Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“Who, Tubbs? Yeah, yeah.” Steiner wiped sweat from his brow. “Came in about two-fifty, I guess. So we figured it’d be a gag to have him rent the Santa suit for the party.”

“What kind of toys and goodies did Tubbs have in his sack today, Ron?”

“Oh, man.” He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Jesus.”

“We’re not on record yet, Ron. We will be, but right now just tell me what went down. Your friend’s dead, and so is some poor schmuck who was just walking on the sidewalk.”

He spoke through his hands. “Bosses set up this lunch buffet deal for the office party. Wouldn’t even spring for some brew, you know?” Ron shivered twice, hard, then dropped his arms to his sides. “So a bunch of us got together, and we pooled to rent the suite for the whole day. After the brass left, we brought out the booze and the… the recreational chemicals. So to speak.”

“Such as?”

He swallowed, then finally met her eyes. “You know, a little Exotica, some Push and Jazz.”

“Zeus?”

“I don’t mess with that. I’ll take the test, you’ll see. All I did was a few tokes of Jazz.” When Eve said nothing, merely stared into his eyes, he welled up. “He never used heavy stuff. Not Tubbs, man, I swear. I’d‘ve known. But I think he had some today, maybe laced some of the Push with it, or somebody did. Asshole,” he said as tears spilled down his cheeks. “He was juiced up, I can tell you that. But man, it was a party. We were just having fun. People were laughing and dancing. Then Tubbs, he opens the window.”

His hands were everywhere now. His face, his throat, his hair. “Oh, God, oh, God. I figured it was because it was getting smokey. Next thing you know, he’s climbing up, he’s got this big, stupid grin on his face. He shouts, ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’ Then he fucking dived out. Head first. Jesus Christ, he was just gone. Nobody even thought to grab for him. It happened so fast, so damn fast. People started screaming and running, and I ran to the window and looked.”

He mopped at his face with his hands, shuddered again. “And I yelled for somebody to call nine-one-one, and Ben and I ran down. I don’t know why. We were his friends, and we ran down.”

“Where’d he get the stuff, Ron?”

“Man, this is fucked up.” He looked away, over her head, out to the street. Fighting, Eve knew, the standard little war between ratting out and standing up.

“He must’ve gotten it from Zero. A bunch of us chipped in so we could get a party pack. Nothing heavy, I swear.”

“Where does Zero operate?”

“He runs a data club, Broadway and Twenty-ninth. Zero’s. Sells recreationals under the counter. Tubbs, man, he was harmless. He was just a big stupid guy.”

* * *

The big stupid guy and the poor schmuck he landed on were being scraped off the sidewalk when Eve walked into party central. It looked as she’d expected it would look: an unholy mess of abandoned clothes, spilled booze, dropped food. The window remained open, which was fortunate as the stench of smoke, puke, and sex still permeated.

Witnesses who hadn’t run like rabbits had given statements in adjoining rooms, then had been released.

“What’s your take?” Eve asked Peabody as she crossed the minefield of plates and glasses scattered on the carpet.

“Other than Tubbs won’t make it home for Christmas? Poor idiot got himself hyped, probably figured Rudolph was hovering outside with the rest of the reindeer and the sled. He jumped, in clear view of more than a dozen witnesses. Death by Extreme Stupidity.”

When Eve said nothing, only continued to look out the open window, Peabody stopped bagging pills she found on the floor. “You’ve got another take?”

“Nobody pushed him, but he had help getting extremely stupid.” Absently, she rubbed her hip that still ached a bit now and then from a healing wound. “There’s going to be something in his tox screen other than happy pills or something to give him his three-hour woody.”

“Nothing in the statements to indicate that anyone had anything against the guy. He was just a schmoe. And he’s the one who brought the illegals in.”

“That’s right.”

“You want to go after the pusher?”

“Illegals killed him. The guy who sold them held the weapon.” She caught herself rubbing her hip, stopped, and turned around. “What did you get from the witnesses regarding this guy’s illegals habit?”

“He didn’t really have one. Just played around a little now and then at parties.” Peabody paused a moment. “And one of the ways pushers increase their business is to spice the deal here and there. Okay. I’ll see if Illegals has anything on this Zero, then we’ll go have a talk with him.”

* * *

She let Peabody run the show and spent her time getting the data on the next of kin. Tubbs had no spouse or cohab, but he had a mother in Brooklyn. Jacobs had a wife and a kid. As it was unlikely any investigation would be necessary into either victim’s life, she contacted a departmental grief counselor. Informing next of kin was always tough, but the holidays added layers.