Chapter 7

Peabody opened the door.

"You were fast," she said. "I just got here. Hey, Roarke." She stepped back to let them in. "Officer Rineheart's first on scene. Nine-one-one caller's across the hall with his partner. She states she was leaving to go to work, saw the door open, looked in."

Peabody gestured to where Ledo lay on a thin mattress stained with blood and assorted bodily fluids Eve didn't much want to think about.

He was fully dressed—faded Knicks sweatshirt, black cargo pants, thick socks—once white, she assumed, and now the color of puss—with ragged holes so both big toes poked through.

A dark trench coat and a couple of frayed and tattered blankets lay crumpled beside him, and the butt end of a pool cue speared out of his chest.

Scrawny build, hair like dirty straw, eyes that showed the pink rims of the funky-junkie.

"That's Ledo." Eve turned to the uniform. "Let's have it."

"Responded to nine-one-one logged at oh-six-sixteen. My partner and I arrived at oh-six-twenty. Building unsecured, apartment door open, DB as you see it. I visually ID'd Ledo."

The cop, grizzled hair under his cap, glanced toward the body.

"I've worked this area for the last four years, so I know him. Caller's Misty Polinsky, lives across the hall. She's young, Lieutenant, and pretty shaken up. Once we got her settled down, I called in some droids. We leave the cruiser out there unattended, there won't be much left of it when we get out again."

"Okay. Start a canvass, for what it's worth. You want backup for that?"

"Most people know me. Won't be a problem. A couple of sidewalk sleepers were inside, down on the entrance level. Sleeping. We had to shake 'em pretty good to wake them up. We got names, had them transported to a shelter. They didn't see anything. I know 'em," he added. "They're regulars around here, so it's easy to pick them up you want to talk to them, but they were both out cold."

She nodded, then taking her field kit from Roarke, sealed up before she moved toward the body.

Routine, she told herself. Procedure. And took out her tools.

"Vic's ID confirmed as Ledo, Wendall, of this address. TOD..." She checked her gauge. "Oh-six-three. Wit just missed the killer."

"I've got the rest of the pool cue here, Dallas," Peabody told her. "Top half."

"Guess he bought a new one," Eve murmured. "Pool was his game. I busted the other, about like this, and when he grabbed for it, he clocked me in the face with the butt end."

"Dallas," Peabody began, but Eve shook her head.

"That's what the killer had to know, had to think. He tried lying to me—that's why his tongue's sitting in this go-cup."

"Didn't see that. I'll bag it."

"Cold in here. Windows are crap so it's cold in here. He comes in, probably from Gametown, tosses his coat, his shoes, but flops down in his clothes, pulls on those crap blankets. Tox screen will be interesting." She peeled one of his reddened eyelids up. "Couldn't lay off the funk, couldn't resist his own products. He'll have some stashed around here, and you can bet the pockets of that coat hold more. Check that out, Peabody."

"Ick," was Peabody's opinion, but she crouched down to go through the stained coat on the floor.

"Easy enough to case a dump like this, to get a line on Ledo's routine. He'd sleep most days—his business is night business, plus the sun hurts his eyes. Funk does that. And in weather like this, he'd go underground, maybe hit one of the grease joints for some food first, but he'd do most of his business under. Get high, stay high, shoot some pool, and if he still had some skills, make enough to buy some brew, maybe more to eat—maybe enough to pay for a quick bang or a bj. Come home before the sun comes up, pass out, then do it all again."

"Various suspicious substances," Peabody announced. "In small, clear bags, two key bars, one-sixty-three in cash, no credits, no plastic, a pocket 'link, a small, opened bag of cheese-and-onion soy chips."

Eve sat back on her heels. "Fucked-up life, but it was his."

"The locks were tampered with recently," Roarke told her. "What there is of them."

She nodded. "Knows he'll have flopped sometime before dawn. Hell, if he's not here, just wait until he stumbled home. But odds are he'd be here. No security on this building, just walk in. Bet you had your cover, though. Your delivery uniform, your box of tricks. Just step over the sleepers and come right up. Pick the locks—crap locks, but you didn't just break them, so that's another skill in your pocket."

She walked through it in her head, walked through it with the killer.

"He's passed out. Had to be dark—filthy windows, not much light coming through that early, even from the streetlights, not through those windows. Brought your own light."

