Page 116 of Passions in Death
“She said he started to scare her, so she filed for divorce and, the house being hers, locked him out.”
“He got back in,” Jenkinson said. “Knew the security, how to get around it, since he’d installed. And that made her start thinking. Thinking hard enough she had the security switched out, closed up the house, and moved her ass to Boston. She’s got people there.”
“She didn’t go to the cops with the inconsistencies, this feeling she had?”
“Nope, LT, she didn’t.” Jenkinson shrugged. “She told us she couldn’t make herself really believe he’d do something like that. Accepted he’d married her for her money, but couldn’t swallow he’d kill, not all-the-way-down swallow.”
“After we had a talk with her, we had a talk with him, let him know we’d reopened the investigation, and were doing interviews again.”
“That fucker’s face.” With a broad smile, Jenkinson shook his head. “It was all right there on his face. He’d gotten away with it. He’d gotten what he wanted and never paid nothing. But now here we come sniffing.”
“And he started sweating. Got his story mixed up—claimed, hell, who could remember. But he kept tripping up. So we brought him down here. Formal interview. Took us awhile.”
“Took us awhile, but we got him. Guilt was eating at him some maybe or we stirred it up enough to make him break.”
“Or we’re just damn good at what we do.”
Reineke grinned, slapped high fives. “We are that. We got him, eighteen years later, but we got him.”
“Good work. Have you notified the widow?”
“Going to wait until like after nine. Like civilized,” Jenkinson said. “I think she knows. Damn clear she divorced him because she worried or wondered. Then when we showed up at the door, she knew.”
“Close it off. Good work,” she repeated, then turned to her office as Peabody came in, pink boots clomping.
She had her hair in a high-flippy tail. Eve decided it could be worse. Those streaks in it could be pink instead of red. Obviously, she’d considered the memorial, and had gone with black pants and jacket even if the shirt was a pale blue.
“Morning, all.”
“My office,” Eve said, and headed for it.
“Sure. Let me just stow my stuff.” After Peabody pushed her bag into a desk drawer, she trotted after Eve. “Did something break?”
“No, no break.” Eve programmed two coffees—one black, one regular—as she studied the board once more. “Just a shift in motive, maybe. One that clicks for me.”
Over coffee, she laid it out for Peabody.
“I can see it. Easier to fix Lopez in that box than Barney. She’d have no trouble destroying Shauna’s dream trip, her wedding, or anything else. Harder for me to see Barney. Long friendship, partnered up with her best friend.”
“Jenkinson and Reineke just closed a cold case. Murder by best friend. He wanted a shot at the wife, and eventually got it. Couldn’t keep her though. Guy bashed his friend’s head in hoping he could hook up with the guy’s wife—and her money. Maybe Barney wants to hook up with Shauna again.”
Peabody frowned. “Maybe he’s even—carefully—suggested it, or made a little move.”
“Now you’re following. Tested the waters, perhaps. That’s a hard no, and you have the rejection angle right there again.”
“Okay, with that, I can see either one of them. Which one? You usually know, or at least have a strong sense once we get to this point.”
“If I bet on the job?” Eve tapped an ID shot.
“Really? Damn it, I was betting on Lopez.”
“Also a viable bet.”
“Then why Barney over her?”
“You didn’t see his face,” Eve murmured. “You didn’t see his face when he came out of the apartment carrying that box. I’d probably go with Lopez if I hadn’t seen his face.”
Eve moved to her skinny window, stared outside. “She says she doesn’t want to go back there, and if he takes her at her word, maybe he takes something he wants.”
