Obsession in Death (In Death 40)

“I’ll get them right now.” He pushed up, hurried off.

“You think he might have something to do with these murders? I heard the crime channel, too. He’d never do something like that. Mason wouldn’t do that—because you wouldn’t.”

“I’m going to check out his alibi for December twenty-seventh, and I’m going to talk to the officers from last night. I can tell you I don’t believe, at this time, he had anything to do with what we’re investigating.”

“It was good of you to give him an assignment—one that makes him proud but keeps him off the street.”

“Any chance of steering him toward a different hobby or interest?”

“You think I haven’t tried? He’ll do what you told him—at least I think he will. Observe, record, report. That was a good one.”

“It seems like he’s got a knack for all three.”

“He does, honestly does. He never forgets a damn thing. Some things, like things his old man said to him, I wish he would.”

• • •

Eve studied the file bag Mason had given her before stowing it in the trunk. “He’s organized, detail-oriented, delusional, and obsessed.”

“And earnest as a cocker spaniel, Dallas. You don’t really think—”

“No, I don’t. But we check, and we’re going to have the uniforms that patrol this sector keep an eye on him. His father was a cop, a wrong cop, but a cop. He wishes he were a cop. You can bet he’s done some studying. He’s not stupid, and he admitted to knowing or knowing of both vics. We follow it through.”

She pulled out her communicator. “Check with the diner on the twenty-seventh. No point moving the vehicle, and it’s just a couple blocks west. You can work off more double-chunk.”

“Don’t say the words! Even the words add to my ass.”

“Walk it off. I’m going to reach out to the uniforms from last night’s arrest.”

Eve leaned on the car, put a hail out to either Officer Rhodes or Officer Willis.

She spent the next ten minutes hunched against the cold, discussing the incident and Mason Tobias. When she spotted Peabody quick-walking back, pink coat flapping at her knees, she got into the car, hit the temp control, then started the engine.

“Alibi holds,” Peabody said. “Why does there have to be winter for so long? I got you a hammy pocket.”

“A what?”

“It’s fake ham and a non-dairy product pretending to be cheese smooshed inside a bread-like substance. I ate mine—low-cal version—on the way back. It could have been worse. Plus.” She dug into her pocket, pulled out a small, crinkly bag. “Soy chips. I can’t eat them after the you-know-what, but if you eat them and I have a couple it’s not really eating any.”

“Because you’re just going to hold them?”

“No, I’m going to eat them, but it’s not really eating them because they’re yours. No one with ten percent—max—body fat is allowed to question my logic. He

worked his shift—straight through until eight. I’ve got a couple waitresses, a cook, and the manager vouching. Did you talk to the responding officers?”

“Both of them, and both felt Mason’s response last night—this morning, actually—was appropriate. They both know him, and have told him to mind his own in the past. They’ve busted him for trespassing when he followed a suspected bad guy into an apartment building. Cherry Pie’s a stripper, and I know that must be a shock. The bad guy in this case was some schmuck who tailed her from the club, wanting some free—and decided to rough her up, try for her purse.”

“Mason’s not our guy.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” But Eve glanced in the rearview after she pulled into traffic. “Still. He was calm, and controlled. If you cut out the sense he’d never do real violence, real crime, he hits a lot of the marks on Mira’s profile.”

She swung by the lab, more for form than expectations. And picking up nothing new, moved on to the morgue.

She spotted Morris in the tunnel, swiping a chart for one of the white coats. He wore a suit caught somewhere between red and orange—the boldest color she’d seen him wear since the death of Detective Coltraine, the woman he’d loved.

“Dallas, Peabody.” He gestured to Vending. “Can I buy you both some terrible coffee substitute?”

“Pass, thanks.”