Page 37 of Festive in Death

“Then why the hate?”

“Some time back—maybe close to a year—Trey banged Rock’s sister. They were both at some club, and she was pretty wasted. He took her home and banged her, then bragged about it. He knew she was Rock’s sister. Juice warned him to shut up, and finally I had to tell him to shut up, at least around here. I heard he and Rock squared off about it, and Trey backed down. But I don’t have the details. I didn’t want them. The truth is Trey was a personal pain in my ass. But professionally, he was an asset, and it’s my job to hold on to the assets around here.”

“Okay.”

“About Rock. I didn’t think of him yesterday because it was close to a year ago, and as far as I know those two never see each other except maybe at the AC conference or the competition we have in New York every spring. That’s it.”

“I still need to talk to him. To the three of them. Where would I find Juice?”

“See the guy over there bench-pressing about one-fifty? That’s Juice.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“He’s a nice guy. He’s got a wife, a kid, and another kid coming.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Eve moved over to the weight area, and the man currently bench-pressing more than she weighed.

“Jacob Maddow?”

“Juice, yeah.” He continued to press, sweat slicked on his pleasant face, on his very impressive biceps. But he gave her a quick smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” She showed him her badge. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“About Ziegler? I heard yesterday, when I came in.” He set the bar in the safety, slid out from under.

He hit about six feet, Eve gauged, and most of it muscle. He wore his streaked brown hair in a stub of a tail.

“We can take it in the private classroom. Nobody’s in there right now, and we won’t have to yell at each other.”

“Works for me.” She spotted Peabody. “One minute, that’s my partner.”

“Mind if I get a drink?” He gestured toward the juice machine in the corner.

“Go ahead.”

“Get you something?”

“No, thanks.” She signaled to Peabody, then motioned her over to the machine. “Detective Peabody, Jacob Maddow. Goes by Juice. We’re going to talk in private.”

“It’s just through here.”

He led them into a room with frosted glass walls where the noise level dropped to a backbeat murmur.

“I want to say I’m sorry about what happened to Ziegler, but I’m not going to lie. We weren’t friends.”

“Why don’t you tell us where you were the evening before last, from say five P.M. to seven.”

“Home. My day off, so we don’t get a sitter. I had my kid while my wife was at work. She got home about five. We ate about six, I guess, and then she took Mimi up for a bath. I spent the next two hours putting this tricycle thing together for Mimi for Christmas. It comes cheaper unassembled, but let me tell you, it ain’t worth it.”

“You didn’t get sent to AC?”

“Lill would’ve sprung for it, but this close to Christmas, I want to be home with my family. Plus, my wife’s pregnant. Seven months along.”

“I heard you’re one of the top competitors for the next trainer of the year award.”

“I got a shot.” He chugged down juice. “It’d be nice—the cash prize—with another kid coming along. Another girl,” he said with a quick smile. “I’m surrounded by girls.”

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