Thankless in Death (5 page)

“That’s how you see it,” Eve murmured. “You don’t have to look at them anymore, listen to them anymore. You’re a free man now.”

She pushed to her feet. “But not for long.”

As she grabbed her coat, Peabody came to the door.

“We’ve already got a hit on the two watches and the pearls. Upscale shop in the East Village.”

“Let’s check it out, and Reinhold’s last place of employment. Just the watches and the pearls?” she added as they started out.

“That’s all he brought in.”

“Spreading it out. Doesn’t want people asking too many questions, and makes sure he takes them out of his own neighborhood.”

“The owner called it in as soon as he saw the alert. He told me Reinhold came in about eleven with the watches and the pearl necklace.”

“About two hours after the banks. Lining his nest egg.”

In the garage, she got behind the wheel as Peabody keyed the shop address into navigation.

“I’d have wired the money to New Jersey,” Peabody commented. “Better, Pittsburgh.”

“Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah, maybe Pittsburgh. Then I’d have packed it up on Saturday, walked uptown, caught a bus maybe, transferred, taken another into
New Jersey, found a nice quiet hotel. Caught my breath. Sunday, I’d make my way south—after I cut and dyed my hair, picked up an over-the-counter temp eye-color change one place, temp tats another place.”

“You have to show ID for the money. Change your look, it’s sending up a flag.”

“Right. Okay, I wait on that one. I get the stuff, but I wait on it. Maybe I hunt up a shop like we’re going to in Jersey, liquidate a few items. By Monday morning, I’m picking up the money, then I use a walk-in flop, pay cash, change my looks, and I’m going to liquidate the rest in Pittsburgh.”

“You should wait to change your looks then or we’ll have your new one when we track the goods.”

“Damn. Right again. I use the flop
after
I liquidate, and I use some of the money to buy new ID.”

It amused Eve—and she thought helped train Peabody—for her to poke holes in the master escape plan. “And how is some lazy bastard schmuck from the Lower West Side going to know where to get fake ID in Pittsburgh?”

“Okay, he gets it before he leaves New York.”

“Question holds.”

“He’s got to know somebody who knows somebody. He probably bought fake ID before he hit legal drinking age so he could get into the clubs or buy a brew. Who doesn’t?” Peabody slid her glance to the left. “You never?”

“No.” She hadn’t cared about clubs, Eve remembered.

“Trust me, most kids do. So I’d use that as a springboard, shell out some of the money for new ID.”

“Except, back in New York you don’t have the new look.”

“Shit!” Cornered again, Peabody rapped a fist on her thigh. “Let me think. How would you play it?”

“I’d spend some of the time I’m in the apartment with my dead parents researching how to make my own fake ID. I find a dead guy, get the supplies I need for docs that will satisfy the bored clerk at the ID center. And I liquidate everything on Saturday, well before anybody’s issued any alerts. When I leave, I have one easy-to-carry suitcase, backpack, overnight—travel light, travel fast. I don’t need or want all my stuff anyway. I’d pack just enough to get me through a couple days. I wire the money to an offshore account, one that doesn’t report transactions. It’s not that much money; nobody’s going to blink. That gives me all day Sunday to travel. I leave looking like myself, hit a flop—that part works, change my looks to match the ID I’m going to make. Take my own picture to go with the docs I’ve faked. Then I’m going to add some embellishments so I don’t look so much like the guy I’m going to become. Layer my clothes to bulk myself up. Take some of the hair I cut—and saved and dyed—and make myself a little goatee maybe, add an earring, a couple temp tats, maybe washable bronzer. Then I take a bus, a train, juggling transpo, but not to Pittsburgh, to someplace like Milwaukee.”

“Milwaukee? What’s so good about Milwaukee?”

“It just came to me, but it’s away—Midwest. That’s where I scout out the ID centers until I find one that feels right. I change my looks back, go in with my story about losing my ID while I was on a scuba trip in Cozumel.”

Peabody gaped at her. “Seriously?”

“It sounds stupid, and weird, and that’s why they’ll buy it if you play it right. Then I walk out with my new ID, take a shuttle to the Caymans or wherever I’ve wired the money, scoop that up, then I’d
check into a nice hotel, head to the beach, and have one of those drinks with an umbrella in it.”

“You’re good at this.”

Eve shook her head as she hunted for parking. “Not good enough. It’s not enough money to make it all work, or be worth it. And it’s still leaving a trail if the cops keep sniffing.”

She spotted a second-level spot and another vehicle on the hunt. Ruthlessly, she hit vertical, tipped, veered, and shoehorned her way in.

