Page 80 of Obsession in Death

A good spot for the message, she thought. A good, clean, wide space. And it would be here—you’d have done it here. Where he worked was more important to him than where he lived.

What would you have written this time? Eve wondered.

She turned to Peabody. “His exterior security cams are crap, and most of them don’t work, but we’ve got good interior cams in the retail space, and a couple on the office level. So let’s get those, see if there’s anything to see. I want uniforms canvassing again in the morning, with the sketches we have. Then you take a pass with both wits tomorrow. They’ll be calmer then, and a second interview with you might shake out another detail.”

Eve glanced around again. A couple of sweepers on what would be grunt duty, and no morgue team. All in all, it had to be considered a good night.

“Until then,” she said, “we’re done here.”

In the car, Eve went over her notes, highlighted some, circled some.

“It’s a woman,” she said.

Roarke glanced at her. “Matilda seemed fairly certain it was a man.”

“She was ten feet away. The first thing she really saw was Hastings, on the floor—that’s what impacted the most. She saw the person—the bulk, the brown, the box—and the big guy she’s sleeping with—big, wild-tempered guy out cold—or dead, for all she knew for sure. So she’d see male. It doesn’t occur that a woman’s going to break in, or get in and take down Hastings. Women, most, are more afraid of men than other women.”

“And you think a man would’ve gone after Matilda?”

“Not necessarily. Gender doesn’t determine cowardice, and this one’s a coward. But Hastings was close, in close—face-to-face—and he sees female. Not a lot of face showing, but he senses female. Her skin—he said she had really nice skin.”

Eve paused a moment, thoughtful as she studied Roarke. “You’ve got really nice skin, but... it doesn’t read female.”

“Thanks for that.”

“He could be wrong—he was raging, and a stun hit rattles the brain. But I’m inclined to go with his instincts. And there’s no sexual component here. Friends, partners, my backup, so to speak. No sexual edge to any of it. So a female, a straight female, makes sense.”

“Or a gay man with good skin.”

“Shit. Yeah, yeah, that’s a factor.” Eve rubbed at her temple, annoyed she hadn’t thought of it yet. “But... such care to conceal body type as well as the face? Maybe it’s a leap, but I’m going to try this eliminating straight men, and anyone younger than thirty, older than forty. I’ll pass anyone outside those parameters on to somebody, narrow it down.”

“It’s not just Hastings’s instincts you’re going with.”

“No. She’s strong, she’s capable, she’s smart. She’s in law enforcement, in the periphery, or she’s studied it like a religion. She lives alone. She has a responsible job—she is responsible. Does what’s expected of her, doesn’t draw attention. She blends. She won’t have close friends. No children, no particular lover.”

“She won’t go back for Hastings,” Roarke said. “Not now.”

“No, not now. But she’s patient. She can wait. Once she gets over this failure, this scare, she’ll regroup. She’ll need to set Hastings aside for now. But in a couple months, three or four maybe, tops, people get comfortable again, fall back into routine again. She just has to wait for that.”

Roarke parked in front of the house, turned to her. “You got physical with Hastings—when you met—because he was about to get physical with you. Who knows that?”

“There was a model there, an assistant, the hair and—”

“No, who fits your parameters who knows that?”

“I can’t say. It went in my report. A cop kicks a civilian in the balls, she has to write it down, and she’d better have a good reason for it. One of the people who witnessed it may have told someone else.”

“Eve. What are the chances one of them told someone who is somehow connected to someone who witnessed or talked about Ledo clocking you with a pool cue?”

“Zero.” She shoved out of the car. “It’s someone who could access my reports. I know that.”

She would have stormed straight into the house, but Roarke grabbed her, pulled her in, held even when she tried to push away.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not, and why would you be?” Despite the wind, he eased her back, looked into her face in the festive lights that shone around the house. “How many females between thirty and forty have access to your reports?”

“Probably a handful. A couple handfuls, but—”