Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(90)

“How’d we miss all that?”

“We didn’t,” Eve said as she pulled out her badge for Joe’s building’s security plate. “It’s called follow-up. Mal remembered a little more when I tried the routine angle. Meanwhile, Roarke’s working the money angle.”

“So’s McNab, that and the ID. It’s slow going, Dallas.”

“We’ll be pushing it. And we’ll be pushing the location. He’s here somewhere—in someplace plush, you bet your ass.”

She held her badge for a scan. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’re here to talk to Joe Klein.”

ID verified. Mr. Klein has not cleared you for entry.

Authorization is required.

Eve rolled her shoulders, smiled fiercely. A workout, a swim, a new angle—and now busting electronic chops.

Not a bad start to the morning.

“Listen, you worthless piece of e-crap,” she began.

18

AFTER HER SATISFYING SMACKDOWN OF AN electronic moron, Eve rode the elevator up to seven with Peabody.

“Nicer, tighter building than, say, his friend Mal’s,” she observed. “He sells insurance, right?”

“Uncle’s firm,” Peabody confirmed. “Insurance Sales Producer. It’s a midsized operation, pretty solid. From my scan of his financials, he’s good at it. And he likes to spend those bonuses and commissions. Nest egg isn’t a term he considers.”

“Where do terms like that come from? If you leave an egg in a nest it either hatches or it doesn’t. If it hatches, it flies or crawls away, right? If it doesn’t you’ve got some stupid egg, and what good is that?”

“Um …”

“Exactly.” Eve strode off the elevator, aimed for 707.

Interesting, she noted, that Joe had installed a palm plate and a cam—not standard as the other apartments on the floor didn’t have them.

Which either made him more security conscious than his neighbors, or more into status. Maybe both.

She pressed the buzzer, unsurprised with the electronic greeting. Status primarily, she decided, and overkill in a building like this one.

Mr. Klein is currently on Do Not Disturb. You’re welcome to leave your name and a message.

“It’s Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” She held up her badge for the routine scan. “And my message is you’re going to disturb him. We’re here on police business. And don’t even think about giving me the runaround, or I will assume that Mr. Klein is either harboring a murder suspect or being held by same against his will. That assumption will lead me to circumvent the security of this apartment and enter.”

One moment.

“Good one,” Peabody commended. “Though technically we’d need probable cause rather than assumptions.”

“I don’t get technical with technology.”

Mr. Klein will be with you directly, Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.

“Fine.”

Directly took a couple minutes. Eve saw the reason for the short delay when Asshole Joe opened the door. They’d obviously disturbed his beauty sleep.

His eyes, an eerie and likely enhanced green—still looked slumberous, and there was a slight sleep crease denting his right cheek. He wore loose black pants and a biceps-baring tee. His feet were bare.

“Hey, Detective.” He shot a wide, salesman’s smile at Peabody. “Sorry for the wait. I had a late night.”

He shifted his gaze, gave Eve what she assumed he thought was a flattering sure-I’d-do-you study.

“My partner, Lieutenant Dallas. We’d like to come in and talk with you.”

“Sure, but right now?” Smile still in place, he lifted his hands, his shoulders. “It’s not a good time. I’ve got … company, if you know what I mean.” He actually winked.

Eve just stared him down until he shrugged.

“I guess it’s fine. She’s out for the count. Like I said, long night.”

He stepped back into an obsessively trendy living area that screamed Single Guy Looking For Action!

Lots of glass, metal, black fake leather, enormous entertainment screen with an open-front cabinet below loaded with discs. A small bar, black and silver, outfitted with various glassware ruled a corner. Photos and pencil sketches of nude females decorated the walls.

Scattered over the floor were a pair of high, hot pink heels, a black skirt the width of a place mat, and what looked to be an animal-print thong.

“Wasn’t expecting company.” With an easy laugh, he scooped up the female debris, tossed it all on a chair. “So, I need coffee. You want?”

“No, thanks.”

“I gotta jump-start the brain cells.” After tapping his temple, he walked behind the bar.

Eve heard the faint beep, deduced he had a mini-AutoChef built into it.

“So what can I do for you ladies?”

Eve swallowed the “ladies.” He just wasn’t worth it. “You’re aware by now that Jerry Reinhold has killed four people.”

Joe’s eyebrows drew together in a frown as he shook his head. “I’m no lawyer, but I think you need some serious proof to make that stick.”

“His fingerprints and DNA all over the murder weapons and the crime scenes are a pretty good start. Seeing him on the security discs of the banks where he transferred his parents’ funds pick up on that. And having him identified by several eyewitnesses selling valuables from his parents’ apartment kick in, too.”