Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(111)

“All over that deal.” He squatted, went to work on a portable. “Good filters,” he said absently. “Excellent shielding. This would take longer without the specs.” He shot Roarke a grin. “Saves me work. You got two human heat sources, LT, and one robotic charge, all main level. Nothing human or e on second level.”

Eve crouched, studied the screen. “Right in the main living area.” Seconds later, she heard sobbing, pleading.

“Got your ears,” McNab murmured.

Please, God, please, I think I’m dying.

“Team B, in position,” Sanchez said in Eve’s ear.

“Hold there. Subject and victim are both on main living area. Single droid also on main level.”

I’ve got my uncle Stan’s passcodes, too.

Eve held up a fist, signaling, “Wait,” watched as the heat source she identified as Reinhold moved a little farther away from Joe.

“He’s sitting down—got the droid by him. Put some space between him and the vic. Open it,” she asked Roarke. “Nice and quiet. Move in, Team B. Slow, quiet.”

Just lie back and enjoy.

Eve held up three fingers. “On three,” she murmured.

She went through the door, fast and low, with Peabody fast and high beside her.

Reinhold squealed. There was no other word to describe it, Eve thought in disgust. He squealed like a little girl, threw his tray of food in the air, and ran for the stairs.

“Stop! Freeze! Hands in the air!”

Instead, as Team B charged down, he veered away, grabbed a vase, threw it. It missed by a mile, shattered on the floor.

Eve considered stunning him as he ran, basically in circles, throwing whatever came to hand while Joe screamed. God, she wanted to stun him. And because she did, she tackled him instead.

He went down in a skid, kicking, flailing, adding screams to Joe’s, until Eve pressed her weapon to his cheek.

“Oh, give me a reason, you f**k.”

“Get off me, get away from me. Kill her!” he ordered the droid, who just stood looking as distressed as a droid was capable of looking.

Eve dragged Reinhold’s arms behind his back, cuffed him. “Jerald Reinhold, you’re under arrest for murder, multiple counts, for kidnapping, for identity fraud, breaking and entering and all sorts of additional charges. You have the right to remain silent,” she began, and with Peabody’s help managed to get him to his feet.

He kept letting his legs buckle, so by the time she’d finished reading him the Revised Miranda, she’d had enough. “Officer Carmichael. Take this ass**le into custody. Put him in top-level holding at Central until I say different.”

“You’ve got it, Lieutenant.”

“And somebody call the medics and a bus for that poor bastard.”

“Already done.” Detective Carmichael tapped her comm. “On their way.”

Harnessing her weapon, Eve walked over to Joe, shook her head. “You’re a real goddamn mess, Joe, but you’ll live.”

“He hurt me. He hurt me.”

“Yeah, he did.” Eve watched as Roarke and another uniform worked on cutting through rope and tape. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe the next time you start to smirk at a cop, you’ll remember.”

“Water.” He sobbed, twisted some pity out of her. “Please. He wouldn’t even give me water.”

“Here you go.” Peabody held a cup to his lips. “Slow now. We’ve got you now, Joe. We’ve got you now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t listen.”

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Maybe it would, Eve thought, but he’d paid a hell of a price for being an ass**le.

She didn’t rush it; let Reinhold stew and sweat awhile. With her team, she went through every inch of the apartment, passed the electronics, including the droid, to McNab—and Feeney, who’d showed up as the MTs wheeled Joe out, a little steamed they hadn’t waited for him.

She found it interesting, and a little sad, to discover Reinhold had stocked the full, traditional Thanksgiving feast. And wondered if he’d planned on tucking into it before or after he killed one of his oldest friends.

She held up the minisaw as Roarke approached. “A new tool for him. I’d say he’d have tested it out on fingers, maybe hands, feet. Then he’d have used it to cut Joe into more easily disposable pieces—using the industrial waste bags we found to get the pieces out.”

“A lovely thought. And likely accurate. I took the droid,” he added. “Its memory loop is fully intact, going back to when Reinhold reprogrammed it—prior to murdering Farnsworth. It will be very solid evidence for the prosecution.”

“We’ve got nothing but solid evidence—and a live witness.”

“So you’ll be visiting the hospital at some point, and not the morgue.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

“For most of us. I also spoke with the realtor who arranged the rental. Easy enough now to track it.”

Idly, Roarke glanced around the main level, and even under the circumstances found satisfaction in the flow of the layout, the use of materials.

“Reinhold snapped the place up just yesterday, and made arrangements to purchase the furniture already in place.”