Delusion in Death (In Death 35)

11

When the room cleared she went to the board, removed the photos of Snyder and Curve, repositioned them together.

“These two,” she murmured.

“You’re convinced neither was part of it?” Roarke handed her a fresh cup of coffee.

“CiCi Way, Snyder’s friend, coworker, described how it played out. Having drinks with the boyfriend and his coworker, talk about stretching it out to dinner. Women head down to the bathroom. On the way, passing the bar, Snyder bumps into someone. Gets bitchy to her good pal when they’re done in the john. Says she’s got a headache. Head back, and Snyder shoves some guy out of her way …

“At the bar,” Eve remembered. “In her way. Could it be the same guy she bumped into? Could he have waited that long, wanted to see if it worked?”

“Risky,” Roarke commented.

“Calculated. He’d know he had about four minutes. If she isn’t back, he leaves. But it would be so chill to see her, see the change in her face. Happy going down, pissed coming back. Maybe.”

She set it into a file in her mind. “Snyder’s just the tool, doesn’t know a thing except she’s got a headache and she’s pissed off. About the time Way feels a headache coming on, Snyder picks up her fork and stabs her boyfriend in the eye. Hell ensues.

“Plus nothing rings on Snyder. Just like Curve. We’ll look deeper, but it fits they were dupes. He didn’t even know Snyder, the way this plays. Maybe he’d seen her before; she’d seen him before. The way you do when you frequent the same bar, when you work in the same area. She may have worked in his offices, or the same building.”

“Trueheart’s famous chart indicates,” Roarke said.

“Yeah. That was good, creative work. So with Curve, I’m going with a customer. She’s delivery. I’m betting she delivered to his residence. He lives close enough.”

She glanced back at the clutter of empty pizza boxes. “To his offices, maybe. Can’t get out for lunch, call in a delivery. Working through dinner, call delivery. He knew the routine. He hung around close enough to the café to watch. If not her, one of the waitresses, or a coworker going in. Luck of the draw, both times. It’s a good plan because it’s no one specific, no one in particular. No real link back to him.”

“And he may not have factored in you’d identify the sources. All those bodies, all those injuries, the chaos of it. It’s a detail easily missed.”

“I want to take this home. Can you do the board thing with the Trueheart graph?”

“I can do that.”

“Dallas.” Peabody poked in the door. “Sorry. Christopher Lester’s here, wants to see you.”

“Does he?” She looked back at the board, considered. “Put him in Interview, same box as before if it’s free.”

“Okay. I thought you’d all but eliminated him and Devon.”

“All but. If Strong’s right, this guy’s cooking up his own drugs, not just the mix. If Teasdale’s right, he’d need experience and equipment. Lester’s got both. And he’s here. I’ll see what he has to say.”

“Why don’t I gather up your files while you do?”

“Appreciate it.” She started out, pulling her ’link when it signaled. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant, Nancy Weaver.”

“Ms. Weaver.”

“We heard about what happened at Café West.”

“You know the place?”

“Yes. A lot of us eat there, or get food from there. Lieutenant, we’ve lost more people. Three of my people who went out for lunch never came back. I can’t reach them. I’ve checked with other departments, and there are more people who never came back from lunch.”

“I can’t give you details.”

“Please. Lew and Steve are here with me. We’ve been helping plan a memorial for Joe. When we heard—”

Her voice wavered, went thick. “We’re at the offices. Is there any way you can come here or we’ll come to you. If you could just tell us what happened. We knew people who worked there, at Café West. We might be able to help.”