying.

"We're friends, Dallas without any added benefits."

Uneasy, Eve stuck her hands in her pockets. "Not my business."

"You were there for me when I lost Amaryllis, and being there helped me through the darkest days of my life. So while it might not be your business, I understand it's your concern. We like each other's company, particularly without the tension of 'Will there be sex?' In fact, she and Chale and I had dinner last night."

"The priest, the dead doctor, and the bone doctor."

Now he laughed, and Eve felt herself relax. "Quite the trio when you look at it that way. In any case, she mentioned she'd talked you into having a drink."

"Maybe. Sometime." At his arched eyebrows, she hissed. "Yeah, okay, I owe her for cutting through a lot of red tape. Did she put you up to poking me on it?"

He only smiled. "You'll see her at Bella's party."

"She's- How'd she get into Mavis's kid's deal?"

"When it comes to poking, Mavis is a charming expert. She gives me one every few weeks, just to be sure I'm not wallowing. The four of us went to the Blue Squirrel a couple weeks ago."

"You went to the Blue Squirrel... on purpose?"

"It's an experience. In any case, she and Leonardo invited Garnet, and her daughter, to the party. It promises to be quite the event."

"You say that like it's a good thing. I worry about you, Morris."

Fairly serious about that, she left him with the dead. She was nearly at the exit when Peabody came in, pink-cheeked from the cold and wearing her fussy-topped pink winter boots.

"I'm not late, you're early."

"I wanted a jump on it."

As Eve walked straight out, Peabody did a quick turnaround and followed. "Did Morris have anything?"

"He was working on the first victim. We need to corroborate with Berenski, but it looks like a military-grade weapon."

"McNab started researching those last night." Peabody hustled to the car, let out an audible "Ahhh" when she settled into the seat. "He was totally all about it. What is it with men and weapons?"

"I'm not a man. I like weapons."

"Right. Anyway. He was researching the weapon, or possible weapon, and started doing the math. The math I get, because geek, then you sent over that program Roarke wrote up. It was like Christmas and hot sex and chocolate pudding for him all together. Like having hot sex covered with chocolate pudding on Christmas. Hmm."

"Don't go there."

"Already did, but saving it for later. So he's playing with that, and I started on the wit list. Like I said in my report, the poor little guy with the broken leg and his parents didn't see a thing until they hit the ice. Then all they really saw was the kid, and the girl. It happened so fast. They were about to exit the rink when it happened, were looking the other way, and bam!"

"We'll finish the list, but it's not going to come down to wits at the rink on this. The strike came from too far away. I haven't found any connection between the victims, and I don't think there's going to be any."

"If this was completely random..." Peabody glanced out at the people on the street, at the buildings and all the windows rising up.

"I didn't say I'm convinced it was random. I want Morris's full results, and we're going to start checking the buildings on the short list Roarke worked out. The first victim, middle of the back, high-powered strike with echoes."

"I know what that means! McNab ran it for me last night. Echoes means the strike's designed to spread once it hits the target."

"She wouldn't have survived it at least low odds anyway. Nearly severed her spine. So that tells me the kill was imperative, not just the strike. And maybe that's why he stopped at three. Panic's starting, people heading for cover, or bunching up, ducking down. You're going to get some solid strikes, but maybe not solid enough for a kill. This way, he's three for three."

"Don't take chances, lower your percentage." Peabody blew out a breath as Eve turned toward the lab. "How many buildings on the short list?"

"Enough that I'm pulling in whoever's not working a hot to help check them out."

Inside, in the warren of the lab, Eve headed straight for Dickhead.

While most of the techs wore white lab coats, the slick of dark hair on his egg-shaped head made him easy to spot as he huddled over his long work counter.

She imagined his spidery fingers working over a keyboard or on a screen. The man was a creepy pain in the ass, but he had skills. And she needed them.

He glanced up as she approached, and nearly knocked her off her stride. The poor excuse for facial hair he'd been trying to grow now resembled an anemic caterpillar over his mouth, and a tattered spiderweb on his chin.

If he'd developed the new look to lure women and luring women was his greatest wish Eve predicted brutal disappointment.

"LDSK," he said, with what might have been pleasure.

"That's right."

"We don't get those every day. Long-range laser rifle Lowenbaum's right on the model, I figure."

"It has to be military grade. Morris said the first vic as far as he'd gotten this morning had damage to internal organs."