Monday night and the nightly run was just beginning: Eve took the scenic route where without the fat cats trussed up in suits, the landscape of the lake could be appreciated. A false greenery, but one that there was a certain smug satisfaction from running across when the golf-course was one she wouldn't have been admitted to before her inheritance and hadn't the slightest intention of taking out membership to, now.
She paused to catch a breath, turn back toward the club-house but a flicker of movement caught her eye and Eve turned, quick-defensive and ready to see nothing but darkness and the faint, soft lap of the water against the sand. And something that she very much doubted was part of the course. A body: Eve approached on light feet and cautious -- mask killer? Golf course would be a strange place to dump his leavings, but -- As she approached, she could see the all too human evidence, the zip ties cording wrists, knotted up like an animal to die. Without a fraction of emotion crossing her face, Eve's gloved fingers snaked into his pockets, dug for something -- anything -- to identify him. Knowledge in this town was not something you passed up, even if looking at someone's bloated, pallid face after they'd died was a part of the getting of it.
A wallet of cards and waterlogged cash and an ID: David Carver. Eve looked at it blankly. Another murder victim in a large town wasn't unusual, but there was nothing to see as to why. The deaths she'd seen the aftermath of were messy: crimes in which the doing of was as important as the end result. People professional, the organized crime, they didn't leave their victims on golf courses to be found by the next teeing-off suit. She nudged the body of Carver with a foot, and scanned the lake for anything else.