“That’s Matilda.”
“I’m aware.”
“Matilda,” Peabody repeated. “She’s like the face of the decade.”
“The decade that’s not quite a year old?”
“Yeah, but still. She’s on McNab’s list. She bumped Lorilee Castle off—and she’d been on there for three years.”
“List?”
“The list of who you’re allowed to have sex with if the opportunity comes up. He’s going to pass out when I tell him. I don’t blame him. I use her hair mask.”
“Why do you need a mask for your hair? If you want to hide it, wear a hat.”
“A hydrating mask. It’s mag—and all natural. And she—”
“Peabody, Matilda’s only relevant because she was here, and because by being here and thinking fast, she deflected the UNSUB from the target.”
Eve gauged the distance from the steps to the stained wall. “And she has an excellent arm.”
Hands on her hips, she circled around. She saw the comp station, still running—the imaging Hastings had been doing.
Lights on, as they had been, privacy screens engaged.
“Not hard to keep tabs on Hastings, get a sense of his routine—not if you’re patient, you’re determined. You could sit in the parking lot between the buildings. You could browse in the retail section, get employee routines. Maybe you even risk going up to the offices, make inquiries about having a portrait done, take information.”
“This is a night he works late in the studio,” Peabody offered. “He gave me that. Every week, he works the same two nights alone, and tonight’s strictly for the imaging—his sideline.
“But for the last couple weeks, Matilda’s been sneaking in the side door, coming up. Two or three, sometimes four nights a week if they can manage it. Maybe she does a little work upstairs, while he works in the studio. Or she’ll have brought in some carryout, and she’ll put a meal together.”
“That’s what she was doing tonight,” Eve replied. “Setting up a sexy little dinner for two. Heard all this noise. Hastings shouting, then a loud thump, which would’ve been him hitting the floor. Down she comes, carrying the bottle of wine, sees him here.”
Eve crouched by the small smear of blood. “Smacked his head good,” she commented. “Matilda sees him, sees the UNSUB.”
Eve looked over at the door. “UNSUB sees her. Both fire—the stun stream goes wide, the bottle hits the wall, explodes. You’ve got to admire her instincts, her aim. I bet the brown coat has some pinot noir stains on it. And the UNSUB’s aim? Not so good. Has to be in close to do the job. No real skills there, or whatever skills crumbled in pure panic. Coward.”
Because it was routine, Eve put a marker by the bloodstain. “You’re going to need to take a sample,” she called to the sweepers. “We need to verify it’s the wit’s blood.”
Eve circled one last time. “Figured Hastings was sewn up. Creature of habit, and one who didn’t have any personal ties, didn’t like people as a species. Then along comes Matilda.”
She studied the stained wall again, then the clean one across from her.
A good spot for the message, she thought. A good, clean, wide space. And it would be here—you’d have done it here. Where he worked was more important to him than where he lived.
What would you have written this time? Eve wondered.
She turned to Peabody. “His exterior security cams are crap, and most of them don’t work, but we’ve got good interior cams in the retail space, and a couple on the office level. So let’s get those, see if there’s anything to see. I want uniforms canvassing again in the morning, with the sketches we have. Then you take a pass with both wits tomorrow. They’ll be calmer then, and a second interview with you might shake out another detail.”
Eve glanced around again. A couple of sweepers on what would be grunt duty, and no morgue team. All in all, it had to be considered a good night.
“Until then,” she said, “we’re done here.”
In the car, Eve went over her notes, highlighted some, circled some.
“It’s a woman,” she said.
Roarke glanced at her. “Matilda seemed fairly certain it was a man.”