Celebrity in Death (In Death #34)(77)

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“It helps me to know her. Whatever she was, whatever she did. It helps me know her. And knowing her will help me find who killed her.”

His eyes watered up, and he struggled in silence a moment for composure. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. My ma’s grieving, but I can’t. I can’t grieve for my sister.”

“You came here, all this way, to take your sister home. That shows me something.”

“For my ma.” A single tear spilled out. “Not for Katie.”

“It doesn’t matter. You came, and you’ll take her home.”

He closed his eyes, sighed. “When my wife was carrying our first, I was so afraid. I was afraid I’d be what he was, that I’d do what he did. That it was in me—in the blood—like in Katie’s. Then I had my boy.” He turned his palms up, as if cradling an infant. “And I couldn’t understand how, how a father could—I’d cut my arm off first. I swear to God. But Katie, it was like she couldn’t be any other way. Now someone killed her, like someone killed him. Was it supposed to be like that, right from the start?”

“No. I don’t believe that. No one had the right to take her life. She made bad choices, and it’s hard for you to reconcile that. Murder’s a choice, too. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the person who made that choice pays for it.”

“I guess that’s what I needed to hear. I guess that’s why I came to see you. I can tell my ma that, and I think it’ll comfort her some.”

“I hope it does.”

He sighed again. “I guess I better figure out what to do with myself until I leave tomorrow.”

“You’ve got two kids, right?”

“One of each, and we’re having another.”

She pulled out a card—her last—made a note to dig out more. “There’s this kid. Tiko,” she said, scribbling on the back of the card. “He sells scarves and whatever else, on this corner in Midtown I’m writing down. He’s a good kid. Go buy your wife and mother a scarf. Tell Tiko I sent you, and he’ll make you a deal. And ask him where to get your kids some souvenirs from New York at a good price. He’ll know.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

“You can contact me if you need to. The information’s on the card.”

“People oughtn’t say New Yorkers are cold and rude. You’ve been kind and friendly.”

“Don’t spread that around. We New Yorkers have a rep to uphold.”

When Eve walked back into the bullpen, Peabody got up from her desk to meet her. “How’d it go?”

“He’s having a rough time. Guilty because he thinks he’s not grieving, but he is. He couldn’t be more different than Harris—like a big sturdy tree, and she’s that itchy vine that climbs up it. He gave me some insights into her.”

“Speaking of insights, Mira’s in your office.”

“Shit. I forgot about the consult.”

“She’s only been here a few minutes. She said she had an appointment in this sector, and just came by.”

“All right. Stay on top of the forensic guys. Maybe the killer got sloppy with Asner’s car. And I want the search team on the apartment to let me know if they find a drop of dried spit that wasn’t Asner’s.”

“Will do. Meanwhile, I dug on the boat angle. None of them has a boat in New York.”

“Crap.”

“But. Roundtree and Steinburger both had one back in New LA—and Julian and Matthew are both experienced sailors, as is Andrea Smythe. She and her husband have a sporting yacht in the Hamptons. So I was thinking, maybe one of them has a friend with a boat docked at the marina, and borrowed it. Or just stole one to do the dump.”

“That’s good thinking. A good angle. Work it.”

“Can I use McNab?”

“I’ve told you I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“Ha ha. This is going to take a lot of search and cross-referencing. He’s got skills. Oops, I forgot not to mention my sex life.”

“And again, ha ha. Ask Feeney if you want him before end of shift. Once you’re both off, it’s your party. And that’s the end of allusions to your sex life.”

She walked to her office, saw Mira standing at her skinny window.

“A dreary kind of rain,” Mira commented. “It’s going to make traffic a little slice of hell going home.”

“That balances out the easy, stress-free drive I had in this morning. I’m sorry about the delay. I’d have come to you.”

“I was nearby anyway, and Peabody told me you were talking with K.T. Harris’s brother.” She turned, pretty in her rosy suit and favored pearls. “That sort of thing is rarely easy or stress-free.”

“He’s a very decent sort of man beating himself up some because his sister wasn’t a very decent sort of woman. His father tuned the mother up regularly. Harris not only sided with him but passed on info—often false—so he had an excuse to smack the mother around, and reward the daughter for her loyalty. When the son finally got old enough to try to stop him, he ended up in the hospital. The mother finally called the cops and had the f**ker put in a cage. Harris wasn’t pleased, claimed it didn’t happen even though her brother’s pissing blood in the hospital. Then claimed the brother tried to molest her, and the father protected her.”