Page 54 of Passions in Death
“I bought it,” Peabody said. “All of it.”
“I’m not going to pay for it, but no, she just doesn’t fit. She knew the victim for what, six, seven years. Tried on the sex, didn’t click, stayed friends. Let’s check out the sing-at-the-wedding deal, but that plays, and it weighs on the no side of things.
“Maybe she could’ve snuck the case in, maybe she’s strong enough. The height’s off, but heels would compensate. She’d still have to get back in the room, wait or follow the target in—and the crime scene reads already inside to me. Then do the kill, take the ’link, the jewelry, stow that where nobody notices.”
“You’re more looking at the exes, at least the ones we have.”
“I’m more looking at somebody who came from outside. I want to go over McNab’s interviews with the people there who weren’t with the group. Whoever did this likely walked out that back door, but maybe someone left a table, didn’t come back.”
“I can go over that with him. Listen, Dallas, we’re eliminating suspects from the group that was there. That’s going to narrow it down. Unless it was some conspiracy and two or three of them planned this out together.”
“No, two people can rarely keep a secret. Three? Forget it. And add murder? Not this one. Solo kill, solo planner, most probable. Known and trusted, and those are key factors. I’m going to write this up. You work with McNab, or if he’s busy, take his interviews and do ’link follow-ups. Just take another pass.”
She saw Jenkinson back at his desk, and the way he scowled at his desk screen concluded the lead hadn’t panned out.
“You can clock out after you’re done, Peabody. I’m going to head back to the D&D, talk to Crack, since he’s too stubborn to hire a crime scene crew. His place, he deals with it. Then I’ll track down ChiChi Lopez.”
“Go now. I’ll write it up. I had the lead,” Peabody reminded her.
“Right, you did.” She stuck a hand in her pocket. “Where’d I put the damn sunshades?”
“They’re in your car.”
“They’re in the car. I want to take the gallery owner tomorrow morning. Glenda Frost. She’s not a suspect, but she may know something.”
“I can set that up.”
“Do that, let me know. I’m in the field.”
Since the elevator that opened as she passed disgorged cops, then stood empty, she chanced it and nipped inside.
She had a few floors of thinking time where she decided, on the Eve Dallas probability scale, it hit ninety-eight percent the killer brought the case in the back door and straight into the privacy room.
She’d go with a solid seventy-six the killer came from outside the group until she added the trust factor. There’d been a couple dozen people, give or take, the victim would’ve trusted in that group.
So lower that to sixty-five.
When the elevator began to stop and fill, stop and go, she pushed off for the glides and took her calculations with her.
She went back to ninety-eight percent the killer was already in the room when Erin Albright came in.
Back turned, head bashed against the door.
But that didn’t change the in-or-out-of-the-group calculation.
The timing worked for Greg Barney—as did the lack of solid alibi.
Same with Jon Rierdon.
And they might find more.
Rierdon fell out with the trust factor. Why would Erin trust him? Unknown factor, but her gut took him well down on her list.
As for Barney? Why bring him into it when you had that group, that tribe?
Not bumping him down yet, she thought as she reached the garage level.
He and Becca, planning it together? Some resentments simmering all the way back to high school?
