Free Chaos in Death by J. D. Robb

squatter, a
nothing
, and be rejected by her?”
    “That’s a great deal for a second look at the crime scene.”
    “But not enough. Here’s Louise and Charles.”
    Roarke stood, greeting Louise with a kiss, Charles with a handshake.
    As Charles, former licensed companion turned sex therapist, slid in beside his wife, he grinned at Eve. “How’s it going, Lieutenant Sugar?”
    “I’ve got three bodies and a short list of suspects. It could be worse. Sorry,” she said to Louise. “Insensitive.”
    “No. We both deal with death all too often, but at least I come into it when there’s still a chance.”
    “You look tired,” Roarke commented.
    “Long day. Good day,” she added, “as I didn’t deal with death.”
    Both she and Charles ordered a glass of the house white.
    “What can I tell you about your short list of suspects?”
    Eve drew out the sketch, laid it on the table. Puzzled, Louise leaned closer. “We’ve still got a month till Halloween.”
    “This is who the witness saw outside the crime scene.”
    “It’s a hell of a disguise,” Charles commented. “Why would anyone want to dress up, be that noticeable when doing murder?”
    “Maybe it added to the thrill. We’re not having any luck on replicating the disguise, and Mira says it’s unlikely he could tolerate the jaw—broken or dislocated that way.”
    “Now you have two doctors telling you that. This is extreme.” Louise tapped a finger, tipped in pearly pale pink, on the sketch. “There would be airway blockage, difficulty breathing, speaking, eating. There should be considerable swelling, but I don’t see any in this sketch. The pain would be enormous. And the eyes certainly aren’t natural. Not just the color. Hyperthyroidism can cause the eyes to bulge, but I’ve never seen anything that severe. And the skin? I’d diagnose multiple organ failure at worst, anemia at best. He had to fake all this.”
    “Hey, I saw that guy.” The waitress paused as she served the wine.
    “When?” Eve demanded. “Where?”
    “Last night. Well, this morning. You don’t forget a face like that,” she added with a laugh.
    “Exactly what time? Exactly where?” Eve drew out her badge, laid it next to the sketch.
    “Oh. I guess he wasn’t just a weirdo. I had the late shift last night, so I didn’t leave until after two. I live on Jane, right off Greenwich Street. I did some yoga when I got home. It relaxes me. I don’t know exactly, but it was probably about three fifteen, three thirty or thereabouts, when I finished. I heard this weird laughing, and went to the window. I had it open, and I saw this dude here sort of skipping down the sidewalk across the street. You see all kinds, you know, so I didn’t think anything of it. I saw him jump up, swing on the pole of the streetlight, waving this black bag. I just thought, weirdo, shut the window, and went to bed.”
    “Which way was he going?”
    “East, toward Eighth, it looked like. What’d he do?”
    “Enough so if you see him again, contact the police.” She hitched up a hip, dug out a card. “Contact me.”
    “Sure. Wow, a lieutenant. Homicide. Wow. He killed somebody?”
    “Yeah. I’d like your name and address.”
    “Sure. Sure.” Once she’d given it, the waitress hurried away.
    “You scared the hell out of her,” Charles said.
    “She’d be smart not to walk home alone, and to keep her windows closed.” She put the sketch away, sipped at her beer. “Do you know any of Rosenthall’s lab people?” she asked Louise.
    “No.”
    “Okay, we’ll set them aside for now. Did Rosenthall ever move on you?”
    “No! He was with Arianna when we met, then I was with Charles not long after. He’s in love with Ari, and added to that, his work doesn’t give him a lot of time for moving on other women.”
    “It doesn’t take that much time. She’s the one backing his research and work—or the Group is. If she cut him loose, it’d be a big loss.”
    “She’s in love