Dark in Death (In Death 46)

“No prob.”

“I got one more.”

“I’m here to serve, LT.”

“The animal clinic. Pet Care on Seventh. Hit that on your way home, will you? See if you can tap where that emergency call came from. If you need to take the e-toys in, tag me, and I’ll get the clearance.”

“All over it and back again.”

“Peabody, since you like the Babies place, let’s go swing by there, see what we see.”

“Yay!”

Eve saw her partner and the e-ace bump wiggling fingers—their strange little gesture of affection—before McNab pulled a bright purple earflap hat over his head and long blond ponytail.

Since they didn’t mortify her by locking lips, she ignored it.

Outside, she and Peabody hiked the two blocks to the overpriced underground lot through the unrelenting insanity of Times Square.

They wound through the drunks, the revelers, the gawking tourists, the hustlers, and the street-level licensed companions while lights flashed and mega screens hawked designer fashion worn by pouty and sexually ambiguous models.

Eve caught the eye of a street thief, watched him wisely turn on his heel and head fast in the opposite direction. His coat—likely with several of the loot pockets already holding wallets and wrist units—flapped around his legs.

Eve skirted around construction barriers. If it wasn’t drunks, thieves, and tourists, it was some guy in a hard hat jacking a hole in the street.

She went into the relative quiet of the lot, opted to take the stairs down.

“Are we going to do notification after the restaurant?”

“I did it.” Boots clanged on the metal steps. “Just the parents, and they live in Wisconsin.”

Shocked faces, glazed eyes, choked voices.

“I talked to a couple people who work the concession. They knew her. Not personally,” Peabody added. “But they knew her face, said she was always friendly. She sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to one of them a couple months ago. Small popcorn, medium Diet Coke, and for a comedy, she added gummy bears.”

“Creature of habit,” Eve said when they reached the car. “It makes it easy to stalk and study and plan. We need to run the staff. Even the ones not on tonight. People who saw her regularly, got to know her habits.”

“How’d he make the tag to the vet place, make it so close to the murder?”

“A good question, and one I hope McNab finds the answer to.”

“A partner? A partner makes the tag.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s more logistical than the killer making it: Have to do it outside the theater—then come in again, sit down again, kill her, get up, walk out again. More likely someone notices that. The in, sit, stand, out, in, and all that.”

Eve didn’t disagree—up and down, in and out brought attention. But she wanted verification.

She parked again, a half block from where her navigation system put the restaurant. This time she copped a street-level spot. In a loading zone, but flipping on her On Duty light covered that.

“I know I told you what a mag time we had in Mexico, and thanked you about a zillion times.”

“So don’t do it again.”

“What I didn’t say,” Peabody continued, “mostly because I wanted to see if the results stuck, was how McNab conked on the shuttle on the way to the villa. Just dropped out, and he extremely loves flying. And after we got there and basked, had a couple of birdbath margaritas, took a swim, he conked again—even before we continued to bask with sex—and slept dead out for twelve solid.”

“Like you said, he needed a break.”