Golden in Death(28)

“I’m not sure.”

“I know that name.” Marcus spoke up. “I know that name. Dad reported him. He beat his wife and child. We had a discussion about it after he got off—community service or some bullshit like that.”

“Did your father indicate Mr. Thane had made any threats?”

“No.”

“How about Curtis Feingold?”

“Yes, yes, I know that one.” Rufty nodded. “I remember because his wife was a teacher, and I helped her get a position at a school in Yonkers. I have some colleagues there. He—Feingold—was an abusive drunk. I know he went to prison.”

“Dr. Milo Ponti?”

“Yes, yes. We all know that name. We had a family dinner, and Kent was late because he’d checked on a patient in the ER at Unger. He gave this Ponti a talking-to because he’d berated a woman who’d brought her young boy in. Kent couldn’t abide seeing someone in pain or distress not being treated with compassion. But you don’t kill a man for giving you a talking-to.”

“We’re looking at every angle.”

When she gave Peabody the nod, Peabody took out her PPC, brought up the reproduction of the egg. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Rufty frowned over it. “A golden egg—like the goose? I suppose I have, in trinket shops, in drawings, that sort of thing. What does it mean?”

“We were able to reconstruct this from the broken pieces on your kitchen floor,” Eve told him. “In doing so, our forensic specialists were able to determine the inside of this … trinket had been painted with an airtight sealant, and a sealant had also been added to the edges of the open halves. When Dr. Abner opened this container, the toxin inside was released into the air. This caused his death.”

“But—but—that’s diabolical, isn’t it?” Rufty went very pale as his daughter put her arm tight around him. “We don’t know anyone like that. It had to have been meant for someone else.”

“Sir, the package was addressed specifically to your husband. I’m asking you now if Dr. Abner spoke of anyone in the last few weeks that concerned him, that he’d had an altercation with, or words with.”

“No one. I swear to you. I’d tell you. Why wouldn’t I tell you?”

As his voice rose, shook, tears blurred his eyes, his daughter, trembling, held him tighter. “Daddy, don’t be upset. We want to know who hurt Dad. We have to know.”

“But she said how everyone loved him.” He pointed at Peabody. “She understands that. And now someone…” He squeezed his eyes shut as Landa rose and slipped from the room. “All right, all right. Someone … this took planning and resources and knowledge and—and terrible cruelty. We don’t know anyone who could do this.”

He leaned toward Eve now, his eyes full of grief and pleas. “Understand, please understand, Kent and I lived a good life together, tried to do good work, to be good people. We raised our children to be good people, to do good work. To care. Please understand.”

“I do, Dr. Rufty. I do understand. Nothing your husband did caused this.”

Landa came back with a glass. “You drink this now, you take this soother. No argument. I’m a doctor, too, and, my darling, you drink the soother, or I get my medical bag.”

“He was so proud of you. He loved you like a daughter.”

“I know.” Landa pressed the soother on Rufty, kissed his cheek. “You drink this now, then you come upstairs with me and lie down awhile. I’ll stay with you.”

“But they have questions.”

“No, that’s all for now.” Eve rose. “Again, we’re sorry for your loss. Those are cop words, but they’re also true.”

It’s never just the dead, Eve thought as they got back in the car. Death—but most especially murder—ripped so many lives to shreds. And no matter how they were put back together, they were never, never the same.

For some killers, she thought, that miserable truth was a kind of bonus point.



* * *



They swung by Louise’s clinic, and found the waiting area packed. An enormously pregnant woman sat beside a woman with a squalling baby. The pregnant woman seemed delighted to coo over the type of being she’d soon have to deal with around the clock.

A trio of marginally older kids banged or squabbled over a collection of toys in a corner. Adults sat in chairs with watery eyes, hacking coughs, bandaged limbs, or simply the blind-eye expression of those waiting their turn in what reality deemed wouldn’t come quickly.

Eve walked to the check-in counter, started to take out her badge.

“Lieutenant, Detective, Dr. Dimatto’s expecting you. Go right through the side door. Sharleen will take you back to the doctor’s office. She’s with a patient,” the receptionist told Eve. “But she’ll be with you shortly.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Once through the door, a perky little redhead in a flowered tunic guided them past exam rooms, a lab station, and into Louise’s tidy office.

“She shouldn’t be too long,” Sharleen began.

“We can start with you,” Eve said, and made Sharleen blink.

“Oh. Okay. Um. Dr. Dimatto said we need to give you our cooperation.”