Page 140 of Passions in Death
“Got it. Just confirm where she’ll be, and if she’ll be on her own.”
“Then dig more into high school. I’ll start on college. Let’s build ourselves a pattern, Peabody. A profile of an asshole.”
“You know, there are a lot of assholes in the world. Most of them don’t kill people over bullshit.”
Eve glanced back at the board. “This one did.”
She gave it another hour, then ninety minutes when Sharlene Wilson tagged her back. Deciding her ears were full enough, for now, she called it.
She walked into the bullpen just as Baxter rose from his desk. A glance at the bullpen case board told her he and Trueheart had closed their current case.
“Wrapped it?” she said.
“In a bright, shiny bow. My esteemed partner and I are heading out for a celebrational brew. We just sent you the paperwork.”
“I’ll take a look from home.”
“Wrapped ours, too,” Santiago said from his desk as he continued to work his comp. “Just finishing up the eights. I’m in for a celebrational brew. Carmichael?”
“Twist my well-toned arm. Reineke?”
“We’re waiting for the ME on ours. Gonna be accidental. Guy weighs in easy four-fifty. Decides he’s going to sweat off the pounds and buys himself one of those hot boxes.”
“Hot boxes?”
“Some fad, Loo,” Jenkinson told her. “You buy this kit, put this box together with a temp control deal. Supposed to get a certified tech to do it, but this guy does it himself, puts on the suit that comes with it, goes in. Ends up baking himself, can’t get out. Kit’s got a fail-safe so it shuts off after like thirty minutes, but he didn’t bother with that. So baked.”
“Well, that sounds… ugly.”
“Sure as hell was,” Reineke confirmed. “I can meet you for one brew—I got time for one—after we clear this.”
“I got a family thing,” Jenkinson said. “Catch one next time.”
“How about it, Peabody, Dallas?”
Eve shook her head at Baxter. “We didn’t close ours. I’ve got work to do at home. Peabody, go home or go catch a brew.”
“The Blue Line?” she asked. “I’ll see if McNab’s up for it, meet you if he is. Shauna’s still at Decker’s, Dallas, and everyone’s got work tomorrow. She should be alone by nine-thirty.”
“Then we’ll go by after nine-thirty.”
“I got a couple more statements.”
“I’ll read them at home. Take off. Good work,” she added to the rest of the squad, and headed out.
She could see the steps toward closing out the case. But until that first step, the rest continued as speculation.
Right now, she wanted home. Some quiet. Some mind-clearing time.
A stupid murder, she thought, and found that single point infuriated her. Selfish, ugly, cruel, but she expected those elements in any murder. The stupidity of the motivation stuck in her craw.
And not over a high school girlfriend, she thought as she pushed through traffic. Not that, not really. It was more, and it was deeper than that. It came down to the need to direct others’ choices, to open or block the life path of people connected to him.
An ordinary man, really, an average sort of guy with an average sort of background, income, lifestyle. Nothing particularly dark, nothing especially brilliant.
But in his way, he’d decided he was qualified to play God. He decided what suited, what didn’t.
And in Erin Albright’s case, who lived, who died.
