Obsession in Death (In Death 40)

“Um, like maybe yesterday. Maybe night before. Down around Gametown maybe. Like that.”

If she needed more, she knew where to find them. She straightened. “Get gone. Now. And stay that way.”

She turned, walked away. The droids now looked as amused as droids could manage. Roarke leaned casually against the car, working on his PPC.

“Should we write up the incident, Lieutenant?” one of the droids asked her.

“What incident?” Signaling to Roarke, she walked toward the neighboring building. “I can’t lie, I needed that.”

“Everyone’s entitled to a bit of entertainment now and again.”

“Perked me right up.” She rolled her shoulders as they went inside. “Did you give me these gloves?”

“Most likely.”

“They were nice. Sorry.”

Though she considered she should fine herself for littering, she tossed them on the already littered floor before starting up the stairs.

Somebody would be able to use them—and wouldn’t give a hot damn where they’d been.

Peabody opened the door.

“You were fast,” she said. “I just got here. Hey, Roarke.” She stepped back to let them in. “Officer Rineheart’s first on scene. Nine-one-one caller’s across the hall with his partner. She states she was leaving to go to work, saw the door open, looked in.”

Peabody gestured to where Ledo lay on a thin mattress stained with blood and assorted bodily fluids Eve didn’t much want to think about.

He was fully dressed—faded Knicks sweatshirt, black cargo pants, thick socks—once white, she assumed, and now the color of puss—with ragged holes so both big toes poked through.

A dark trench coat and a couple of frayed and tattered blankets lay crumpled beside him, and the butt end of a pool cue speared out of his chest.

Scrawny build, hair like dirty straw, eyes that showed the pink rims of the funky-junkie.

“That’s Ledo.” Eve turned to the uniform. “Let’s have it.”

“Responded to nine-one-one logged at oh-six-sixteen. My partner and I arrived at oh-six-twenty. Building unsecured, apartment door open, DB as you see it. I visually ID’d Ledo.”

The cop, grizzled hair under his cap, glanced toward the body.

“I’ve worked this area for the last four years, so I know him. Caller’s Misty Polinsky, lives across the hall. She’s young, Lieutenant, and pretty shaken up. Once we got her settled down, I called in some droids. We leave the cruiser out there unattended, there won’t be much left of it when we get out again.”

“Okay. Start a canvass, for what it’s worth. You want backup for that?”

“Most people know me. Won’t be a problem. A couple of sidewalk sleepers were inside, down on the entrance level. Sleeping. We had to shake ’em pretty good to wake them up. We got names, had them transported to a shelter. They didn’t see anything. I know ’em,” he added. “They’re regulars around here, so it’s easy to pick them up you want to talk to them, but they were both out cold.”

She nodded, then taking her field kit from Roarke, sealed up before she moved toward the body.

Routine, she told herself. Procedure. And took out her tools.

“Vic’s ID confirmed as Ledo, Wendall, of this address. TOD . . .” She checked her gauge. “Oh-six-three. Wit just missed the killer.”

“I’ve got the rest of the pool cue here, Dallas,” Peabody told her. “Top half.”

“Guess he bought a new one,” Eve murmured. “Pool was his game. I busted the other, about like this, and when he grabbed for it, he clocked me in the face with the butt end.”

“Dallas,” Peabody began, but Eve shook her head.

“That’s what the killer had to know, had to think. He tried lying to me—that’s why his tongue’s sitting in this go-cup.”