Thankless in Death

by J. D. Robb

  She held her badge for a scan. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’re here to talk to Joe Klein.”

  ID verified. Mr. Klein has not cleared you for entry.

  Authorization is required.

  Eve rolled her shoulders, smiled fiercely. A workout, a swim, a new angle—and now busting electronic chops.

  Not a bad start to the morning.

  “Listen, you worthless piece of e-crap,” she began.

  18

  AFTER HER SATISFYING SMACKDOWN OF AN electronic moron, Eve rode the elevator up to seven with Peabody.

  “Nicer, tighter building than, say, his friend Mal’s,” she observed. “He sells insurance, right?”

  “Uncle’s firm,” Peabody confirmed. “Insurance Sales Producer. It’s a midsized operation, pretty solid. From my scan of his financials, he’s good at it. And he likes to spend those bonuses and commissions. Nest egg isn’t a term he considers.”

  “Where do terms like that come from? If you leave an egg in a nest it either hatches or it doesn’t. If it hatches, it flies or crawls away, right? If it doesn’t you’ve got some stupid egg, and what good is that?”

  “Um …”

  “Exactly.” Eve strode off the elevator, aimed for 707.

  Interesting, she noted, that Joe had installed a palm plate and a cam—not standard as the other apartments on the floor didn’t have them.

  Which either made him more security conscious than his neighbors, or more into status. Maybe both.

  She pressed the buzzer, unsurprised with the electronic greeting. Status primarily, she decided, and overkill in a building like this one.

  Mr. Klein is currently on Do Not Disturb. You’re welcome to leave your name and a message.

  “It’s Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” She held up her badge for the routine scan. “And my message is you’re going to disturb him. We’re here on police business. And don’t even think about giving me the runaround, or I will assume that Mr. Klein is either harboring a murder suspect or being held by same against his will. That assumption will lead me to circumvent the security of this apartment and enter.”

  One moment.

  “Good one,” Peabody commended. “Though technically we’d need probable cause rather than assumptions.”

  “I don’t get technical with technology.”

  Mr. Klein will be with you directly, Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.

  “Fine.”

  Directly took a couple minutes. Eve saw the reason for the short delay when Asshole Joe opened the door. They’d obviously disturbed his beauty sleep.

  His eyes, an eerie and likely enhanced green—still looked slumberous, and there was a slight sleep crease denting his right cheek. He wore loose black pants and a biceps-baring tee. His feet were bare.

  “Hey, Detective.” He shot a wide, salesman’s smile at Peabody. “Sorry for the wait. I had a late night.”

  He shifted his gaze, gave Eve what she assumed he thought was a flattering sure-I’d-do-you study.

  “My partner, Lieutenant Dallas. We’d like to come in and talk with you.”

  “Sure, but right now?” Smile still in place, he lifted his hands, his shoulders. “It’s not a good time. I’ve got … company, if you know what I mean.” He actually winked.

  Eve just stared him down until he shrugged.

  “I guess it’s fine. She’s out for the count. Like I said, long night.”

  He stepped back into an obsessively trendy living area that screamed Single Guy Looking For Action!

  Lots of glass, metal, black fake leather, enormous entertainment screen with an open-front cabinet below loaded with discs. A small bar, black and silver, outfitted with various glassware ruled a corner. Photos and pencil sketches of nude females decorated the walls.

  Scattered over the floor were a pair of high, hot pink heels, a black skirt the width of a place mat, and what looked to be an animal-print thong.

  “Wasn’t expecting company.” With an easy laugh, he scooped up the female debris, tossed it all on a chair. “So, I need coffee. You want?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I gotta jump-start the brain cells.” After tapping his temple, he walked behind the bar.

  Eve heard the faint beep, deduced he had a mini-AutoChef built into it.

  “So what can I do for you ladies?”

  Eve swallowed the “ladies.” He just wasn’t worth it. “You’re aware by now that Jerry Reinhold has killed four people.”

