Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(64)

“And the fact he’s using it? I think it ups Golde on the hit list.”

“Agreed. Start looking,” Eve said when they reached the car. “Start contacting. Start with Golde—he’s at his parents’—and tell him we’re coming.”

“All over that.”

13

WHILE EVE DROVE, SHE USED THE IN-DASH ’LINK to send Reinhold’s morph to Baxter, and instruct him to distribute copies to the rest of the department. She added a media lock. As she updated the commander, checked her own incomings for anything relevant, Peabody worked her own ’link.

And when her partner fell silent, Eve glanced over. “What?”

“The Brooklyn grandparents. I talked to the grandmother. She says Reinhold hasn’t contacted them, and it rings true.”

“I don’t see him going that route, not yet. So what’s the problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Peabody began, but sighed. “The out-of-town grandparents are coming in later today, and they’re going to stay with the Brooklyn ones. Together. There are sibs and family members for both sides coming in, or opening their homes to those who’re coming. The ME’s releasing the bodies tomorrow, but they’re planning to wait until Saturday for a double memorial. They’re all getting together for Thanksgiving. Family needs family. That’s what she said.”

Peabody stared down at her ’link. “It’s sad, really sad, but it’s kind of great, too.”

“Great?”

“They’re all pulling together, coming together, staying together. I think Reinhold has a really good family, on both sides. He never appreciated what he had, what they gave him. But now, when they’re facing one of the hardest things that can happen, they appreciate each other. And it made me realize I’m going to miss seeing my family this time around. Made me wonder if I appreciate them enough.”

“I hear it every time you mention any one of them. Don’t slap yourself over that.” But since she could see Peabody was doing just that, Eve pushed the theme. “You and your family are a big, sloppy pile of Free-Agey appreciation. It’s a little embarrassing.”

On a half laugh, Peabody’s broody look shifted to sentimental smile. “Yeah, I guess it is, a little.”

Satisfied with the response, Eve considered as she drove. “He’s not going for any family then. Not yet anyway. Too many of them together. He wouldn’t know that, but he’d see it pretty damn fast if he decided to target any of them. Friends, employment, childhood grievances, teachers, exes. That’s where we look first. And eliminate anyone with kids at home for now. I don’t see him dealing with kids.”

“Too messy, too complicated, too much trouble.”

“Exactly. He’s gone one at a time so far, all with him having the initial advantage. We follow that pattern.”

“He’s probably not going for Golde, or not top of his list, since Golde’s staying at his mother’s, working from there, too, primarily. He’s freaked about leaving her during the day while his father’s at work.”

“He’d be on the list, but no, not top of it,” Eve agreed. “I want to talk to him anyway.”

“He’s expecting us. And he said he was going to tag Dave Hildebran. He’s been staying at his parents’, too.”

“What about the other friend. Asshole Joe?”

“I connected. He’s at work, not worried. He thinks we’re way off base. And even if Reinhold went crazy, he won’t believe he might be a target. They’re buds, man. Tight buds. And being tight buds he’s positive Reinhold will tag him, and soon. Swears he’ll tell us so we can straighten this all out.”

“Rat out his tight bud.”

“Didn’t sound like he had a problem with that at all. It’s why we call him Asshole Joe.”

“We should get him a name tag,” Eve said and started hunting for parking on Golde’s block.

A proud and happy new tenant of the elaborate New York West, Reinhold let himself back into Ms. Farnsworth’s brownstone. He’d imagined himself living there for a few days, maybe even a week, but he’d hit the freaking jackpot.

He’d spend the night in his frosty new apartment. Once he tied up a few loose ends.

It had all taken longer than he’d expected, so he reactivated the droid, ordered it to fix him a snack. All that paperwork, he thought. Miles of it. And he could admit he’d sweated it some when they’d gone over his data with goddamn microgoggles. But he’d passed. Points for Fat-Ass Farnsworth.

Lucky for her, he thought, while he chowed down on a Reuben and a couple kosher pickles. Now he wouldn’t snip off her fingers and toes.

Probably.

The thing to do first was go through the place again, finish piling up what looked like it was worth taking. He’d have the droid pack it up, transport it to his new place. He’d enjoy having the droid to do his grunt work.

And a man in his position needed a house droid. The New York West would expect it of him.

Ms. Farnsworth sure didn’t—or wouldn’t—need it.

He’d already emptied the safe, packed that up in one of the fat old hag’s red suitcases.

He wasn’t sure about the color or the brand, if they really suited his new persona. But he didn’t have time to worry about it.