Eve studied the file bag Mason had given her before stowing it in the trunk. “He’s organized, detail-oriented, delusional, and obsessed.”
“And earnest as a cocker spaniel, Dallas. You don’t really think —”
“No, I don’t. But we check, and we’re going to have the uniforms that patrol this sector keep an eye on him. His father was a cop, a wrong cop, but a cop. He wishes he were a cop. You can bet he’s done some studying. He’s not stupid, and he admitted to knowing or knowing of both vics. We follow it through.”
She pulled out her communicator. “Check with the diner on the twenty-seventh. No point moving the vehicle, and it’s just a couple blocks west. You can work off more double-chunk.”
“Don’t say the words! Even the words add to my ass.”
“Walk it off. I’m going to reach out to the uniforms from last night’s arrest.”
Eve leaned on the car, put a hail out to either Officer Rhodes or Officer Willis.
She spent the next ten minutes hunched against the cold, discussing the incident and Mason Tobias. When she spotted Peabody quick-walking back, pink coat flapping at her knees, she got into the car, hit the temp control, then started the engine.
“Alibi holds,” Peabody said. “Why does there have to be winter for so long? I got you a hammy pocket.”
“A what?”
“It’s fake ham and a non-dairy product pretending to be cheese smooshed inside a bread-like substance. I ate mine – low-cal version – on the way back. It could have been worse. Plus.” She dug into her pocket, pulled out a small, crinkly bag. “Soy chips. I can’t eat them after the you-know-what, but if you eat them and I have a couple it’s not really eating any.”
“Because you’re just going to hold them?”
“No, I’m going to eat them, but it’s not really eating them because they’re yours. No one with ten percent – max – body fat is allowed to question my logic. He worked his shift – straight through until eight. I’ve got a couple waitresses, a cook, and the manager vouching. Did you talk to the responding officers?”
“Both of them, and both felt Mason’s response last night – this morning, actually – was appropriate. They both know him, and have told him to mind his own in the past. They’ve busted him for trespassing when he followed a suspected bad guy into an apartment building. Cherry Pie’s a stripper, and I know that must be a shock. The bad guy in this case was some schmuck who tailed her from the club, wanting some free – and decided to rough her up, try for her purse.”
“Mason’s not our guy.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” But Eve glanced in the rearview after she pulled into traffic. “Still. He was calm, and controlled. If you cut out the sense he’d never do real violence, real crime, he hits a lot of the marks on Mira’s profile.”
She swung by the lab, more for form than expectations. And picking up nothing new, moved on to the morgue.
She spotted Morris in the tunnel, swiping a chart for one of the white coats. He wore a suit caught somewhere between red and orange – the boldest color she’d seen him wear since the death of Detective Coltraine, the woman he’d loved.
“Dallas, Peabody.” He gestured to Vending. “Can I buy you both some terrible coffee substitute?”
“Pass, thanks.”
“Is that hot chocolate anything remotely resembling hot chocolate?” Peabody wondered.
“It may inhabit the same continent, if not country.”
“I’ll risk it. I’ve completely blown my pre–New Year’s resolution today on diet and nutrition. Might as well finish it off.”
When she started to dig in her pockets, Morris brushed her arm. “Allow me.” Morris input his code, and they all watched an anemic stream of beige pour into a biodegradable cup.
“Well.” Peabody took it out of the slot. “It’s hot, so that’s half there.”
“Good luck with that. So, Ledo.” Morris gestured again, and they started down the tunnel. “Without his untimely end, he might have had another five or six years in him if he’d remained on the same course. Considerable liver and kidney damage from substance abuse. Ocular degeneration from the same. Bones and teeth show signs of very poor nutrition, and indeed his last meal was fried noodles and brew that was more chemicals than barley.
“His tox screen,” Morris continued as they went through his double doors, “showed a cocktail of funk, go-smoke, and downs. Enough downs his killer didn’t need to stun him. He’d have been out for another six hours regardless.”
“Couldn’t know that – unless the killer witnessed him ingesting.” Eve approached the body, studied the stun marks, the deep, jagged hole left by the cue. “Even then, why change routine, why take the chance? Careful, cautious, thorough.”
“The blow to the cheekbone was hard enough to fracture it, and likely came from above. Standing, straddling him. Right to left.”
“Most likely right-handed then, as we determined in Bastwick’s case.”
“Most likely. And the killing blow, again from above. Straight down, with force. The break on the cue was fresh.”
“Yeah, saw that, confirmed at the lab.”
“I picked several splinters out of the wound. Another message, I’m told.”
When Eve only nodded, he walked over, got a tube of Pepsi from his friggie.
“Thanks. Morris, I’ve got to ask. Have any of your people – the techs, the docs, the drivers, maintenance, anybody, shown a particular interest in my cases, my DBs?”
“You’ve had some noteworthy ones, so there’s been interest. But not undue, not to my mind. And no one who’s regularly or routinely taken one.”
“But you discuss, consult, coordinate.”
“Yes, we do.” He took the tube, cracked it himself, handed it back to her. “It’s hard what we do – murder cops, death doctors, and those who work with us. So you have to consider that, consider someone who’s signed on to do good may turn, and do what puts people on my table.”
And that, Eve thought, was exactly what she feared.
“He’s smart, Morris, and he’s skilled. Trained, I think, I really do. But he’s not as smart as he thinks because he thinks he leaves nothing behind.”
“And he leaves his words.”
“That’s right, and the words are his thoughts, his feelings, his motives. So that’s a lot to leave behind. I just have to figure out how to… read between the lines.”
She took a long drink, felt the caffeine slide in. “Now I have to go talk to the fucking media.”
“Be brave, my child.”
That got a snort of laughter out of her. “The slick and chilly high-powered defense attorney, and the low-life chemi-head. Is there a pattern there?”
She started to pace, tried to find it.
Morris glanced at Peabody. “How’s that hot chocolate?”
“I think it’s a small, pale island off the continent of hot chocolate, but it carries a faint whiff.”
“Time wise,” Eve said out loud, “I had my first, annoying meet with Bastwick the summer of ’58, my last with Ledo around January ’59. So that’s a possible timeline. Possibly chronological. That would be organized, efficient.”
And she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Which doesn’t give me much of dick, because I’ve gone around with a hell of a lot of people between early ’59 and now. He’s got two years, basically, to pluck from.”
“No physical altercation with Bastwick, but one with Ledo,” Peabody suggested. “Maybe an escalation of crimes – in the killer’s view.”
“Maybe. Maybe that’s something to look at. Ledo’s was an accident, so maybe I try to find something deliberate.” She rolled her eyes as she took another drink. “And again, how many people have taken a pop at me in the past couple years? Or, say, said fuck you, bitch cop – verbal disrespect escalating from Bastwick – maybe added a shove? And we won’t find him by trying to forecast his next victim.”
She shook that off. “The words, the pattern – that’s what he leaves behind. And the victims,” she added with another glance at Ledo. “There’s a guy named Carmine Atelli. He’s going to take care of the arrangements for Ledo.”
“A relative?”
“No, in a weird way a good Samaritan. He’ll be in touch.” She polished off the Pepsi, slowly rolled the tube. “What color do you call that suit?”
“Carnelian.”
“Isn’t that the animal who changes colors?”
“That’s a chameleon.”
“Okay. Well, I like the color so it’s good it doesn’t change on you.” She two-pointed the tube into the recycler. “Still got it,” she said, and headed out.
“That you do,” Morris agreed, then turned back to Ledo. “And she’ll use that to find who did this to you. If the killer doesn’t know that, he doesn’t know her as intimately as he believes.”