“We’d follow the money,” she continued when she hopped out. “And we’d find it. He’d have been better off to settle for the cash around the apartment, and whatever he could carry and sell. Then run like hell, change his ID, his looks, his name, maybe settle in Milwaukee and get a nice, nondescript job. But most people are too greedy, too impatient. They want it all, and they want it now.”

At street level she walked the half a block to Ursa’s Fine Jewelry, which hyped their expertise in sales, repair, and acquisition.

She stepped inside to the scent of flowers, the murmur of voices, and the sparkle.

Peabody said, “Ooooh.”

“Stomp that down,” Eve warned.

“The guy with the flowy silver hair and cruise ship tan’s Ursa.”

Spotting him sliding some sparkles on a velvet tray back into a display case, Eve crossed to him. “Mr. Ursa.” She palmed her badge, watched him nod as he sighed. “Lieutenant Dallas, and Detective Peabody. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

“He looked like such a nice young man.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He said he’d recently lost his parents in an accident. He choked
up for a moment, so I didn’t press there. And he said he couldn’t bear to keep the watches or the pearls. He’d tried to wear his father’s watch, he said, but it was too upsetting.”

“I bet.”

“I did suggest he might want to wait a little while longer, perhaps put them in a safety deposit box. That he might regret selling them at some point. But he said no, he was leaving New York, and felt he should try for a fresh start. They’re all lovely pieces, the vintage woman’s watch particularly. If you’ll wait a moment, I put them back in our vault after my daughter noticed the alert on our screen. We’ve never had this happen before. It’s very upsetting.”

“I understand.”

“Excuse me.”

He walked away and through a door. As he did a woman stepped over. She had his dark blue eyes, his nose. “I’m Naomi Ursa. My father’s very upset. I saw the media bulletin about the two people—the husband and wife—killed in their apartment on the West Side. I haven’t mentioned it to my father. But those watches, those lovely antique pearls … they belonged to those poor people, didn’t they?”

“I can’t verify that. It would help if we could see your security footage.”

“Yes, Pop already had a copy made for you, but if you’d like to come around the counter, you can see it on our screen right here.”

Eve started around, then had to elbow Peabody, who stood mooning over a necklace that looked like a chain of little pink tears.

“I cued it up when you came in,” Naomi told her, and called for play.

Eve watched Reinhold come in. No suitcases, she noted, so he’d
found somewhere to stash them, somewhere to hole up. He had what she supposed he thought of as a sad face on, and arrowed straight for the older man.

Interesting, she thought. He’d gone to the father type, the authority type, not the younger female.

She watched the conversation, Ursa’s sympathy. He lay a velvet pad on the counter for the watches, a second for the pearl necklace.

Not nervous, Eve thought, her focus on Reinhold rather than Ursa as the man got out his jeweler’s loop, some sort of measuring tool, and began to examine the pieces.

Impatient, she thought again. Excited.

Ursa spoke again, and Reinhold shook his head, looked down, looked away, pressed his lips together. Into the role he’d created for himself.

Ursa laid a hand over Reinhold’s, and the sincere sympathy showed, even on screen. Ursa slid the velvet to the side, gestured his daughter over, whispered in her ear.

“He’s telling me to put them away, so he doesn’t have to see them,” Naomi said. “And he offered the man a little more than he should have, but we both felt so sorry for him. And on a practical level, the antique woman’s watch would have made up for it.”

Ursa stepped out. “I put them in boxes.” He set them on the table behind the counter, opened all three boxes. “They’re very nice pieces. The man’s watch, of course, isn’t vintage, but a very good watch, and well cared for. The woman’s is quite an exceptional piece, and in excellent condition. The pearls are lovely, and well-kept. I have the paperwork for you as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ursa. My partner’s going to give you everything you need for your insurance on this, and in addition a receipt for
all three pieces. You can contact me anytime.” She drew out a card. “And please, if Mr. Reinhold comes back, don’t confront him. Find a reason to step into the back and contact me.”

“You think he’ll come back?” Naomi pressed a hand to her throat.

“No, I don’t. But I want you to understand, should you see him or hear from him again, he’s a dangerous man, and you need to contact the police. Peabody, make sure Ms. Ursa has everything she needs from us.”

“Ms. Ursa, why don’t we just step over here?”

When she had a little room, Eve spoke quietly. “You were kind to him. Don’t let that, or him, make you feel stupid.”

The faintest smile moved Ursa’s mouth. “It shows?”

“I bet you have a website, and it plays on being in business for a couple generations, how it’s family run, gives personal, individual service, and how you specialize in estate jewelry.”

