Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(18)

“Good.”

“Sweeper’s prelim is in, and Cardininni sent the list of missing items the neighbor identified. Copies should be on your unit.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“You were gone awhile.” When Eve remained silent, Peabody moved on. “So I sent Dr. Mira an overview, in case you still wanted the consult.”

“I do.”

“No luck on Nuccio’s ’link yet. Either she hasn’t activated it, or there’s a backlog in the registration and data, which is more likely. When you get a new ’link,” Peabody continued, “it’s like a toy. You just gotta play with it.”

“How long does it usually take to pop on data?”

“Usually? Anywhere from a couple hours to whenever the hell.”

“Great. If it doesn’t pop, and she doesn’t make contact by end of shift, I’ll swing by her place again on the way home. If she’s making a long day out of it, we’ll catch her in the morning. Get the description of missing items out.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Okay.” She started toward her office, glanced back. “Good work, Peabody.”

“Thanks.”

Eve walked into her office, started to close the door, stopped herself. No, she wasn’t going to sit in here thinking about the meeting with Whitney.

She didn’t have time to parse through promotions, politics, perceptions. She needed to do her job.

She brought up the list of items first, read it, pondered over it.

A few pieces of jewelry as she’d expected. Small, star-shaped diamond stud earrings, with the note the wit stated had been a twenty-fifth-anniversary gift to Barbara from Carl. An antique ladies’ gold watch, set with diamonds and sapphires, circa middle twentieth century, Rolex brand, again with a note stating it had been the vic’s great-grandmother’s—wit believed maternal. Two gold bangle bracelets, one set of pearls with gold clasp—heirloom from maternal grandmother, and the vic’s diamond engagement ring in a plain gold setting.

So the vics had been traditionalists, Eve thought. Engagement ring, a couple of family pieces.

On the husband’s side jewelry was limited to a gold wrist unit, again a Rolex (traditionalists) engraved with the vic’s initials—a twenty-fifth-anniversary gift from his wife—one pair of brushed gold cuff links, one pair of hammered silver.

More jewelry listed, but the wit believed those pieces were costume, and stated she’d been with the vic when several were purchased.

The wit also listed two e-tablets, two minicomps, a sterling silver menorah, sterling flatware—heirloom again—service for eight. A cut-glass crystal bowl in the shape of a footed basket, with handle, which the wit stated had been Barbara’s only piece from her great-grandmother, and her pride and joy.

Cardininni added to her notes on what struck her that hadn’t been taken, including a wedding chuppa with the tree of life hand-painted on silk.

Wit states the piece was made for female vic’s great-grandmother’s wedding, served in grandmother’s and in mother’s wedding and in vic’s. It’s in perfect condition, signed by the artist Mirium Greene. Vic confided to wit she’d hoped to pass it to her son, and had it insured for $45k. Photo attached of chuppa and wooden music box wit states male vic’s father recently passed to him. It appears old, a cylinder-type mechanism with an inlay of a woman playing a lute on the top. Wit believes the piece was also insured.

Thorough, Eve thought with a nod for Cardininni, and interesting information. Reinhold had limited knowledge, she concluded. The wedding canopy deal meant nothing to him, and he’d been unaware of its market value. The music box didn’t look like a big deal in the photo, and he’d probably considered it parental junk.

So he took the shiny, and the electronics, and the cash.

Not stupid, she thought again, just not really smart.

She read over the sweeper’s reports, chafed a bit they hadn’t yet identified the footwear from the bloody footprints on scene, reviewed the ME’s findings, then pulled them together in her own report.

She copied Mira, Peabody, her commander, then added the data to her board and book.

And with her boots on her desk, sat back and studied what she had.

Fairly ordinary people, she concluded. Traditional, long-married, middle-class. Woman keeps the home, man provides the home. Solid family ties, solid friendships, well-settled neighborhood. They’d raised one son. A disappointment? Can’t hack college, can’t hold on to a job, can’t maintain a relationship.

Did they push him some? Yeah, yeah, she thought. Traditional.

Be a man, get a job, think of your future, pay your bills.

Got sick of hearing that, didn’t you, she mused, studying Rein-hold’s face. Sick of them telling you what to do, how to do it, looking at you with that disappointment in their eyes. There’s your father, plugging away every day at some stupid job—boring bastard. And your mother, fussing in the kitchen, gossiping with the neighbors, always telling you to pick up your stuff. Nagging bitch.

Holding you back from everything you wanted, both of them.

“That’s how you see it,” Eve murmured. “You don’t have to look at them anymore, listen to them anymore. You’re a free man now.”

She pushed to her feet. “But not for long.”