Brotherhood in Death (In Death 42)

“Where were you yesterday between four and six?”

“I . . . I don’t know exactly. It was my day off. I met a friend for lunch, and after, we got our nails done, did some shopping. Well, looking. And we had a drink somewhere. We decided to go back to my place, I had some pizza in the AutoChef. We just hung out until, I don’t know, maybe nine or nine-thirty. I’m a suspect. Oh my God.”

“We’ll need your friend’s name and contact information.”

“Oh God. God. Lydia. Lydia Su—that’s S-U. She’s the only one who knows about Edward.” She covered her face, then dropped her hands and gave them the contact numbers. “I wouldn’t kill him. He was helping me. I figured he was starting to get a little bored, and all I had to do was wait for him to tell me it was done. Maybe he’d help me a little more if I didn’t make a fuss. Why would I kill him for helping me?”

“How about between midnight and four last night?”

“I was in bed! I went to bed. I did some sketching after Lydia left, but we’d had wine, and I couldn’t concentrate. I was in bed by like eleven, watched screen until I fell asleep. This can’t be happening.”

“Calm down, Charity,” Peabody told her. “We have to ask, we have to check out the information you’ve given us. It’s part of the routine. When did you last see or speak to him?”

“Ah, God, the day before yesterday. He kept it week to week. He contacted me, asked me to dinner. That’s how it worked. We were supposed to have dinner tonight. Then I heard, on the bulletin. I only saw him once a week, as a rule. I saw him last week. Last Thursday night. What should I do now? What should I do?”

“Go back to work,” Eve said.

—

Here’s what I think. You want to know what I think, right?”

“Peabody, I live to hear what you think in all things.”

Eyes narrowed, Peabody climbed back into the car. “You’re being bitchy now.”

“I’m tired of talking to whiny cheaters. I’d rather grill murdering bastards.”

“Well, sure, but you gotta do what you gotta. Anyway, she was whiny, but killing him’s the whole golden goose deal. You can’t get those shiny eggs if you kill the goose.”

“Why would she want shiny eggs? Why would anybody want shiny eggs?”

“It’s like a metaphor.”

“It’s a stupid one because shiny eggs are probably contaminated, then you die. But we only have her word about the eggs anyway.”

“Yeah, but it’s easy to check out.”

“Which we will. Just like we’re going to check out everything and everybody else on the list from today. And how about this? The old, horny goose is getting ready to move on, so no more eggs soon. She’s not ready to give them up, so she gets pushy. You don’t keep giving me eggs, I’m going to go tell everybody you’ve been putting that old thing in my young parts. Fight, blackmail, murder.”

“When you put it that way.”

“I need to think about it. I need decent coffee and thinking time because the only one I’m pretty damn sure didn’t do it is the bitch with the snotty lawyer. That just pisses me off.”

“It’d be nice if she did it.”

“It’d be nice if geese shat out golden eggs, too. But it’s all just goose crap.”

8

Eve found Homicide full of cops and noise, and the lingering scent of someone’s veggie hash—extra onions. Reineke and Jenkinson huddled together at Jenkinson’s desk, Carmichael worked her ’link, Santiago scowled at his comp screen while Baxter strolled out from the break room with a jumbo mug of coffee.

Trueheart—she’d have to get used to seeing him out of uniform—earnestly worked his comp.

“Is there no crime on the streets?” she wondered.

“Hey, LT.” Reineke angled toward her. “We got one in Interview A. Letting him stew awhile. Asshole cut up his boss on the loading dock. Told the arresting officer the guy fell on his knife. Three times.”

“That’s a relief. I was worried we’d all be looking for new jobs. Peabody, run the hateful bitch’s husband, verify alibis.”