Devoted in Death (In Death 41)

Kari clasped her hands together again. She wore skin pants the color of iron and a thick hip-length sweater in red – and to Eve’s eye worked hard to stay calm and coherent.

“She texted me at about twelve-thirty last night, said she was on her way home because I’d been right and Mattio was a dick. She asked me to wait up if I wasn’t already in bed – I wasn’t. I mean I was, but I was watching a vid. So I got up, got out a bottle of wine and our stash of emergency chocolate brownies. But she didn’t come home. I waited until about one, tried her ’link, but it wouldn’t go through.”

“Wouldn’t go through?”

“Like the charge died, or the ’link broke, or something. I couldn’t even get to her v-mail. I tried again and again, but she never answered.”

“How about this Mattio?”

“Oh, I tagged that fuckhead.” Now she radiated disgust. “I waited until nearly two in the morning because I didn’t want to talk to him, but I tagged him. Still at the party, stoned – big surprise. He said she’d left – couldn’t say when, didn’t much care if you ask me, and had his usual line about how she’d misunderstood, and gotten jealous.”

Tears swam into her eyes but didn’t blur the fire behind them.

“He’s a cheat, and a loser. And I was so glad when Jayla texted me because she really sounded done this time. I can play it back for you.”

“Yeah, do that.”

Kari pulled it out of her pocket. “I’ve played it over and over, as if this time I’ll realize I missed something, but —”

She hit play.

Eve listened, and began to feel the burn.

It was the voice of a woman who was pissed, who was heading home because she wanted her girlfriend and a sympathetic ear. Not one who’d have decided to go back to a party or hook up with some other guy for the night.

“How would she have gotten home?”

“She’d have cabbed if she could. She doesn’t like the subway, doesn’t like being underground. So if she couldn’t find a cab, she’d have walked.”

“It’s a long walk on a cold night.”

“She was pissed, and that would keep her going awhile. Lieutenant, I know what you’re thinking. She’s a grown woman. She had a fight with her boyfriend, started home, changed her mind. Maybe she ducked into a bar, or hired an LC, or ran into somebody she knew and went with him. But she wouldn’t. She asked me to wait up for her. She’d never have left me worried this way. She’d have contacted me. We’re friends. We’re best friends. We’re like sisters. I know her, and she wouldn’t do this. Something happened to her.”

“Where does she work?”

“She works for a modeling agency – which is where she met Mattio Dickwad Diaz. He’s a model. She books models with ad agencies, with designers. Frosted. She worked for Frosted. They’re in the Flatiron Building here in New York. They’ve got agencies in Europe and Asia. She travels sometimes.”

“Did she have trouble with anyone? Did anyone bother her?”

Kari grabbed one of her dreds, twisted it, untwisted it. “She works with models, so there’s a lot of drama and demand. She’s good at it. There’d be somebody pissed, sure, if she rejected them, or the client turned them down when she sent them out. Nobody specific that I can think of.”

“Any guys who wanted to take Mattio’s place with her?”

“Plenty. She was wasting her time with him. Take the guy across the hall.”

“Across the hall?”

“Yeah.” She dropped her hand, sighed a little. “Luke Tripp. He’s single, he’s cute, he’s interested. But she’s had her focus on Mattio, making it work with him.”

“This neighbor ever get pushy?”

“Oh God no. I wish he would, a little, and maybe she’d take more notice.”

“How about Mattio? Did he ever get pushy, physical, any kind of abuse?”

“No physical, no. ‘Abuse’?” The fire flashed against the fear again. “I think it’s abusive to be a serial cheater who turns it all around so it’s the fault of the person he cheated on. But that’s me. He’s an asshole, but he’d never hurt her that way. Or anyone. They might fight back, and hit him in his precious face.”

She asked more questions, got the clear picture of a young woman – happy and successful in her work, with an eclectic circle of friends – who’d been hung up on the wrong man for about eight months.