Page 51 of Passions in Death
“Especially when you add the sexual component. The flitting, the banging, the one-offs. Before Albright, all of Hunnicut’s flitting and banging partners were male. As far as we know, all of Albright’s were female.”
“I get that, but does it apply?”
“Everything applies at this stage, Peabody. The killer could be male, female, gay, straight, bi. But this was personal. The method, cruel and cowardly, but the location, the timing—even counting for opportunity knocking—it’s deeply personal. Someone she knew and trusted, under a week before the wedding, when she’s surrounded by friends, when she’s planning to surprise the woman she loves by fulfilling a dream.
“It was fucking personal.”
“A friend, a former lover. Someone on the board.”
“Someone on the board,” Eve agreed. “Or someone nobody’s thought to mention yet. And I don’t give that much weight. Dive into Rierdon. I’ll take Barney.”
“On it. I’ll let you know when Rogan gets here.”
Eve sat, started that dive.
Gregory Barney, age twenty-seven, New York native, New York resident. Parents: Cynthia and Walter Barney, married twenty-nine years—thirty in another month. He had two sibs, both female, both younger at twenty-five and twenty-three.
From what she read, he’d had a solid if average middle-class upbringing. No particular religious affiliations, no criminal but a standard arrest and release at a college protest when he’d been nineteen.
He’d played football in middle school, then in high school, but hadn’t taken that with him to college. Solid grades but for some problems in advanced math classes.
She could relate.
He’d done four years at the University of Florida, switching his major after one semester from sociology to business management. He’d moved back to New York after graduation, lived with his parents for a few months while working in retail. Moved into Manhattan from Brooklyn. Got his own place, with a male roommate until he worked his way up to assistant manager, then took an apartment on his own.
He’d stuck, she noted, with On Trend, and that had worked out for him, as he’d gotten regular promotions and raises. For the past three years, he’d lived in his current apartment, and for some months over two, cohabbing with Becca DiNuzio.
No sign of gambling or wild purchases in his financials that she could see. He lived within his means—on the edge from time to time, but never over it.
He didn’t own a vehicle or any real property, traveled once or twice a year—beaches and resorts.
Eve sat back. Average, she thought. Ordinary. Not that the average and ordinary type didn’t kill. But trying to tie a murder to the average and ordinary over a high school romance just didn’t play out.
Until she added the new and trusted factors. Which, she admitted, applied to nearly everyone currently on her board.
Peabody came back. “Wanda Rogan’s here. I’ll take her down to the lounge. I’ll send you what I have on Jon Rierdon, but it’s not much of anything.”
“Yeah, I got the same on Barney.” She pushed away from her desk. “We’ll take her down, see if we get more than not much.”
When Wanda rose from the waiting bench outside the bullpen, Eve judged her at about the same height as Erin. More muscular with a gym-fit body in wide-legged white pants, a crisp red shirt.
She had chocolate-brown hair liberally streaked with blond worn in a long fall of waves around a heart-shaped face dominated by large brown eyes. Under them spread the shadows of a hard night.
“Ms. Rogan, thank you for coming in. I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Yes, I know.” Her voice brought on images of smoky rooms and saxophones. “I saw you last night. I don’t know what I can do to help, but I want to help. I loved Erin, and over the last year, I grew to like Shauna so much.”
“Understood. Why don’t we talk in our lounge?” Eve gestured, led the way.
“I haven’t contacted Shauna today. Didn’t know if I should. I know she went with Angie, and I assume Becca’s with her. I—I know Erin’s family, but didn’t want to intrude. I just don’t know the right thing to do.”
“I think offering comfort and support is always the right thing,” Peabody told her. “That’s what I felt from you and the others last night. An openness to offer comfort and support.”
“We all know Erin and Shauna, and each other. Some better than others, but we all have that link. I still can’t believe this happened, is happening.”
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Peabody chose a table. “Can we get you something to drink?”
“Don’t risk the coffee,” Eve told her. “You want something that comes in a tube.”
