Connections in Death (In Death #48)(41)

“If I could have just a minute, Ms. Gregory? Peabody, why don’t you take Rochelle and her brother inside?”

“I just feel sick about all this,” the woman said when she and Eve stood alone in the narrow hallway.

“I just want to confirm what you told us yesterday. You saw the woman we’ve identified as Dinnie Duff on the stairs.”

“I did, and heard her knocking on Lyle’s door. Calling and crying.”

“Do you recall what she said?”

“Something about needing help, asking him to help her, crying her crocodile tears and saying she couldn’t keep on, was ready for help.”

“‘Couldn’t keep on.’”

“‘Can’t keep on like this’—something like that. Saying how he promised to help. I didn’t hear all. I was heading down like I said. Trash night.”

“Yes. But you also saw the three she let in—through your peep. You’re sure they were males?”

“Big guys. I saw ’em from behind, but you don’t see many women with those builds.”

She thought of the female Strong had mentioned—built like a tank.

Maybe.

“Anything about them, anything at all, stand out? Something they said, a gesture, clothing?”

“Didn’t say a word in the few seconds I looked out. Just standing there in the dark hoodies—hoods up—and baggies. I just didn’t see . . .”

She frowned, poking her bottom lip out, then pulling on it while she thought back. “Well, now that I think about it again, one of them had the jitteries.”

“‘Jitteries’?”

“Couldn’t stand still.” She demonstrated, bopping her shoulders, a little shuffling of her feet. “And he kept—” She held her arms down by her sides, started snapping her fingers, one hand, the other, and back again. “I didn’t think of that last night. I guess it was like he was listening to music. Might’ve been. Then that bitch opened the door, and they went right in, she snuck right out. I don’t know how that helps you any.”

“It’s very helpful. If anything else comes to you, let me know.”

“I can promise you that. I have to go. I had my morning off, but I’m due in right now.”

“Thank you again.”

As Ms. Gregory hurried down the stairs, Eve went into the Pickering apartment. She could still smell fading death and the lingering whiff of the sweepers’ chemicals.

“I don’t see anything out of place in here,” Rochelle was saying. She stopped, turned to Eve. “Everything in here looks like it always does. In the kitchen, too. I’m sorry, this is my brother Walter. Walt, this is Lieutenant Dallas.

He kept his hair cropped close to the skull and his face clean shaven. Like his sister, he had heavy-lidded eyes. At the moment, they looked sleep starved.

“I read the book, saw the vid.” He didn’t smile when he said it, but extended a hand. “I hope you’re as good as they made you out to be.”

“Walt.” Rochelle spoke quietly, laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“Why don’t we go through the rest of the apartment,” Eve suggested. “Rochelle, you’ll be most familiar with your own room. Let’s start there.”

They walked down—another narrow hallway.

“It looks like I left it.”

“Why don’t you check the closet, the dresser drawers, the desk drawers.”

“All right. I really don’t have anything worth stealing. I always try to keep twenty dollars in emergency cash in the pocket of this jacket. And here it is. I don’t see . . .”

Exactly, Eve thought. “What don’t you see?”

“I was going to say I don’t see anything missing, but my red purse is gone. I’ve had this old red purse for years. I always had it hanging on this hook. Gram bought it for me, remember, Walt, when I got the job. She said red’s good luck. I still use it sometimes. It’s not here.”

“Can you describe it?”

“It’s just a red purse—bright, shiny red—pretend patent leather, you know, nothing extravagant. It has a silver chain if you want to wear it on your shoulder, and a magnet clasp. It’s what you call an envelope bag, I guess. About a foot long, maybe, and I don’t know, eight inches wide. It’s not worth anything.”

“Bright red, silver chain. Caught the eye. Anything else?”

“No.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I loved that damn purse.”

Eyes a little blurry, she walked out, yanked open a dresser drawer. “They killed my brother, and I’m getting upset thinking they came into my room, pawed my things.”

“Ro.” Walter moved behind her, rubbed her back. “It’s natural.”

“Nothing feels natural.” She pulled a long, thin black box from the top drawer. And opening it, let out a choked gasp. “Oh, Walter, they took Mama’s brooch. That terrible, gaudy old pin. And oh, the earrings Wilson gave me for Valentine’s Day. And, oh God, just a cheap bangle bracelet I picked up on the street one time. It’s just costume jewelry, but they took it anyway.”

“Do you have pictures of anything that was taken?”