  Joe’s eyebrows drew together in a frown as he shook his head. “I’m no lawyer, but I think you need some serious proof to make that stick.”

  “His fingerprints and DNA all over the murder weapons and the crime scenes are a pretty good start. Seeing him on the security discs of the banks where he transferred his parents’ funds pick up on that. And having him identified by several eyewitnesses selling valuables from his parents’ apartment kick in, too.”

  “Okay, I know it looks bad.” He took a sip of coffee from an oversized black-and-white-striped cup. “God, that’s good! Are you sure you don’t want a hit?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay. The thing is,” he continued as he skirted the bar, gestured to the long, low sofa, “I’ve known Jerry for years.” He took a seat in the chair without women’s clothing, slid down, kicked out his legs. A man at his ease. “It’s really hard to process he might have tripped out and killed somebody.”

  “His parents, his ex-girlfriend, and his former Computer Science teacher would disagree with you, if they weren’t dead.”

  “Harsh.” He drank more coffee, crossed his ankles. “I’m just holding out that there’s been a mistake.”

  “Have you had contact with Jerry since last Thursday night?”

  He shifted in his chair. “No. And—full disclosure—I did try to tag him, just to hear his side of things, you know? Maybe he’s just freaked—who wouldn’t be—and keeping it real down-low.”

  “Are you just that stupid?” Eve wondered.

  “Come on, no call for that.” Irritation flicked briefly over his face. Here then gone. “Maybe somebody framed him. Maybe tried to kill him, too, so he’s hiding out. He could be dead himself. Or, okay, maybe he went totally whack and did all this. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “He’s working his way down a list, Joe. You could be next.”

  He laughed, shooting his legs out again, tossing his head back. “Please. NPW—no possible way. Lady—”

  “Lieutenant,” Eve corrected with a whiplash in her voice. “The homicide lieutenant who waded through Jerry Reinhold’s parents’ blood two days ago, who stood over the body of Lori Nuccio that same night, and over the tortured body of Edie Farnsworth the day after.”

  “Well, sure, I’m really sorry about all that, but—”

  “There’s nothing to laugh at here. He beat, stabbed, bludgeoned, strangled, smothered human beings. You should start wondering what he’s got in store for you.”

  The smile had vanished, but he waved a casually dismissive hand. “He’s got no reason to hurt me. We’re bros.”

  “You won in Vegas; he lost. And you rubbed his face in it. That’s more than enough for him.”

  “Hell, Jerry’s not like that, he knows I was just yanking. Plus I bought everybody a round of drinks.”

  “Joe.” Peabody tried a voice of reason. “Why don’t you let us put you under protection, just for a few days.”

  “No can do. How am I supposed to score with cops looking over my shoulder? It’s one thing for Mal and Dave to weenie out on it, they don’t see the kind of action I do. And hell.” He made a dismissive pfft sound. “I can handle Jerry. Been doing it for years.”

  “Not this Jerry,” Eve said, but saw they hadn’t made a dent.

  Joe just waved a hand again. “Listen, I’m going to tap my latest, then we’re going to have some breakfast. I’m putting in a couple hours’ work later, then I’ve got another frosty lady to entertain tonight, and that’s before I put in s
ome time at the old homestead tomorrow for T-Day. Schedule’s tight, and I’m covered. But hey, if I hear from Jerry, I’ll let you know.”

  Done, Eve pushed to her feet. “Your choice. Does he now or has he ever had the code and keys for this apartment?”

  “No way. Nobody but me has them. I like my privacy.”

  “Watch your back today, Joe. That comes from the person who’ll be standing over your corpse if you don’t.”

  Eve caught his smirk just as she turned to walk out, and just kept going.

  “Do you think he’ll contact us if he hears from Reinhold?” Peabody wondered.

  “Fifty-fifty. I’d say it depends on his mood at the time. He really is Asshole Joe.”

