Page 79 of Obsession in Death

“Dirk. Not tonight, baby.”

“Okay. Okay, Matilda.”

The calm tone and easy agreement had Eve rolling her eyes.

Love turned everybody’s brain sideways, just like a stunner.

When she got down to the studio a pair of sweepers were working the door, the landing, so the cold air blew through.

They wouldn’t find anything, Eve thought, but it had to be done.

She studied the splatter of red on the wall beside the door. Lucky for Hastings and Matilda it wasn’t blood but a very nice red wine.

“We’ll have a uniform sit on them tonight,” she told Peabody.

“That’s Matilda.”

“I’m aware.”

“Matilda,” Peabody repeated. “She’s like the face of the decade.”

“The decade that’s not quite a year old?”

“Yeah, but still. She’s on McNab’s list. She bumped Lorilee Castle off—and she’d been on there for three years.”

“List?”

“The list of who you’re allowed to have sex with if the opportunity comes up. He’s going to pass out when I tell him. I don’t blame him. I use her hair mask.”

“Why do you need a mask for your hair? If you want to hide it, wear a hat.”

“A hydrating mask. It’s mag—and all natural. And she—”

“Peabody, Matilda’s only relevant because she was here, and because by being here and thinking fast, she deflected the UNSUB from the target.”

Eve gauged the distance from the steps to the stained wall. “And she has an excellent arm.”

Hands on her hips, she circled around. She saw the comp station, still running—the imaging Hastings had been doing.

Lights on, as they had been, privacy screens engaged.

“Not hard to keep tabs on Hastings, get a sense of his routine—not if you’re patient, you’re determined. You could sit in the parking lot between the buildings. You could browse in the retail section, get employee routines. Maybe you even risk going up to the offices, make inquiries about having a portrait done, take information.”

“This is a night he works late in the studio,” Peabody offered. “He gave me that. Every week, he works the same two nights alone, and tonight’s strictly for the imaging—his sideline.

“But for the last couple weeks, Matilda’s been sneaking in the side door, coming up. Two or three, sometimes four nights a week if they can manage it. Maybe she does a little work upstairs, while he works in the studio. Or she’ll have brought in some carryout, and she’ll put a meal together.”

“That’s what she was doing tonight,” Eve replied. “Setting up a sexy little dinner for two. Heard all this noise. Hastings shouting, then a loud thump, which would’ve been him hitting the floor. Down she comes, carrying the bottle of wine, sees him here.”

Eve crouched by the small smear of blood. “Smacked his head good,” she commented. “Matilda sees him, sees the UNSUB.”

Eve looked over at the door. “UNSUB sees her. Both fire—the stun stream goes wide, the bottle hits the wall, explodes. You’ve got to admire her instincts, her aim. I bet the brown coat has some pinot noir stains on it. And the UNSUB’s aim? Not so good. Has to be in close to do the job. No real skills there, or whatever skills crumbled in pure panic. Coward.”

Because it was routine, Eve put a marker by the bloodstain. “You’re going to need to take a sample,” she called to the sweepers. “We need to verify it’s the wit’s blood.”

Eve circled one last time. “Figured Hastings was sewn up. Creature of habit, and one who didn’t have any personal ties, didn’t like people as a species. Then along comes Matilda.”

She studied the stained wall again, then the clean one across from her.

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