“You’d win the bet. We’re three generations. It’s my mother’s and father’s day off. My son and his wife.” He gestured to the other end of the store where a man and a woman waited on customers.

“It’s one of the reasons he picked you,” Eve told him. “You’re solid, you’re respected, you’re fair. He’d have researched you, just like he researched the general value of the watches, and the necklace. And because as a family business you’d tend to be sympathetic toward someone who told you the story he told you.”

“His father’s name is engraved on the watch. I asked for his identification.”

“You had no reason to doubt his story, and I’m laying odds you aren’t the only one he’s told it to today.”

Outside, Eve headed for the second-level spot. “Secure those until we get back.”

“Bet your ass. He walked out of there with forty-five thousand. I don’t know what he’ll pull in for the other stuff, because it looks like the antique watch was the big-ticket item, but he’s feathering his nest, and fast.”

“So we’ll find his nest.”

Eve pulled open her car door, stood for a moment scanning the street below. Riding high, she thought, on a big pile of money stained with his parents’ blood.

FITZ RAVINSKI PLATED A SLICE OF APPLE PIE
à la mode with a paper-thin square of bright yellow cheese. The mode part consisted of a rounded scoop of non-dairy product the color of an atomic kiwi.

“Minty Fresh tofu yogurt,” he said with a shake of his head. “Who the hell puts that on a nice piece of pie?”

“Not me,” Eve assured him.

“Takes all.” He slid the pie and a minicup of black-as-the-soul-of-midnight coffee into a delivery slot, danced his fingers over the keypad, and sent it on its way.

“We’re past the lunch rush, but we’ve had people come in for the pie and the tarts all afternoon.”

“So I see.” Eve glanced out, beyond the counter to the dining area. It probably sat ninety, in New York sardine mode, during the rush. Right now, it held a solid twenty, including the man busy on his
handheld and ear unit taking his first bite of pie with Mint Fresh tofu yogurt.

Even the thought made her stomach turn a little.

“If you could give us five minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sal, take over here.” Fitz wiped his hands on the front of a white bib apron that had seen a number of wipes already that day. He snagged a big, black drink bottle and with a head jerk gestured Eve and Peabody after him to an empty table. “You oughta try some pie, on the house. Cops don’t pay on my shift. Got two cousins on the job.”

“Here in New York?”

“Up the Bronx, both of them. Pie’s good. My ma and my sisters make ’em.”

“So you’re a family business.”

“Eighteen years, this location.” He stubbed a wide finger on the table. “We do okay.”

“I appreciate the offer, but we’re not going to take up much of your time.” Eve all but heard Peabody’s happy pie stomach whine. “We’d like to ask you about Jerald Reinhold.”

“Fired him a couple months back. Got in late, left early, missed deliveries. Deliveries are a good third of our business. He wasn’t dependable, and basically couldn’t give a half shit about doing the job.”

Ravinski leaned forward, stabbed the counter with his finger again. “He tries to file on me, I got records to back it up.”

“How’d he take getting the boot?” Eve asked.

“Told me to fuck myself, and shoved a banana cream pie off the counter on his way out. Moved out fast,” Ravinski added with a sharp smile. “Pansy-assed coward put the speed on when the pie hit the floor, in case I came at him.”

“Did you?” Eve wondered.

“Nah. Just a pie—damn good pie—but worth it to see him move his lazy ass. He’d put that much energy into the job, he’d still be working here. First time I ever saw him light up, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Did you have any specific complaints about him? From coworkers, customers.”

“You want a list?” On that sour note, Ravinski tipped back the drink bottle, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. “My sister Fran caught him tapping a joint out the back. Shoulda fired him for that, but I gave him another chance, figuring he’s young and stupid.”

“Were illegals a problem with him?”

“I don’t figure. I kept an eye on him after that, and never caught him at anything. Problem was lazy and shiftless. I got complaints from customers their food was damaged or cold when they got it, and the delivery server—which would be Jerry—was rude.”

“Have you seen him since you let him go?”

“Can’t say I have. Saw his girlfriend last week—ex, now, which proves she’s no dummy.”

“Lori Nuccio?”

“Yeah. Lori used to work for me about three years back. Good waitress, personable, fast on her feet. Worked here a couple years before she copped a job in a fancy place for better pay, better tips, and good for her. Anyhow, I hired the fuckhead because she asked me to give him a try. After I fired him, she came in to tell me she was sorry, like it was
her
fault? Lori’s a good girl. Looks happier, you ask me, since she kicked him out.”

“Did he hang with anyone in particular who works for you?”