  “Yeah.” As they rode down in the elevator, Peabody considered. “Reinhold wouldn’t be able to access the apartment unless Joe lets him in. Even getting into the building’s a little tougher than what he’s done before. He could do that, but the apartment’s secure. If Joe goes into work, he’ll be in an office, with other people, then he’ll be with some woman stupid enough to give him the time of day. He’s about as safe as we can make him without forcing protection on him.”

  “I’ve stretched it to put officers on people who want it. I can’t stretch it for someone who doesn’t.”

  She stepped outside, took a breath of cool, damp air. No rain yet, damn it.

  “We’re going into Central. You work the angles I gave you. I’m working the map and real estate. He’d want better than this.” She turned to study Joe’s building. “If for no more reason than his bro can afford this. He’s got that shitpile of money now, and he’s looking for the shine.”

  “He’d need to snag a shiny place, and furnish it,” Peabody pointed out.

  “Yeah.” Eve mulled it over as they walked back to the car. “High-end there, too. He’d go for the trend, like Asshole Joe. Nothing classic, nothing antique. Shine, shine. We’ll check that out. He’d need a few key pieces fast. Swank hotel suite’s still possible, so we keep hitting that. But the fucker’s nearby.”

  When Eve walked into the bullpen, she saw the tie gag hadn’t gotten old. Now Detective Carmichael wore one. She’d gone for a herd of purple, prancing horses over a field of virulent green.

  Everyone, including uniforms, who sat at desks, in cubes, or milled around, wore sunshades.

  Peabody pulled her own rainbow lenses out of a pocket, jabbed them on as she went to her desk. She shot Eve a toothy smile, then got down to work.

  No harm in letting it play out, Eve decided, then headed to her office.

  She hit the AutoChef for coffee, then brought up the map she’d generated. Somewhere inside the area she’d triangulated, or no more than … a six-block perimeter, she decided, outside. That would be her starting point.

  She adjusted the map, highlighted her target area.

  “Computer, search and list all luxury hotels, all luxury apartment buildings, condos, or rental homes within highlighted area.”

  Acknowledged. Working …

  “Secondary task. Search and list all high-end furniture stores, specialize in contemporary, trendy. Just the borough of Manhattan for now.”

  She paced as the computer acknowledged.

  “Next task. Search and list any and all gourmet markets that deliver within highlighted area.”

  He had the droid, she thought, and he could send it out to shop, but it was worth a shot.

  Initial task complete. Results on screen …

  Eve looked at the list, dragged her hands through her hair at the number to wade through.

  “Okay, there has to be a way to refine that.”

  She’d spread herself thin with assigning men to protective details. And it would take a squad of cops hours if not days to check with every single location.

  His own place, she thought. Privacy, status, less chance of being nailed by security or a nosy desk clerk, even with the change in looks.

  “Computer, save hotel list, but separate.”

  She’d scrape up a uniform, put him on a ’link, have him contact the hotels—again. But her gut said he’d rent his own space now.

  Secondary task complete. Result on screen, split with residential locations …

  Eve scowled at the list. “I said Manhattan only.”

  Affirmative. Results listed are for Manhattan only …

  “Shit.” This time she pulled at her hair.

  Some results are specialty outlets, the computer continued. Some deal only or primarily with one type of item. Lamps, tables, chairs—

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Would he do that?” she wondered. “Would a guy take that kind of time, going to a lamp store, a table store? I don’t think so, but …”

  She stepped out into the bullpen briefly. “Baxter! My office.”

  She circled back, paced. Foot hurts. Probably wouldn’t walk around the city. Use websites, the ’link. Order that way, pay electronically. If he—

  “Yeah, boss?” Baxter flipped off his shades, hooked them in his breast pocket.

  “You’ve got pretty swank digs, right?”

  His grin spread. “I do what I can.”

  “I’ve seen your ride. Shiny penis metaphor.”

  “Hey.”

  “It is what it is.” Eyeing him, she eased down a hip on her desk. “You got the slick wardrobe, the slick ride, so you’ve got slick digs and sexy furnishings, right?”

  “I like looking good, living good. What’s the deal, LT?”

