Creation in Death (In Death #25)(35)

“Stop! Stop being a girl. Jesus, that’s annoying. If I had a partner without tits, there would be no hair obsessing.”

“Baxter would combat hat hair before an interview.”

Because it was inarguably true, Eve only scowled. “He doesn’t count.”

“And there’s Miniki. He—”

“Keep it up, and I’ll tie you down and shave you bald. You won’t ever suffer the pain and embarrassment of hat hair again.”

Eve strode out of the elevator, followed the numbers to Cal Marshall’s apartment.

“Do I still take the lead?” Peabody asked, meekly.

Eve sent her a withering look, then knocked. When the door opened, she shifted slightly to the side so that Peabody had the front ground.

“Mr. Marshall? I’m Detective Peabody. We spoke earlier. This is my partner, Lieutenant Dallas. May we come in?”

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah.”

He was blond, tanned, fit, with eyes the blue of an arctic lake. They looked a little hollow now, a little dull, and his voice held the same tone. “About Sari. It’s about Sari.”

“Why don’t we sit down?”

“What? Yeah, we should sit.”

Through an open door, Eve spotted the bed—made—with a large duffle tossed on it. There was a snowboard tipped against the wall. In the living area, a heavy ski coat was draped over a chair, the lift pass still clipped on it.

On the molded black table in front of the dark blue gel sofa were several empty bottles of beer.

Came in, Eve mused, tossed down his gear, checked his ’link messages. Got the word. Sat here and drank most of the night.

“I heard. I got home and heard—” He rubbed at his eyes. “Um, Bale—he heard from Zela. She works with Sari at the club. She told him…he told me.”

“It must’ve been a shock,” Peabody said. “That was the first you heard of her death? You didn’t have your pocket ’link, or see any reports while you were gone?”

“I shut down my ’link. Just wanted to board. It was all about boarding. Me and Bale went out to Colorado. Incommunicado Colorado. Big joke,” he said. “Shuttled back last night. Bale, he’s closer to the station, got home first. Zela left him a message. Zela talked to him. He called. I got home, and he…”

“You and Sarifina were involved.”

“We were…we were together until a couple of weeks ago.” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “A couple of weeks…We broke up.”

“Why did you break up?”

“She was always too busy. She was always…” He trailed off, lifted his gaze to Peabody’s. “I wanted more, okay? I wanted her more available, more interested in what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. It wasn’t working out, not the way I wanted it. So I said I was done with it. With her.”

“You argued.”

“Yeah. We both got pretty harsh. She said I was selfish, immature, self-involved. I said something like, ‘Right back at you.’ Shit, shit, shit. She’s dead. Bale said…I was snowboarding and trashing her to Bale. And she was dead. You think I hurt her? I wanted to hurt her. Here,” he said, thumping a fist to his heart. “I wanted her to feel crappy that I flipped her, you know? I wanted her to be lonely and miserable while I found somebody—lots of somebodies—who knew how to have a good time. Christ.”

He dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, my Christ.”

“We don’t think you hurt her, Mr. Marshall. Before you broke up, did she stay here with you?”

“Less and less. Things were disintegrating. We barely saw each other. Once or twice a week maybe.”

“Did she ever mention anyone bothering her? Anyone that made her uncomfortable?”

“We weren’t doing a lot of talking lately.” He said it quietly while he looked down at his hands. “I don’t remember her saying anything like that. She liked the old guys who came into the club. Especially the old guys. Smooth, she said. They got smooth with age, like whiskey or something. Some hit on her now and then, and she got a kick out of it. At least I didn’t get twisted about that. I thought it was funny.”

“Anyone specifically?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention. I’m not into that retro crap. Bored me senseless, you know? She looked good though, when she dressed up for work? Man, she looked good.”

N ot much of a well to pump there,” Peabody commented as they rode down.

“I don’t know. She liked older men, older men liked her. It’s high probability the killer is an older man.”

“And?”

“I bet he chatted her up somewhere along the line. A week or two before he grabbed her, he makes contact in the club. That’d be a big thrill for him, having a conversation, maybe a dance with his intended victim. A good way to get another sense of her, a gauge, a rhythm.”

“Yeah.” Peabody hissed in her breath as they started outside. “And…If he did, and she saw him later—on the street, wherever he made the grab, she’d be friendly, at ease. It’s Mr. Smooth from Starlight.”

“So, if he made contact with her…maybe he made contact with Gia Rossi.”

“The fitness center.”