Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(20)

“Would you like me to contact your son, tell him?”

“No, that’s for me to do.” Julie swiped at her eyes, but the tears kept coming in a steady stream of grief. “Can you tell me, did she suffer?”

“No, no, Ms. Byrd, she didn’t. You have my contact information, and you should use it whenever you need. I’m going to give you the contact information for the person who’s taking care of her, and you can talk to him when you’re ready to see her.”

“Yes, please. Yes. You’re a police detective?”

“I’m the lieutenant in charge of the Homicide Division at Cop Central in New York. And your daughter is my priority.”

When she finished the call, Eve got a bottle of water, drank half of it down as she stood at her window. She didn’t turn as she heard Peabody come in.

“The victim’s mother contacted me. She’d left her ’link in her son’s kitchen—she’s with him in Atlanta—because they all rushed out early this morning when her daughter-in-law went into labor.”

“Oh boy.”

“Nope, girl. So I had to pop her shiny, happy balloon and tell her that her daughter’s dead. Anyway, that’s done.”

Turning now, Eve ran the chilly water tube over her forehead, and the headache brewing inside.

“She doesn’t know anyone—or couldn’t think of anyone—who’d had issues with her daughter, or vice versa. She did know her daughter had been in a relationship with a woman for a few months, was happy, occasionally frustrated. Byrd hadn’t shared the name with her mother.”

“Huffman’s coming in. She’s happy, too, and I think that’s sincere because I dangled the botched burglary and added our pursuit of a suspicious character.”

Eve lowered the bottle, even smiled a little. “You said ‘suspicious character’?”

“It worked because, lo and behold, she suddenly remembered her good friend Ariel mentioning she’d seen a strange guy hanging around in the neighborhood.”

“I’m shocked and stunned. What does lo mean? I get the behold, but what is lo and why is it always hanging out with behold?”

“Behold must like it because it always lets lo come first.”

“That’s right, it does. It’s never behold and lo, and it could be. Get us a box, Peabody.”

“Already reserved Interview B. Jenkinson and Reineke already have A, and Carmichael and Santiago snagged C.”

“Busy day in Homicide.”

“No rest for the wicked ’cause the murder cops are all over their asses.”

“That we are, Peabody.” Eve turned back to the board, looked at Gwendolyn Huffman’s photo. “That we fucking are.”





5


Eve had the box set and her basic strategy outlined. While waiting for Gwen Huffman to show up, she conferred with Detective Carmichael.

“Gotta look at the spouse, right?” Carmichael stood at Vending, contemplating her choices. “Especially when the spouse of the spouse is a cheating bastard who didn’t know the meaning of controlling his dick. So … I know this no-cal lemonade’s going to suck, but I can’t handle more caffeine.”

She punched in her code, and Eve watched—disappointed and annoyed—when the tube of lemonade slid into the slot without a hitch.

“Why is it, why, every time I try to use one of these things it rejects my order, changes my order, or bitches at me?”

“Maybe it fears you, and its chips freeze up and stutter at your approach. You want? I’ll get.”

“No.” Eve aimed a death glare at the machine. “I won’t give it the satisfaction.”

“That’ll teach it.” Carmichael cracked the tube. “So she claims she didn’t know her husband was catting around, even though we have the freaking security feed of her following him—three minutes after—into a strip bar. No cams inside, naturally, but we got the door feed. She’s wearing a wig but, Jesus, we got her. Plus, she stabbed the shit out of him right inside the vestibule of their apartment building when he got home, then dragged him out on the stoop. She’s still wearing the wig when she goes into the building, drags him out of the building. She takes his wallet and valuables, like we’ll seriously think mugging.”

“What did she do with them?”

“Threw them in the recycler, in the vestibule. Actually left a bloody fingerprint on it. And we looked at the bloody print, and thought: Hey, a clue!”

“That’s why you’re ace investigators.”

“You got it.” Carmichael tossed back her hair. Not in the sexy way, but in the get-out-of-my-eyes way Eve understood. “She goes up, cleans herself up—and stuffs her bloody strip-joint dress and wig in her kitchen recycler. How would we ever find them!”

“Criminals are mostly dumb-asses.”

“It sure helps when they are. Anyway, we brought her in, broke her down. She’s in Booking. Murder in the first. She’ll tag a lawyer, and they’ll probably deal it down to second. We’re fine with that. The guy was a dog.”

“Dog, dumb-ass, or not, good work. What did she do with the blade?”

“Oh, that.” Carmichael showed her teeth in a wicked smile. “She left that in his crotch.”