Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

Offsetting it? Traveling to Brooklyn. Getting out of Manhattan, taking that time, making those plans.

“Not your next stop. I just don’t feel it.”

The friends didn’t have real money. But Asshole Joe, as Peabody dubbed him, had hit it in Vegas. He could get two birds with one stone, couldn’t he? Payback, and the money he’d lost and his friend won.

Maybe three birds, she considered, as he’d be happy to brag to Asshole Joe about killing Lori. Someone who’d known her, a friend who’d probably agreed after the breakup that she’d been a bitch.

Of friends and family—though she needed to dig deeper into the cousins—Asshole Joe topped her list for targets.

But even he didn’t sit quite perfectly.

“Dallas,” Peabody began as she started into the office. “McNab—”

“Isn’t he going to want to circle back to his friends at some point?”

“What?”

“Reinhold. He’s not a loner. Everything we’ve got on him indicates he likes to hang with his friends, go to bars, clubs. He wants somebody—and somebody familiar—to drink with, to bitch to. He’s pumped right now. Adrenaline’s flowing. Everything’s gone his way. He’s having his personal little celebration, but eventually, he’s going to need to bump fists with his buds, right?”

“I … I don’t know. He’s killed three people. His friends probably aren’t going to want to bump fists.”

“You’re not thinking like him. He’s rich—on his scale. He’s famous. He’s got power and glory. If you can’t rub that in the faces of your friends, then who? Right now, it’s fancy hotels and food, new clothes. But he’s got to see already that takes more money than he’s got to maintain for long.”

“Maybe, but … We’re about the same age. If, say, I had a hundred and seventy-five-odd grand fall into my lap, my initial reaction would be ‘Holy shit, I’m rich.’ And I’d celebrate, too. I’d buy new stuff, toss some of it around. I couldn’t help it.”

“Then you’d stop because you’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, but he is.” Considering, Peabody stepped closer to the board. “He’s not going to be thinking of investing for the future or paying his bills off or whatever things mature people do with windfalls.”

“I get that. I get it.” Eve pointed at Peabody, then because she saw her partner’s gaze shift to the AutoChef, pointed at it. “But he’s found an ambition,” she continued while Peabody scurried over to program coffee. “He’s never had one before. That’s something I got from Mira. Something broke free inside him, and released this killer from the lazy asshole. Now he’s got ambition, and I think, on some level, he is thinking about the future.”

“Like an investment fund?”

“No, like how he’s going to keep doing what he’s discovered he really likes doing, and how to make enough money at it to keep up a high-life style. Fucker probably sees himself becoming some sort of big-ticket paid assassin, a hit man. But before that, he has to even the scales, pay back everyone who crossed him, one way or the other. He can’t keep moving from hotel to hotel. He needs a base, a hive … an HQ.”

Though she knew its miseries, Peabody sat in the visitor’s chair with her coffee. “Okay. I see where you’re going. He needs to score while he evens the score so he can get a place of his own. An iced place. He’d have to score mega to buy one, but—”

“Not as mega to rent. But to rent, he’ll need more cash, or better a safe account because cash throws up flags. He’ll need that ID, and enough change in his looks so he can move around the city.”

“The grandparents in Brooklyn are pretty well set.”

“Yeah, the comp likes them for it. Did your grandparents ever piss you off?”

“Not really.” As she thought of it—of them—an easy smile bloomed on Peabody’s face. “I guess they’ve kind of spoiled me. Well, all of us.”

“That’s how it goes, right? Still, considering his meter for offenses, and the fact he’s been a major screwup all or most of his life, there’s probably enough there. I’m having them covered. It seems he’s at least smart enough to figure we would.”

“Asshole Joe hit big in Vegas.”

Eve nodded, rubbing at the tension in the back of her neck. “Could go for him, especially since that’s pretty fresh. But odds are Joe’s already burned through a chunk of the big. He needs more than that, another major infusion. In his place I’d start on former employers. Even if they’re

not well set, wouldn’t he see them that way? They own or run a business, they had authority over him—like his parents.”

“It’s a good angle.”

“I think we push that one. And we start taking a look at high-end apartments, condos, townhomes currently for rent.”

“Hell of a lot of those, Dallas.”