Page 49 of Passions in Death
“Shit, when did he pick it up?”
“He’s the backup—she told Donna she had backup, so he already knew about the case, the whole deal. Erin would have told him Donna had to be in Baltimore. Wouldn’t surprise me if she dropped off the case to him herself. Or told him where to find a spare swipe. Then Donna heads out of town, Erin tags him. Plan B. It’s his opening.”
“If Donna’s sister hadn’t gone into labor—”
“She did. Fact. We stick with that, for now. Here’s the building. Time.”
“Twelve minutes, forty seconds, including the flower stop.”
“If he’d rushed, he’d have cut that time. I don’t think he’d need to.”
She stood, studying the building. “What floor are they on?”
“Second.”
“One of those post-Urban toss ups—no cams, crap security, soundproofing’s going to be crap, too. If he’s smart, he makes some noise going in, maybe gets someone to notice. Gets in the apartment, takes care of the flowers, changes out of his work clothes. Checks what’s on-screen. Turns it on. Not too loud, just loud enough. Get the case, the weapon, gloves, the swipe for the privacy room. If she’d let him in the back, she’d just take the case and go. So he’s in the room. He’d dump the swipes to the studio—if he had them—in her purse after she’s dead.”
“You really like him for it.”
“I’m just running it through. You want to be quiet leaving, you want to be sure you’re not seen now. Gotta take your time—it’s too early anyway. And you’ve gotta get your guts up. Yeah, you’d have to get your guts up.”
Eve shook her head. “It’s a hell of a lot over a high school deal. And that’s what, nearly ten years back?”
“My buzz is dead on it.”
“We’ll finish it out. Time.” Eve started to walk again. “On the street, you’re just some guy carrying a case, and it’s raining—more cover. Or just finished raining, depending. But it’s damp, steamy. You’re sweating. Could change your mind, just deliver the case. What’s driving you, after ten fucking years?”
“Okay, so maybe the fire went out, after high school. Good times, fond memories, and all that. Reconnect, and maybe the spark with Becca was real, but as you go, that fire starts up again.”
“How long have they been together, him and Becca?”
Peabody pulled out her notes. “Official cohabbing two years, three months.”
“Long time to fake it.” She shook her head. “But play it out. What killed the spark and started the fire? Shit, it’s stupid.” But she kept walking as the neighborhood got seedier. “No logic to it. Nearly there though, so we go around the block and into the back.”
Once they had, Eve said, “Time.”
“Sixteen minutes, twelve seconds.”
“Have to give him opportunity. Definitely had opportunity, but motive is stupid weak, means is questionable.”
Still, she broke the crime scene seal and mastered in.
Play it through.
“I’m going to say, coming in this way, getting into the privacy room quick and unseen, he’s likely been here before. Scoped it out. He’s already got the swipe.”
With a nod of agreement, Eve shut her eyes. “Backtrack a minute. She’s got a morning cleaning job, and she swings in here after that, before she heads home, or to the studio or wherever. Crack gives her the swipe—around noon, he said. She meets her backup, passes it off because Donna’s in Baltimore and might not make it. Gives backup the swipe to the studio. And here comes opportunity.”
“Why didn’t she just bring the case herself, get the swipe, stow it?”
“She didn’t or Crack would’ve noticed it, so… Had to be a time factor—time factor passing off the swipe to her backup.”
Noontime, she thought. Lunch hour?
“We’ll check on the timing, cleaning job, location. But this is how it went down. The backup, and let’s keep Barney in the lead for now, comes in the back, goes straight to the privacy room.”
In the silent club still smelling faintly of sweepers’ dust, Eve started toward it. “Somebody sees him? Recognizes him? He can just scratch the kill, play up the secret. But nobody does.”
