Salvation in Death (In Death #27)(53)

“I’m surprised he had room for the cyanide,” Eve mumbled.

“I’m going to guess he ate that way with some regularity as he was about thirty pounds overweight. Carried most of it in his belly, as you see.”

It was hard not to as Jimmy Jay was currently splayed out naked on a slab.

“Unlike your previous entry, I’d say this one didn’t believe in regular exercise, and liked to eat, preferring his food fried, starchy, and/or full of refined sugar. Take away the cyanide, and it’s still unlikely your soul saver would have made his given one-twenty.”

“How much cyanide?”

“Nearly half again as was used for your priest.”

“Take him down, quick and hard. If he’d ingested it slowly, over the course of, say, an hour? If he’d had some laced in to his water bottles—multiple?”

“He’d have felt ill—weak, confused, short of breath.”

“So not that way. All at once. The first two bottles onstage were most likely clean. It’s about timing. Third bottle is consumed right around break time. Everything, everyone’s revved up, he’s in his groove. Sweating, preaching, pulls off his jacket. That’s routine—the audience loves it. Can’t risk it happening after the break,” Eve said half to herself. “Can’t risk even the slight possibility someone else might drink from that bottle, or that bottle is replaced. So it has to be before the break, when he’s still by himself onstage. But for the biggest impact, at the end of that period.”

“The daughter put them onstage,” Peabody pointed out.

“Yeah. Yeah. What does it take?” Eve paced away from the body. “All you have to do is cross that stage. Everyone’s used to seeing you, handling details, being around. Who’s going to say: ‘Yo, what are you doing?’ Nobody. You just check the water, that’s all. Making sure the lids are loose for good old Jimmy Jay. And you tip in the cyanide.”

She paced back. “The water’s on the table, behind the drop,” she remembered. “Smarter to do it when the singers are already out there—what do you call it—upstage. In front of the drop. Vic’s in his dressing room, most everyone is except the ones onstage. It takes a minute, if that. Sealed hands, maybe thin gloves, like a doctor’s. I bet there’s a medical on staff. Smart, pretty smart. Still, maybe stupid enough to toss the sealant or gloves, the empty poison container in one of the arena’s recyclers. Why wouldn’t you? It’s just going to prove what you want us to find out anyway. Somebody poisoned him.”

Morris smiled at her. “As Reverend Jenkins and I are now so intimately acquainted, and you appear to know who somebody is, share.”

“His name’s Billy Crocker. And it’s time we had another chat.”

11

THEY TRACKED BILLY DOWN AT THE TOWN HOUSE on Park. The attractive brunette who opened the door looked pale and wrung out—and surprised. “Detective Peabody. Is there—do you have news?”

“No, ma’am. Lieutenant Dallas, this is Merna Baker, the nanny.”

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, when I saw you on the security screen, I thought . . . Please, come in.”

The foyer was short and wide, narrowing to a hallway Eve noted bisected the house. Merna stood, puffy-eyed, in her calf-skimming dark skirt and blue blouse. Her short hair curled around a face that showed no signs of enhancements.

Wouldn’t have been Jenkins’s type, Eve thought.

“We were told Mr. Crocker was here,” Eve began. “We’d like to speak with him.”

“Oh. Yes, he’s here. He’s back with Jolene and some of the family. We’re . . . It’s such a hard day.”

“We’ll try not to make it any harder.”

“Yes, of course. If you’d just wait here a moment.”

She walked down the hall, knocked on a door. When it opened, she spoke in a voice so quiet it didn’t carry. But Eve heard Jolene’s voice spike up inside the room.

“The police? Do they know what happened to my Jimmy? Do they—”

She came out fast, pushing her way through. She wore a long pink robe, and her hair bounced like tangled springs on her shoulders. Both her feet and face were bare, and Eve had a moment to think how much prettier she was without the layers of glop she painted on.

“Jimmy Jay.” She gripped Eve’s arms, long, pink nails biting in, as several people poured out of the room, into the hall. “You’re here about Jimmy Jay. You found out what happened.”

“Yes, ma’am, we did.”

“It was his heart, wasn’t it?” The words hitched on sobs. “That’s what I’ve been telling everybody. His heart, it was just so big, so big and so full. It just gave out, that’s all. It gave out, and God called him home.”

There was a plea on her face, a terrible need in her eyes.

What was worse than telling someone their loved one was dead? Eve thought. Telling them their loved one was murdered.

“No, I’m sorry. Mr. Jenkins died of cyanide poisoning.”

Her eyes rolled back. Even as the small army of people rushed forward, Eve caught her, held her upright. And Jolene’s eyes blinked, went clear. Went cold. She slapped back at the hands reaching for her, kept those cold, clear eyes on Eve.

She went from zero to sixty, Eve thought. From fragile matron to avenger.