“I’d say the opposite. He just didn’t get along here. Didn’t make
friends, didn’t especially make enemies. He just put in time—when it suited him. No more than that.”

“Okay. We appreciate the time.”

“Got me off my feet. Now, are you gonna give me a hint why you’re in here asking about Jerry?”

If the media hadn’t already lobbed the ball on the vics’ names and some of the circumstances, it soon would. “We want to talk to him about his parents’ murder.”

“The what?” Shock vibrant, Ravinski lowered the big black bottle. “His parents were murdered?
Both
of them. Sweet Jesus, when? How did …” He pulled himself in, let out a hard breath. “He killed them. You’re saying Jerry killed his own ma and pop?”

“We need to find him. We need to talk to him. I get the sense you don’t have any idea where he might be, where he might go?”

“He didn’t work here a full three months, and I can’t count the times he called in sick or with some bullshit excuse.” Ravinski scrubbed a hand over hair buzzed so straight and sharp Eve was surprised his palm didn’t go bloody from contact. “He had a couple of friends who came in a few times. Ah, damn it. Mal—one of them’s Mal. Seemed like a nice kid. The other was kind of a dick. I can’t remember his name.”

“We’ve already got that information. If you think of anything else, get in touch.”

“My ma said he’d hurt somebody.”

“Excuse me?”

“My ma. She likes to think she’s got some sensitive thing going.” He vibrated his hands in the air. “Her great-grandparents were Sicilian. Anyway, she said to me, ‘You mark my words, Fitz, that boy’s going to hurt somebody. He’s got the dark in him.’”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if she figured dark enough for this, but I can tell you once she finds out, there’ll be no living with her.”

Out on the street, Peabody gave Eve a pouty stare. “Some of us like pie.”

“Save it for Thanksgiving. We’ll make the rounds,” Eve decided. “Talk to former employers, coworkers. Maybe we’ll hit something.”

“He’s got to run. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“If he were going for sense, he’d’ve been running since Friday. We cover the ground. Then you go ahead and swing by the ex-girlfriend’s on the way home. I’m going to set up in my home office, look for another angle.”

“What about Mira?”

“I’ll arrange a consult for the morning. He’s gone under somewhere, and he’s feeling real flush, real fucking potent right now. So his hole’s probably flush, too. He’ll have himself a nice dinner tonight. He might even have pie.”

“Bastard.” Peabody gave one longing glance behind her—toward pie—as they hiked back to the car.

L
ong day, Peabody thought. And not as much to show for it as she’d figured when it started. Dallas had taught her never to think slam dunk on a case—not even when, as with this one, you knew who, you knew why, you knew how, you knew when, almost from the jump.

“He’s having a run of luck,” she complained.

EDD star Ian McNab gave her ass a light pat as they turned toward Lori Nuccio’s building. “Luck doesn’t last. Except ours, She-body.”

He made her grin. It was one of his high points, on her scale. That and his own sweet and bony ass, his smart green eyes, his busy brain, and his exceptional energy and creativity between the sheets.

“We have to take the stairs up,” she said.

“We do?”

“I can’t stop thinking about pie à la mode. Even thinking about it’s loading up my ass, and add the fact we’re going to stop at the market on the way home so I can buy what I need to make one, then—”

“You’re going to make us a pie?”

“My granny’s cherry-berry, if I can find what we need, and you split the cost.”

“Hey, if you bake that sucker, I’ll pay for the stuff.” He put on a little strut. “My best girl’s baking me a pie.”

With a smile on his narrow face, his long tail of blond hair bouncing, the garden of earrings on his left ear gleaming, he climbed the stairs beside her.

He reached over, dancing his fingers against hers. “I like it when we get off shift together.”

“Me, too. I’d like it better if we’d caught this jerk-off before end of shift.”

“You’ll get him. You can walk me through it when we get home, and we’ll put our heads together. And maybe some other body parts.”

She snorted out a laugh as they stopped on Lori’s floor.

“She’s over here.” Peabody walked to the door, knocked sharply.

“You said she had the day off, spent it with a girl pal? They’re probably making a day to night deal. Dinner, hit a club or two.”

“Yeah. I just wish—” Peabody turned as the door across the hall opened.

“Ms. Crabtree?”

“That’s right.”

Dutifully, Peabody held up her badge. “You spoke with my partner earlier today, Lieutenant Dallas. I’m Detective Peabody, with Detective McNab.”

“Lori’s not home yet. I’m starting to worry.”

“Is it unusual for her to be away this long?”

