| Summary: |
Eve crossed back, crouched to examine the large trophy with the figure of a seriously ripped male, clad only in compression shorts, flexing both biceps. "A couple trophies like this in the living room. The blood and gray matter on this one - Personal Trainer of the Year, 2059 - indicates it was used to strike the victim on the left side of the head." She lifted it, pursed her lips. "Yeah, it's got some weight to it. A couple good whacks would do the trick." She took her Identi-pad, he rgauges, out of her kid, rose to walk over to the body. "Victim is identified as Trey Arthur Ziegler, mixed race male, age thirty-one. Resided this apartment. Single. No marriages, no legel co-habs, no offspring on record." She heard the door open, paused. Detective Peabody came to the bedroom door. "I saw Trina downstairs," Peabody began, then looked at the body on the bed. "Wpw, ho, ho, humbug." "Yeah he's won't be going home for Christmas," Eve stated. "Check and see if there are any security cams, then go ahead and call in the ME and the sweepers. Let's get the uniforms started on a canvass of the building. Maybe somebody heard or saw something." "Oh boy, a bunch of pissed-off neighbours." "Not once they find out there's been a murder. People love finding out somebody's dead and they're not. Get that going, then we'll go through the plcae when I'm done with the body." Eve fit on the goggles, leaned over to peer at the shattered side of the skull. "So, Trey," she murmured, "what have you got to tell me?" |
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