Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(86)

Trying not to think of Mira thinking about her having sex, Eve shifted gears. “How come you’re not wearing a suit and ankle breakers?”

“I was a bit rushed to get here this morning. And it’s Saturday. I don’t have formal office hours on Saturday.”

“Saturday.” When did it get to be Saturday? “Oh.”

“Recharge.” Mira patted Eve’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in Observation when you start again.” Mira paused at the door. “There are cracks forming. And you’ve shaken his lawyer as well.”

“If they didn’t have the break coming, I could’ve widened the cracks. Now they have time to shore them up, steady up. But I’ll get there.”

She’d get there, Eve thought, and prepared for the next round.

—

She recharged. Maybe it was the break, maybe it was the booster, but her mind cleared, her energy lifted. Before tackling Mackie again, she checked in with Baxter.

“Yo, Dallas. The bus driver remembered her—or remembered a ‘youth’ getting on loaded down with the bags the previous wit described. It’s looking like she went straight to the flop she used to hit Madison Square. Me and my boy, we’re following up with buses on that line. I got a little tingle going.”

“Make it happen. I’m going back at Mackie. If he lets anything through the cracks, I’ll point you.”

“Make it happen.”

Yeah, she thought as she pushed away from her desk. They’d make it happen. She had a little tingle of her own going.

When she walked into the bullpen, she saw Peabody talking to a civilian.

“Lieutenant, this is Aaron Taylor. He attended last night’s concert with Jonah Rothstein.”

“I was—we were—I heard that . . . Are you sure Jonah’s . . .”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor.”

Eve’s words had him covering his face with his hands. “I don’t understand. I don’t know how this could . . .”

Peabody popped up, dragged over a chair. “Sit down, Mr. Taylor.”

“I don’t know what to do. I went out the other way—it’s closer to where I live. We had Orchestra seats, man. Jonah scored them back in November. We . . .”

“You and Mr. Rothstein were friends,” Eve prompted.

“Since high school. We came to New York together, roomed together until I got married. He’s my best friend. I just . . .”

“You went to the concert together,” Eve prompted.

“Yeah. Yeah. He’s been bragging about scoring those prime seats all over his social media. It’s all he talked about for weeks now. We went together, and . . . I went out the other way after.”

“He talked about his plans for last night on social media?”

“He had a countdown going.” Aaron pressed his fingers to his eyes, pressing at the tears that swam in them. “We’re big Avenue A fans. Jonah’s the biggest there is, since we were in college. He worked his schedule around the concert—he had out-of-town meetings all week, but he worked it so he’d be back for last night. He was saying, kept saying: ‘Dude, did you ever think back all those times we sat in the nosebleeds to see Avenue A, to see Jake Kincade, we’d be here. Orchestra seats, Madison Square.’ I went out the other exit. He said, ‘Let’s go have a drink,’ but I needed to get home. He was going to come over tonight. He’s supposed to come over tonight, but he went out one way, and I went out the other.”

“Mr. Taylor . . . Aaron,” Eve amended, studying his devastated face. “There’s no sense in it, no reason. I want to ask you if Jonah ever talked to you about his work.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Like a sounding board. We went to law school together. I’m in tax law.”

“Did he ever talk to you about Reginald Mackie?”

“The guy who’s been all over the screen? With the kid? The guy who’s doing this shit.” The threat of tears dried up in shock. “You saying Jonah knew him?”

“He never mentioned Mackie to you?”

“He wouldn’t have given me names. He might give me an anecdote, right? A funny story. Or blasted off some, but without naming the client. We’re like brothers, you know what I’m saying, but he wouldn’t have shared any privileged information.”

“Okay, but did he talk to you about a client who wanted to sue others for the death of his wife? She’d run into the street, was hit by a vehicle. She was pregnant.”

“I . . . I—I remember something about that. Is that why he’s dead?” Leading with fury now, Aaron shoved up from the chair. “Is that the reason? He tried to help that asshole. He did it pro bono because he felt for him. His own time. Mostly did it because the poor bastard didn’t have a case. She ran into the street, into traffic. People saw her. Jonah talked to all of them, even did background—on his own time. And when Jonah had to tell him there was nothing he could do, the fucker went off on him. And the kid . . . He tried to help them, his own time, his own dime. He’s a good guy, do you get that? Jonah’s one of the good ones.”

“I get that. What about the kid?”

“The . . . Jonah told me how the guy—that’s this Mackie, right? He said the guy was a wreck. Pushing for some sort of closure, somebody to blame—even the doctor because the appointment ran late, and yeah, the wife’s supervisor at work. Everybody was to blame but the person who ran into the street, you know?”