Golden in Death(40)

“You know, you get jaded,” Junta began. “You’ve got to get some hard or you couldn’t face this, do what you have to do, every day. But I’m a mom, too, and I can’t imagine walking in and finding my daughter like this.”

Junta let out another breath. “So. We’ll stand by.”

Eve sealed up, then stayed where she was another moment to scan the scene. Fabric shades on the window—raised—but the window closed.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the victim taking the package at the front door, walking into what appeared to be her home office space. She placed the package on the desk, got the opener. Dug through the packing for the box. Set it down, opened it, took out the egg.

And opening that, released the agent and went down. From the placement and position of the body, she hadn’t tried to get to the window as Abner had. But then, he’d been a doctor, likely had a few seconds to understand what was happening.

This one never saw it coming.

Eve moved to her, avoided what she could of the fluids, did the official ID. And noted the same burns on the thumbs.

“Victim is identified as Elise Duran of this address. Age forty-four, Caucasian. Married to Jay Duran, age forty-six. Two sons, Eli, sixteen, Simon, fourteen.”

She took out her gauges. “TOD is established at ten-oh-two. The mother entered at approximately eleven—security feed to verify—so the agent dissipated within that time frame, as specialty team has tested and cleared the mother.

“No visible signs of physical trauma, no signs of struggle. She opened the egg, which we have intact, released the agent. Succumbed. ME to verify.”

Did you know Kent Abner? Eve wondered. Two kids, maybe he was their doctor.

What’s the connection?

She called for a dead wagon, flagged the body for Morris, added a note on COD.

“Dallas.” Peabody came to the doorway. “I got the feed. The package arrived at nine-fifty-four—male delivery guy in an Allied uniform. No other activity, in or out, until a woman—late sixties, early seventies—rang the bell at eleven-oh-three. She waited, then took a swipe out of her purse, used it. She had a bag—Village Bakery and Sweets, and a second bag from First Page Books. She carried them in. Next activity, the MTs—she let them in—at eleven-eighteen.”

“Okay. It’s the same, has to be the same. Another bogus name and address on the shipping box, same cheap box inside that, same cheap gold egg inside that.

“Same result. Contact Allied, get the name of the delivery guy for this route. Let’s find out where it was dropped off. It’s going to be a drop-off kiosk again. Why change pattern?”

“She had teenagers. Maybe Abner was their doctor.”

“Yeah, same thought. We’ll check that. Let’s talk to the mother. She’s Catherine Fitzwalter. We’ll run them both, and the spouse, but let’s talk to her first.”

She stepped out, gave Junta the go. “Morgue’s notified,” she added. “You can let them in if we’re still back with the wit.”

“It’s a really nice house,” Peabody said, keeping her voice low. “Ult clean and tidy and all, but it’s not fussy or rigid. She had to be expecting guests because she’s got fancy plates and napkins set out on the dining room table.”

Eve saw that for herself as they passed into the open kitchen area. Ult clean and tidy there, too. With two bakery boxes on the kitchen island. A cup of coffee—half-full—beside them.

Eve signaled to the two uniforms. “Give me what you’ve got,” she ordered when they crossed to her.

“We responded to the nine-one-one from the MTs already on scene, arrived on scene at eleven-twenty-one. Ms. Fitzwalter let us in. The MTs were already with the DB. We, like the MTs, had the alert on the egg, the potential hazard, so we moved the wit and MTs back here, contacted Dispatch for the hazmat team.”

“Ms. Fitzwalter’s pretty shaky, sir,” the second officer put in. “I know her, seeing as I grew up near her bookstore. It’s like an institution in the West Village. I knew the vic, Lieutenant. She worked in the store.”

“You were friends with the victim?”

“Friendly. We didn’t grow up together, seeing as she’s got ten or twelve years on me, but I’d see her in there, have a word now and then. It’s a good store, been around for like fifty years, family run. Like I said, it’s an institution.”

“Okay. You start the knock-on-doors. And when we’re done here, you can do the same in the bookstore area, since you know it.”

“Yes, sir. Can I—since I know her, can I give Ms. Fitzwalter my condolences again before we start?”

“Go ahead.”

She watched the woman, face sheet pale, eyes glazed with tears, unclutch her hands and reach for one of the officer’s. He bent to her, murmuring while she clung to his hand, nodded.

Eve waited until the uniforms left before she approached. “Ms. Fitzwalter, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. This is Detective Peabody. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I can’t— She’s my baby. She’s my girl.”

“Ms. Fitzwalter, can I get you something? Some water?”

She raised her ravaged eyes to Peabody. “No, no, I don’t think I could swallow anything.”