  “Reinhold. I figure he’s got to be getting or already has a place of his own. Something swank, and I’m working on it. But when you get a swank space, you need to furnish it. He’d go for trendy, high-end. He’d like paying a premium. It’ll make him feel superior. My list here has all these specialty shops.”

  Taking a look at the screen himself, Baxter nodded. “Yeah, City Lights—I got my bedroom lamps there. And … Urban Spaces. I got my couch, a couple of chairs, and a floor cabinet there.”

  So shit, guys did spend all that time and effort. “How long did it take you to furnish your digs?”

  “Who says I’m done?” He smiled again. “To get it where I want it—for now anyway—six, seven months.”

  Thinking back, she remembered furnishing her apartment in about a day and a half. “He’s not that patient.” Or, she calculated, as fussy or discerning as Baxter. “He wants it now. All of it.”

  “Then he needs to go to more full-service, at least for the bulk.”

  “He’s got a bum foot, so I figure he’s going to check out his options online.”

  “Well, that opens the world, but if he really wants it now, he’d stick local.” Baxter scanned the screen again. “He’d look for a place with same-day delivery maybe, or delivery within twenty-four. Like that.”

  “I’m thinking yeah. Okay, cut out the specialty shops, for now, go full-service, stick local, quick delivery. Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” He slipped his shades back on, strolled out.

  She started making contacts herself, switching from full-service furnishings—a much smaller list—to gourmet markets when the computer spat that out. Then back again.

  She juggled in conversations with building security and/or management. And had batted zero when Peabody poked in.

  “I hit on the pizza.”

  Her gradually-going-pissy mood jumped high. “Jesus, for a pie? Where is he?”

  “Not that big a hit. But Vinnie’s sold a droid—matching the description of ours—the pie last night. It’s a different guy on the counter now, but the manager checked the discs for me.”

  “I want a copy.”

  “Already sent and copied.” Peabody handed it over.

  “Did he call in the order?”

  “No, the droid came in and ordered.”

  “What time did the droid get the pizza?”

  “Time stamp’s twenty-three-twenty-one on the order.”

  “Nighttime hungries,” Eve mused. “Check on cabs—dropoffs, pickups at the pizzeria.”


  “Already got that in.”

  Eve ordered the pizzeria onto the map.

  “I’m betting no cab, but if I’m wrong, we got really lucky.” Frowning at the map, she picked up the closest subway stations. “Mass transit’s possible, but still probably not. Not that he’d have a problem sending the droid on a mile hike to get a pizza, but I’m going with reasonable walking distance. You want pizza after eleven at night, you don’t want to wait a damn hour or more.

  “Routines,” she thought aloud again. “Habits, favorites. He’s got a place close by what he knows. No other way.” It justified the time she’d spent on the damn map, and real estate, furniture.

  “Okay, I’m going to generate another map, using the pizza joint as the bull’s-eye. Try a ten-block perimeter around it. It’s going to cut the options down more. And I want pictures of the morph, and of the stolen droid at every shop in this sector, every diner, market, restaurant, glide-cart, street vendor. I want them in the hands of every beat cop, street LC, sidewalk sleeper, and illegals dealer.”

  “That’ll be a trick.”

  “I’ll squeeze a couple thousand out of the budget for a reward—information leading to capture. And yeah, look pained because we’re going to get a few million bogus sightings, but Reinhold’s here, and even saying he’s got the plushest of plush new digs, he’s going to want to get out and about. He has to live, right, and he’s damn well going to go after his next target sooner rather than later. Local clinics, too, in case he hits one for more pain meds. Get it done.”

  “Getting it done.”

  Eve turned back to the screen. “Okay, you bastard, let’s figure this out.”

  An hour into it, she got up for more coffee. As she lifted the mug, she glanced toward her skinny window.

  It was pouring outside.

  “All right!” She pumped a fist in the air. “Let’s go rain!”

  She executed a quick, happy boogie, did a spin, and spotted Roarke in her doorway.