Page 11 of Bonded in Death

“Appreciate it.”

“I assume, until tonight, you were unacquainted with Signore Rossi.”

“Don’t know the name, don’t know the face. Something might jog when I notify next of kin. Maybe I know his killer. He’s the one who made the card.”

“Well, we love a mystery, don’t we? I’ll see Rossi soon, and you when you come in.”

She pocketed the ’link, then walked back to go through the victim’s luggage.

She found nothing out of line. No weapons, no secret compartments. Just the clothes and toiletries of a man on a trip. Along with a photo of the victim with a woman she assumed had put the wedding ring on his finger.

Peabody came over. “Caller’s Trevor Stash, age twenty-two. He lives a couple blocks from here. I let him go, Dallas. He was a little high, or had been. Admitted it. Blubbered a little, never seen a dead body before, but he could tell dead when he did see it. Figured the guy had a heart attack or something, and maybe the limo driver went for help.”

“Did he touch anything?”

“He says not, and I’d believe that.”

“And he was here because?”

“Cut through here after partying with friends. He gave me a list of names, clubs. Then the name and address of the girl he left the last club with, got lucky with.

“Said he was feeling really good, and just tried to be a good person. Thought, at first, maybe the limo had some trouble, then he saw the body in the back. Also admitted he started to just take off, all shaken up, but wanted to do the right thing. And maybe there’d be a reward. Called it in, waited for the cops.

“Comes off true, Dallas.”

“Yeah, he’s not in it. Vic had jewelry, had cash, it’s still there.”

Night began to give way to day as she stood, shoved her hands in her pockets.

Who the hell was Giovanni Rossi, and why did he come to New York? What did he plan to do? Who did he plan to see?

More, why did his killer want her on the case?

Chapter Two

The morgue team pulled in, bagged and tagged the body.

In Morris’s hands soon, she thought, and then they’d have some answers.

She waited for the sweepers, had a conversation. Eve didn’t expect they’d find anything outside the limo itself, but they’d sweep and scan.

With Peabody, she got back in her car, then sat another minute, studying the scene, and the white-suited sweepers got to work.

“Not a lot of people who’d cut through here, at least not after dark. Still, a risk somebody sees the killer getting out of the car. Even in New York, people are going to notice a big-ass limo sitting here. If nothing else, they’re likely to do just what what’s-his-name did.”

“Trevor Stash.”

“Clearly you want the body found, want me called in on it. Don’t care about the limo—it’s done the job. Had to take some time with it first. Locked down the back seat. Windows are tinted, and that’s usual, sopeople can’t gawk at the passengers. Did he scream?” she wondered, and started the car.

“Could he scream? Seems likely enough with the evidence he beat on the glass hard enough to bleed.”

“Poisoned the wine, most probable,” Peabody put in. “But what if Rossi didn’t drink it?”

“Italian guy, after a flight from Rome, sitting in the back of a fancy limo? Odds are pretty good. Not absolute, but good. The killer knew him, or whoever hired the killer knew him. Banked on him sitting back, enjoying a glass of Italian red.”

The traffic had kicked up, but Eve didn’t mind it. Plenty of early birds on the sidewalks, walking dogs, heading to work, getting in a run or a trip to the gym.

“Not a lot of luggage, so maybe a quick trip. Enough for a few days. You can start checking hotels, see if he booked a room. Limo treatment, so hit the upscale ones, start with the East Side. I’ll do the notification. He’s got a wife—an almost-fifty-year deal—four adult kids, and eleven grandkids. Somebody ought to know where he planned to stay, what he came to do.”

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