Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(58)

Hunted redheads, she thought, married a brunette. And what did that mean? Love, Eve supposed, but that love couldn’t and hadn’t outweighed his particular and prurient needs.

Second suspect, most likely a wig, or temp color job. In both cases, the hair made a statement—and was a detail that stuck in witnesses’ minds.

The killer struck Eve as too smart to use her own style and color.

She added Darla Pettigrew’s ID shot between the two sketches.

Again, maybe yes, maybe no on the resemblance.

Darla came in at thirty-eight—and looked it, if not a couple years older. Nondescript brown hair, medium length. Nondescript altogether, Eve mused, at least for the ID shot.

But she had those really good bones just like her grandmother. Eyes that might have sparkled if she bothered to smile, or didn’t look tired. Wouldn’t her actor grandmother know all the tricks with enhancements to play up the best features?

Then again, maybe Darla just wasn’t interested in enhancements or painting up. And Eve had to admit she’d be the last person to criticize that stand.

Still …

Darla Pettigrew had motive, big motive to Eve’s mind. She had access to privacy and a grandmother who likely wouldn’t question her, and she had e-skills.

Eve checked for vehicles, found none registered in her name. Eloise had two, one all-terrain—white, one luxury sedan—silver. And neither fit the witness statements.

Didn’t mean she didn’t have access to another.

Because it just kept niggling at her, she contacted Leah Lester.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Ms. Lester. I have a question about the support group.”

“Look, I told you everything I could. Why won’t you let me just put this behind me?”

“When someone murdered Nigel McEnroy, they put it in front of you. Give me your impressions of a woman in the group named Darla.”

Leah’s face closed in. “And I told you the group was confidential and anonymous.”

“I’ve spoken to Darla, and I’ve spoken to Natalia. I’m asking for your impressions of this individual.”

“I was a lot more invested in myself, to be honest, than the others. I only went because it was important to Jasmine.”

“Do you remember Darla?”

“Maybe. Vaguely. At least I think so, but what I’m not going to do is put the finger on some poor woman who got screwed by a man.”

“Cuts both ways,” Eve tossed back. “What you tell me may clear her. Her ex-husband was murdered last night.”

“Jesus Christ.” On a shudder, Leah pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Like McEnroy.”

“Yes. Now, impressions.”

“Vague, like I said. I stopped going, I told you that. I remember her as sort of broken—like a lot of us—but heartbroken, I guess. Her husband dumped her for a younger woman, and something about stealing the business she’d built. I guess I didn’t feel all that sorry for her. She wasn’t drugged and raped, just dumped.”

She let out a sigh.

“Like I said, I was more into my own problems. She looked like she had money, not like Un— not like one of the others whose ex smacked her around, until she got away with her kid.”

“How did she look like she had money?”

“I don’t know. Her shoes. She had really good shoes, and she was still wearing a wedding set. If the diamond was real, it was worth something. I’m just saying she looked like money.”

Details mattered, Eve mused—even shoes. So she pressed. “Do you remember if she seemed close to any of the women, developed a bond?”

“I don’t know. I said I barely … Wait, I did hear she gave one of the group some money. The one I said got smacked around. I don’t know if it’s true, just something somebody said.”

“Who? Who said it, who got the money? Two murders, Leah, don’t make me bring you in.”

“Goddamn it. I don’t remember who told me. It might have been Jasmine, it might have been one of the others. It was Una. If you’re talking to Natalia, ask Natalia because Una wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was a sweet woman trying to make a life for her kid after getting shafted. If Darla did give her some money to help, good for her. That’s all I know.”

“I appreciate it.”

Eve clicked off, sat back, and wondered just how to track down a single parent named Una.

But right now, she needed to get to Mira.

She went out to the bullpen, stopped at Peabody’s desk.

“I’m heading to Mira.”

“I was just about to let you know, I talked to the London partner. He finally tagged me back. He claims he didn’t know anything about the harassment—or the drugging, the rapes. And seemed pretty grim about it. He did say he knew McEnroy—his word—strayed. That he had a thing, and always had for redheads, which to him—the partner—showed McEnroy loved his wife. He fell for her, a brunette, built a life, had a family. But he strayed from time to time.”

Peabody managed a simultaneous hiss and eye roll. “It’s ‘strayed’ like, you know, he made a wrong turn walking to the bank. Anyway, the partner’s coming into New York to try to handle things here, and he says he’ll do whatever he can for the widow. He’ll make himself available once he’s in New York, for interview if you want to speak to him.”