“No, but it’s pretty damn unusual for her ex-boyfriend to murder his parents. I heard the media report when I got home about an hour ago. I wasn’t out long, just ran a few errands, and I left a note on Lori’s door in case she came home while I was out. It was still there. I’m keeping an eye out now.”

“We appreciate that, and we’d appreciate it if Ms. Nuccio would contact us whenever she gets back.”

“Hell of a day for her to get a new ’link and number. But if I can’t get hold of her, neither can that son of a bitch. I guess I’d just feel better if I knew she was tucked in for the night. I’ll keep an eye out for her,” Crabtree repeated.

Peabody rolled her shoulders as they started back down. “Now she’s got me worried. We don’t know who she’s out with, so we can’t tag her friend and play relay.”

“We could probably find that out. Get names from her work, spread from there. Girls are pack animals, so we ID the pack members, play process of elimination. It’d take some time, but it’s doable.”

“Pack animals.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the ones who can’t even pee solo.”

“I’d smack you if that wasn’t true, and if it wasn’t a good idea. It’s probably overkill, but what the hell.”

“So we’ll start putting a list together and buy pie stuff. You do the pie, I’ll run down the list.”

She took his hand as they exited the building. “Then we’ll put our heads and other body parts together.”

“Solid plan.”

They missed Lori by twenty minutes.

S
he dragged herself home as the streetlamps flickered on. She’d planned to shimmy herself into the new dress she’d bought—along with Kasey—then hit the clubs. And just as they’d finished up a well-earned post-shopping/hair/nails eggplant pasta—splitting it to whittle down the calories and the cost—their friend Dru had tagged Kasey.

She didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. But Dru had been so adamant, and then she and Kasey had both brought up the report on their new ’links.

Jerry, the man she’d lived with, slept with, had loved at least for a little while, was wanted for questioning by the police. Was a
suspect
in the murder of his parents.

God, Jerry’s parents were dead. She’d liked them so much, and now they were just dead. She’d never known anyone who’d been murdered, much less spent time with anyone who had been the way she had with Jerry’s mom and dad.

She really believed, down to her heart, it was all a terrible mistake. Yes, Jerry could fly off—and that time he’d hit her had shown her a side of him she couldn’t love or live with. But a couple of slaps, as wrong as they’d been, weren’t
murder
.

She’d thought about tagging him, but Kasey put the kibosh on that majorly. And had even insisted, when she’d just wanted to go home, they spring for a cab. No walking, no subway. It had taken some serious
shoving to convince Kasey she didn’t need or want her to stay at her place.

She just wanted to go home, be alone, try to figure it out.

And she needed to cry some. Maybe a lot. For Mr. and Mrs. Reinhold, and for Jerry, too. For what she’d once imagined might be.

She shifted the shopping bags full of things she no longer wanted, keyed herself in. Because she wanted to get inside quickly, and she’d walked her
ass
off that day already, she took the elevator up. It clunked on her floor, creaked its way open.

And Ms. Crabtree pushed out of her own apartment before Lori reached her own.

“There you are! I was worried.”

“I … I did a lot of shopping.”

Ms. Crabtree narrowed her eyes. “You’ve heard. About that Jerry.”

“Just a little while ago. I think there must be a mistake, because—”

“Honey, the police were here. Twice. Looking for you.”

“Me? Why? Why?”

“Just to talk to you, about him. Why don’t you come on in here, and I’ll fix you some tea. No, hell with that. I’ll pour you a big glass of wine. I’ve got a nice bottle I’ve been saving since my birthday.”

“Thanks, but I just want to go home, and … I just want to go home and … be quiet, I guess.”

“All right. All right now.” Crabtree stroked a hand down Lori’s glossy, chestnut hair. “You look so pretty.”

“We … went to the salon.”

“I like your hair, the new color. New’s good. Here, this is the cop who came first. She wants you to contact her as soon as you can. I think you might feel better once you do.”

She’d never actually talked to any police—not officially—and it made her feel a little sick. “But I don’t know anything.”

“You never know what you know.” Ms. Crabtree tried a bolstering smile. “And this one struck me as smart. So you go ahead in and tag her up. If you change your mind about that wine and company, you just knock on the door. It doesn’t matter how late, okay?”

“Okay.” Lori looked at the card, read:
Lieutenant Eve Dallas
. “Oh, she’s the Icove cop. She’s Roarke’s cop.”

“
That
’s what it is.” Crabtree rapped her knuckles to her temple. “I knew I recognized something, but couldn’t bring it up. See, you never know what you know.”

“I guess you’re right. Thanks, Ms. Crabtree.”

“I’m right over here,” Crabtree reminded her, and stepping back into her own apartment, relaxed again.