Connections in Death (In Death 48)

At a knock on her door, Eve moved over, opened it to Santiago.

“Sorry, LT. There’s a Matthew Fenster out here. He says you asked him to come in.”

“Yeah, thanks. Ask him to wait a minute. Peabody, check and see if we’ve got an open Interview room so Strong can talk to him in private. Tag me when you’re ready, Detective,” she told Strong. “Make it quick. I want his take on this.”

When she had breathing room in her office again, Eve turned back to her board. Back to Dinnie Duff.

Why would Duff have betrayed such a soft touch? Addicts like her always needed money for the next fix, and it sounded like she’d been able to whine a few bucks out of Pickering routinely.

Then again, addicts like her could and would betray anyone.

Still.

Then again, Pickering wouldn’t get high with her, have sex with her, hang out with her. All of those would

be essential needs for someone like Duff.

He gave her a few bucks here and there, but otherwise, he’d cut off their connection. No banging, no partying.

Would that make him just another mark? No, she considered, more than just another. A mark, but one she wanted to pay back for casting her aside.

Maybe.

“Were you pissed off at him, Dinnie? Yeah, I bet you were. Fucker thought he was better than you, with his going-straight life and asshole job. Maybe some payback in there.”

Maybe, maybe, but she could punch a dozen holes in that one, Eve mused. And the first would be if nothing turned out to be missing.

She sent a text to Rochelle.

She needed a walk-through of the crime scene.

When she got the buzz from Strong, she walked out to Peabody in the bullpen. “Where are they?”

“Interview B.”

Eve waved Peabody down again. “I’ve got this. I need you to notify Duff’s next of kin, and I want to know the last contact. You know the drill. I need you to run a search on Pickering’s journal for any mentions of Strong, Duff, the Bangers. When we’re done here, we’re meeting Rochelle at the apartment.”

She headed out, walked down, and opened the door of Interview B.

Strong sat beside a man who rivaled Feeney’s explosion of ginger hair. He had pale green eyes to go with it that, right now, were blurred with clouds of grief. He had a long, sharp nose and a long, thin neck that made his face—between the explosion and the stem—look oddly oversized. A single silver stud glinted in his left ear.

“Matt, this is Lieutenant Dallas.”

He got to his feet, a skinny guy in a gray sweatshirt, and extended his hand. “Lieutenant. Anything I can do to help you.”

“I appreciate you coming in so quickly, Mr. Fenster.”

“Matt. Just Matt.”

She sat across from him. “I understand you were close to Lyle. I’m sorry for your loss. When did you last see or speak to him?”

“A couple of nights ago. Thursday night. We went to a meeting, had coffee after. We tried to hook up every week if we could. Just connect, talk.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Work, on both sides. How things were going with me and Lilah—Detective Strong. His family. Sports.” In a helpless gesture, Matt lifted his hands, let them fall again. “We were friends. We got to be friends.”

“Did he mention Duff, or any concerns he had about other gang members?”