Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(85)

“Right.”

She imagined he tossed the card before the door closed behind her.

“You don’t want to have Yancy work with him?” Peabody asked.

“He wouldn’t cooperate, and we can’t make him. Plus, he didn’t really see her.”

“But, the scar,” Peabody began.

“He saw the scar because she wanted him to see the scar. He remembers that, the hair color, the fact she came off as a used-up street LC because that’s what she wanted people to see.”

With the long coat sweeping behind her, Eve shot her hands into her trouser pockets. “He gave us plenty. She knew Kagen used street level, liked them cheap. She knew he’d be drinking in there, and by that time would already have a couple in him. All she has to do is offer him a bang or BJ at a bargain price, and he’s going to go with her. All she has to do is distract him for a couple seconds, spike his drink, and he’d go with her.”

“Have a car waiting,” Peabody continued. “Not in front, around the corner, down the block. Of the three, this one was probably the easiest. Not necessarily the quickest, but the easiest. Dim, grungy bar, target’s already at least half-hammered.”

“You’re right on that, all the way right.”

The police work continued at the crime scene, but the gawkers had lost interest.

Peabody climbed into the car. “That was smart, using the ball game to jog his memory. He was a pissy wit to begin with, but using the ball game changed the angle. How does anybody remember all that?” she continued as Eve pulled away. “I mean the inning and who’s where, even balls and strikes and all that.”

Eve glanced over. “Because, for Christ’s sake, it’s baseball.”

“I like baseball okay,” Peabody said. “But I don’t—”

Eve shot up a hand. “Baseball is not to be liked okay. Revere it, or do not speak of it.”

“Well, okay, I can revere the players look frosty in those cute uniforms.”

“You make me sad, Peabody. You make me very sad.” When Peabody started to speak, Eve shot up her hand again. “Don’t say anything else to make me sad enough I’m compelled to punch you.”

“We could talk about murder. That won’t make you sad enough to punch me.”

“Wise choice.”

“It’s not talking about you-know-what to ask what time the bartender hit with the you-know-what with the things that happen on the segments discussed.”

“Since I was working when said game happened, I can’t say, as such things vary according to the specific game, players, calls, and so on. Look it up.”

“Look up the … can I use the actual words, or will you feel compelled to punch me?”

“You get a pass. Look up last night’s Yankees game, run a replay on the bottom of the fifth.”

“I can do that.” Peabody got to work, then cringed. “Please don’t punch me, but I’m not sure I completely followed who was where in the game when he said she came in.”

“Murchini’s coming to the plate. There’re runners on first and third.”

“Okay, got it, wait … Oh, he is frosty. Time’s eight-fifty-three.”

“A little earlier this time. Check the bottom of the next inning.”

“Okay, okay.”

“The Yankees have a man on first, with Unger coming up to bat. You’re going to have a time-out as the Sox’s catcher talks to his pitcher.”

“Got it, got it. Gee, this Unger guy is seriously built. We’ve got nine-seventeen.”

“Didn’t waste time, did she?” Eve mused. “Got him out pretty quick.”

“Dallas, given the TOD, she spent nearly seven hours with Kagen.”

“Maybe she wanted more time. Maybe she overdosed him some since he’d already had so much alcohol in him. Maybe she had other things to do in there.”

She pulled into the garage at Central, into her slot.

“Darla Pettigrew,” Peabody said as they got out. “If we look at her, and I know that’s where you’re leaning, so if we look at her? One of the maybes is she had to take some time out to do something for or with her grandmother. I mean she started earlier, so what if she had to come back, spend some time with Eloise, either to establish an alibi or because Eloise needed something? I just don’t think the relationship there’s faked, on either side.”

“I don’t, either. And that’s good, Peabody,” she added as they got in the elevator. “That’s good. It costs her some time, time she makes up on the other end. TOD’s three-fifty-six, wit finds the DB, calls it in at four-fifty-eight.”

“If she’s staked out the target’s building—and she had to at some point, right?—she’d probably know when the wit got home, knew her window. I mean, why take chances?”

“She knew her window,” Eve agreed. “I bet she cut it close, but she knew her window. He’s dead about four, and she has to get him loaded up, transported up to 179th, laid out before Cohen walks home, arriving right about five. Yeah, she cut it close.”

“It works for me.” Used to it, Peabody barely sighed when Eve shoved off the elevator for the glides. “I see how it plays, so it works for me. But I don’t see, right now, how we prove it.”