Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“You got it. Give me ten.”

In her bullpen, Jenkinson—still wearing the atomic tie—sat scowling at his screen. Baxter—still wearing his sunshades—spat rapid-fire questions into his ’link. She caught the distinct smell of fried onions over the bad coffee.

She spotted Uniform Carmichael back in his cube, pulling them out of a greasy bag while he worked his keyboard one-handed.

Situation normal, she decided, and moved into her office.

She ignored her blinking message light. It could damn well wait until she’d set up. She ordered printouts of crime scene photos, of her vics, of Reinhold.

She sat at her desk to formulate her time line, printed that, and started on her report.

“Loaded dog,” Peabody announced, bringing the scent with her. “I got you fries, too, just in case.”

“Thanks.”

“Ah …” Peabody gestured toward the AutoChef. Knowing her partner, Eve held up two fingers to signal coffee for two.

“What did you get from the interviews?”

“That Joe Klein’s pretty much of a dick. He’s not buying his good bro Jerry killed anybody, hit on me in a very slimy way, claims Reinhold’s ex is a pushy bitch, and had a good laugh recounting how Reinhold lost over five thousand in Vegas while he himself won eight. A point their friend Dave Hildebran, who isn’t so much a dick, claims Klein rubbed all over Reinhold’s ass, and still is. Hildebran hit ten on the shocked scale,” she added as she brought Eve coffee, “but when he leveled off he told me he wondered if Reinhold was a shaky boomer primed to explode. Pissed at the world, was the phrase he used—considered his parents interfering, demanding, and to blame for whatever came to mind.”

Peabody took her first gulp of coffee. “Unless it was a former boss, a coworker, his ex, or some random dude on the street to blame. He said he’d hit a club with Reinhold and Klein the night before the murder, and all Reinhold did was bitch. He, Dave, hasn’t been hanging with them as much since Vegas. He’s seeing someone, and claims he’s a little tired of Reinhold’s endless complaints and Klein’s general dickishness. He’s hung a little more with Mal Golde, who you may have met since he lives at the last known.”

“Yeah, we met.”

“Neither of my two have seen or heard from Reinhold since Thursday night. Klein tried to tag him Saturday night, but hasn’t heard back.”

“Reinhold was a busy boy. Golde’s not a dick, by the way.”

She caught Peabody up with the salient points of that interview while she chowed on the dog. “Banks?” she finished, mouth full.

“I got copies of the security discs, reviewed them while I traveled. He had the ‘I’m a smug son of a bitch’ vibe going—briefcase, no suitcases. According to the managers, he wanted all cash, but some of the amounts made that tricky, so he settled for the cashier’s checks. A couple politely questioned him regarding why the quick deposit and withdrawal. He told them to give him his money or he’d cause a scene. I have a feeling he didn’t use such mild terms.”

“I’ll need to look at them. Did anybody see him leave, what he left in?”

“Outside security caught him, on foot.” Trying in vain for comfort, Peabody shifted in Eve’s visitor’s chair. “He could’ve had transpo waiting or picked it up once he was out of range.”

“Let’s send some uniforms around to neighboring businesses, see if they picked anything up. In the meantime, I couldn’t connect with the ex. According to her neighbor she’s out with a friend today—and buying a new ’link, with a new number. See if you can find anything on that. The neighbor—Sela Crabtree—has my contacts, so I expect to hear from the ex when they connect. Otherwise, we’ll round her up in the morning.”

“Got it.”

“I’m going to set up a meet with Mira, do the notifications. The vics’ parents need to be told before the media leaks their names. Get your notes together so I can—” She broke off as her desk ’link signaled. Though she intended to ignore it, she glanced over at the readout.

“Crap. It’s the commander.” After swiping a hand over her mouth, in case, she flipped it on. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

Rather than his admin’s, Whitney’s face filled her screen. “I’d like to see you in my office, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now.”

“On my way.”

He clicked off.

“God, I get gut knots just thinking about if it was me he called up like that.”

“Shit. I ate most of a loaded dog. I have loaded dog breath.” Rising, Eve yanked open drawers. “I must have something around here.”