Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(11)

He leaned against the doorjamb, one hand on his cocked hip. Posing, she thought, in a way that showed off his bis and tris.

“Well, hi there,” he said.

“Hi back.”

The flirty smolder blinked away when Eve held up her badge.

“Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know yet. Can I come in, speak to you?”

“Ah.” He glanced behind, shifted, looked back at her. “Yeah, I guess. I’m working at home today,” he said as he opened the door. “I was just taking a break, doing a few miles on my bike.”

Eve saw the desk against the short window with its piles of discs, of files, a bag of soy chips, and a tube of some sport’s drink. A couple feet away sat a gleaming stationary bike facing a massive wall screen.

“Look, I know I got a speeding ticket a couple weeks ago. I’m going to pay it.”

“Do I look like a traffic cop?”

“Um … I guess not, not so much.”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Homicide.”

“Homi— Jeez, God!”

“Are you Malachi Golde?”

“Yeah. Mal. People call me Mal. Who got killed? Do I know somebody who got killed?”

And suddenly, he looked very young. “I don’t know yet. You know Jerry Reinhold.”

“Jerry? Jerry?” Now he looked young, and ill. “Oh, Jesus, Jesus. I need to sit down.”

Full-weight, he dropped onto a slick-surfaced sofa in shimmering silver. “Jerry’s dead?”

“I didn’t say that. My information is you know him. How do you know him?”

“From the neighborhood. We grew up together. We lived a half a block from each other growing up, went to school together. We hang out, have a beer or whatever. I’ve known Jerry my whole life. What happened?”

“I’ll get to that. What kind of work are you doing there, Mal?”

“What? Oh, ah, I’m a programmer. I can work at home most days if I want. I do programming and troubleshooting for Global United.”

“Are you good at it?”

“Yeah.” He passed a hand over his face, like a man trying to wake up. “It’s sweet work, what I wanted to do since I can remember.”

“Pays good.”

“Yeah, pays good if you’re good. I don’t understand what this is about.”

Just getting a picture, Eve thought. “I’m looking around here, Mal, and you’ve got some nice stuff—furniture, equipment. The building’s kind of a dump.”

“Oh.” He managed an uneasy smile. “Yeah, but that’s just the shell, right? It’s what’s inside. And I like the location. I can walk or bike to work, to the gym, to my folks’ place. I know everybody, you know? I didn’t want to move when I started making some shine.”

“Got it. Jerry’s data lists this as his address.”

“It does?” Mal’s eyebrows drew together. “We shared the place for a couple years, but that’s been awhile, months now. Maybe eight, nine months now.”

“Why did he move out?”

“Oh, well, he hooked up with Lori, and—”

“Lori Nuccio?”

“Yeah, Lori. He moved in with her.”

“That’s not why he moved out.”

With a pained look, Mal shifted. “Okay, look, I carried him on the rent for three months, heading into four. It didn’t seem right he wasn’t holding up his share, or even really trying to. So he moved in with his folks for a couple months, then he moved in with Lori.”

“Did the two of you fight about it? The rent?”

“Oh, Jesus, we argued some, sure, you know how it is. He was a little steamed, yeah, but we smoothed it over. We go back, man, a long ways. When I got a solid raise, I rented this place in the freaking Hamptons, man, for a week this summer, and I took Jerry and a couple of other pals along. It all chilled out. What happened to him? How did he die?”

“He didn’t.”

“But you said—”

“No, I didn’t. Jerry’s not dead, as far as I know. His parents are.”

At that Mal sprang up as if he’d been propelled. “What? No. Mr. and Mrs. R? No. Did they have an accident?”

“Homicide, Mal, remember?”

“Man, man.” Tears glazed across his eyes, coated his voice. “Were they mugged? They love to go to the vids, and sometimes they’d walk home late.”

“No.”

He dropped down again, covered his face with his hands. “I can’t believe it. Mrs. R, she always has something for me if I drop over. Cookies or pie or a sandwich. Always saying I need a haircut and to settle down with a nice girl. She’s like a second mother, you know? Oh, Jesus, when my ma finds out, it’s going to knock her flat. They’ve known each other forever. Poor Jerry. God, poor Jerry. Does he know?”

“Yeah, he knows. He killed them.”

His hands lowered slowly. His eyes, glassy with shock and tears, stared into Eve’s. “That’s not true. That’s bogus. That’s not possible. No way. No freaking way, lady.”

“Lieutenant, and there’s absolute way. Where is he, Mal? Where would he go?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Rocking a little, he pressed his fist to his belly. “Where do you go when things are crazy or falling apart? You go the hell home.”