Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(76)

“You’re worried someone will end up in the morgue.”

Eve scanned the street, the sidewalk, the people strolling or stampeding along.

“It’d be crazy to risk going after another target tonight, but she could easily do the crazy. And no matter how hard I’m leaning toward Pettigrew right now, I don’t have enough. Hell, I don’t have anything. Not anything to justify a search warrant, not even enough to put a stakeout on her place.”

“Because anyone in the group would have, at the core, the same motivation.”

“So I have to find more.”

“Then you will,” he said when they reached the lot. When they got into the car, he glanced at her briefly. “You know you must, so you are, looking beyond what your gut tells you. You’re working to identify and interview everyone in the group.”

“That’s just basic cop work.”

“That may be.” He wound the spiffy new car up the levels. “But as you do it, you’re eliminating. You crossed two off your list tonight. You know they weren’t covering for each other,” he added.

“Not impossible, but not probable. Neither own vehicles, neither have licenses to drive and never have. Both have young children—and it’d be easy to check if either got somebody to watch the kids while they went out and murdered somebody. And they’re both the wrong build. No place private or secure enough in that building to kill people. If they have access to a place that is, that brings yet somebody else into it.”

“And you think this is a solo act.”

“Feels like it. I don’t think the killer signs the poems Lady Justice as a dodge. That’s how she sees herself.”

“I agree. As someone enforcing justice, and a lady.”

Frowning, Eve shifted. “I hadn’t juggled in the second part. Sees herself as a lady. Not just female. Maybe. Maybe that’s part of it, part of her. Something to think about. Me, it irritates the crap out of me when somebody calls me lady. But she embraces it.”

“Define lady” he invited.

“Delicate female wuss.”

Laughing, he grabbed her hand, tugged it to his lips. “And yet you are, and always will be, my lady.”

“That doesn’t charge my batts. You define lady—outside the marriage rules.”

“In general terms then? A woman well-mannered and well-bred—”

“Leaves me out.”

He simply rolled over her. “It can also mean a woman of rank, of course. Which would include you in the world of cops. And a woman generous and caring of nature.”

“One out of three for me then.”

“Darling Eve, no one would call you well-mannered or well-bred, but it’s clearly two out of three. Regardless, your killer may see herself as any or all of those examples, or simply have enjoyed the ring, we’ll say, of the title.”

He might find it insulting, but he thought like a cop. A good cop. Since he would find it insulting, Eve didn’t mention it.

“Yeah, there’s that. But you know Justice Warrior has a ring, Justice Seeker, and so on. Non-gender specific. She’s proud of being, you know, a lady.”

“Ah, well there you have a fine point. It’s back to Women For Women, isn’t it then?”

“That’s how I see it.” She studied the house as they rolled through the gates. “What’s a lady with a penis?”

“Possibly conflicted.”

“No, I mean a guy lady—the male version.”

“If I’m following, I suppose a lord.”

“Yeah, that could fit you.”

“I’d as soon not be a lady with a penis, if it’s all the same.”

“Forget that part.”

“Happily.”

“Lords sort of rule their domain. It’s a strong word, lord. Lady—I go back to wuss. But not in the killer’s mind. It’s something to be proud of.”

“You’re circling back to Darla Pettigrew.”

Yes, she thought, but wondered how he saw it. “Why do you figure that?”

“Well-mannered, well-bred. You could even add a kind of rank as the granddaughter of a legendary star. Caring enough to help a fellow group member.”

Yeah, he thought like a cop.

“It depends, doesn’t it, on if she sees herself that way.”

When he parked, she got out of the car, walked to the door with him. “I’m going to nail down those names, get that going. Are you interested in poking into somebody’s business?”

“My favorite game.”

“Both Eloise and Darla are licensed to drive. None of the vehicles registered to Eloise fit the description of the one seen at the club or the Pettigrew house. There’s no vehicle currently registered in Darla’s name—not her married name, not her birth name. But maybe she’s got herself a couple of buried accounts, maybe a vehicle registered under another name that goes with them.”

She shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over the newel post. “You up for that?”

“Delighted—with a caveat?”

“It that a sex euphemism?”

“Not in this case.” He took her hand as they walked upstairs. “You’ve had a handful of hours of sleep the past two nights combined. You get your names confirmed, get Peabody started on the interviews. I look into this.”