Page 43 of Thankless in Death

“Yeah, I want the visual.”

“While you’re at that, I’ll start the search for possible accounts. He’s no financial genius or comp geek from what you’ve said, but there’s plenty of suggestions and instructions for burying funds right on the Internet.” He smiled at her. “And those are child’s play to dig out again.”

“Go ahead and play.”

She set up her board, changing the pattern so she had a different method than the one in her office. She added the time line, the reports, paced around it. Added more.

Then she focused on Jerry Reinhold.

“Who are you, really?” she asked aloud.

Talk to the friends again? she wondered. Give that a harder push? He didn’t strike her as someone who’d live in a vacuum. Didn’t he need someone to bitch to, to brag to?

More, she thought as she circled the board again, he’d never accomplished anything real in his life. He might see that differently, and likely considered it everyone else’s fault, but from the steps, the stages, the images of him leaving the building, in the bank, in the jewelry shop, he felt very accomplished now.

Wouldn’t he want some kudos?

From strangers, she considered. How did you brag to your pals you killed your parents, brutally, and were hiding from the police? Maybe a pickup at a bar, she considered, or maybe hire a fancy licensed companion for the night.

“Couldn’t tell them you’re a killer,” she murmured. “But you could brag about making some killer deal, being some big shot. Hitting some jackpot. That seems your style.”

The LC seemed more in line. Sure you had to pay, but that put you in charge. You were already the big deal.

Would he want or need sex? No evidence or indication he’d pursued that area since the breakup, but sex was another kind of celebration, another way for a man to prove his potency.

Maybe she’d consult on that with Charles Monroe, friend, former LC, and current sex therapist.

She checked the time, decided it was still plenty early enough, and crossed to her desk.

Her ’link signaled even as she reached for it. She noted Peabody on the readout, answered.

“Yeah, what?”

“Hey. I wanted to update you. McNab and I went by Nuccio’s place on the way home. I sent you a quick report.”

“I haven’t gotten to my incomings yet.” Not with semi-date dinners and dessert sex.

“Yeah, I saw you hadn’t picked it up. She wasn’t home yet, and the neighbor—Crabtree—came out. She’s keeping an eye out for her, even left a note on Nuccio’s door when she went out to run a few errands. Took it off when she came back.”

“Okay, we’ll hit her tomorrow.”

On the ’link screen, Peabody’s face mirrored concern. “The thing is, McNab had this idea how we might track down her shopping buddy. Getting the names of her coworkers, mining them, spreading out from them.”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“Did do,” Peabody told her. “It seemed worth a shot, just to nail her down. And we hit. She went out with a Kasey Rider. I just finished talking to her—to Rider. They were going to make a night of it, hit some clubs, but one of their mutual friends tagged Kasey with the news about Reinhold.”

“So Nuccio knows.” A thread of concern wove its way into Eve.

“Yeah. Major freakout—denial, disbelief, then depression from Nuccio. They cut the night short, and Rider insisted on taking a cab with Nuccio to her apartment, dropped her off at about six-forty, which means McNab and I didn’t miss her by much. I got her new ’link number, but she’s not answering. And I figured since you didn’t update the file yet, she hasn’t contacted you either.”

“No, she hasn’t.” And she’d had over three hours to come through. “Maybe the neighbor didn’t hear her come in.”

“I don’t think so, Dallas. She was a hawkeye.”

“Okay. She probably doesn’t want to deal with cops tonight.” Eve turned back to the board, shifted, evaluated her own gut. “But she’s going to. I’m going to go on down there now.”

“I’m closer if you want me and McNab to go.”