Carefully, she lifted the bloodstained sweatshirt, examined his torso. "Brought your stunner, too. Passed-out junkie, and still you use a stunner. Cowardice or compassion? Have to think about that. Either way, he didn't feel a thing."

She got to her feet. "Pool cue's right there. He kept it close, like a fricking teddy bear. Bust it—that's symbolic. Give him one good smack with it—same side of the face as he got me. That's symbolic, too, otherwise, why not beat him to death with the cue? Just wail away."

"Too violent," Peabody suggested.

"Yeah. Too violent, too passionate, and too messy. Beating somebody to death just isn't efficient. One hit—payback—then stab the broken end into his chest. That takes some muscle." She shifted her body, held her hands just above the butt of the cue.

"Set it on him? Press down, use your weight, push. That's probably it. Popped it right through him. Take care of the tongue—lying tongue—then write the message."

TO LIEUTENANT EVE DALLAS, WITH RESPECT AND ADMIRATION.

HE WAS A BLIGHT ON SOCIETY, THE SAME SOCIETY WHO HAMPERS YOU WITH RULES PROTECTING BLIGHTS. SOME RULES RESTRAIN JUSTICE. YOU AND I KNOW THIS.

HE SOLD HIS FILTH TO THOSE WHO IGNORE ALL RULES, LIVE IN FILTH. HE LIED TO YOU, ASSAULTED YOU. WHILE HE FEARED YOU, HE NEVER RESPECTED YOU. AND STILL THOSE RULES ALLOWED HIM TO LIVE HIS WORTHLESS, PARASITIC LIFE.

THIS IS JUSTICE, FOR SOCIETY, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, MOST PERSONALLY, EVE, FOR YOU. THE MARK HE LEFT ON YOUR FACE FADED, AND NOW THE INSULT HAS BEEN REPAID, IN FULL.

I AM YOUR FRIEND. KNOW THAT I'LL ALWAYS STAND BY YOU, ASK FOR NOTHING MORE THAN YOUR FRIENDSHIP. I WILL HELP YOU SERVE JUSTICE, REAL JUSTICE TO THE GUILTY. AS YOU READ THIS, KNOW I'M THINKING OF YOU EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY.

YOUR TRUE FRIEND.

"It's longer," Eve noted. "Getting chattier, and..." She pulled out microgoggles, moved in closer. "Shakier. Not as precise and controlled on the lettering here. We need this analyzed, but it looks like some of the words are darker, a little thicker—like he pushed harder with the marker. My first name, justice, filth, respected, true. More emphasis there."

She stepped back, pulled off the goggles. "Okay. We're going to leave the scene to the sweepers."

Peabody glanced around the pesthole. "Thanks be to the goddess of all that's clean and healthy." She smiled at Roarke. "A little Free-Ager sentiment."

"And perfectly apt, considering."

"Send for the sweepers, and the wagon," Eve ordered. "Tag Morris, Mira, and Whitney. EDD can check out his 'link. We'll talk to the wit, have the uniforms secure the scene." She looked over at Roarke. "You've got to have things to do."

"I'll stay until you're done here."

Rather than argue, she moved out and across the hall, knuckle-rapped on the door.

A female officer with a tough build answered. She glanced at Eve's badge, back up to her face. "Lieutenant."

"Your partner's started the canvass. The sweepers and the morgue have been notified. Keep the scene secured, Officer Morales."

"Yes, sir. Wit's shaken up, but cooperative. I don't think she saw anything. Her story's holding solid."

"We'll take a pass at her."

Eve stepped in. It was a mirror of Ledo's flop in size and shape, but it lacked the toxic pigsty decor. Misty Polinsky had a saggy sofa covered with a wildly floral throw, a skinny red rug over clean floors, a fringed lamp with a dented shade. She—or someone—had painted more flowers on boxes stacked into a substitute dresser.

The kitchen consisted of a cup-sized sink, a mini AutoChef, and a counter about as big as a desk blotter. But it was clean.

Misty herself sat on the floral throw, legs curled up, holding a chipped mug in two hands. She wore her sky-blue hair in a sharp wedge, shivered under an oversized sweater draped over narrow shoulders.

Though her face enhancements were badly smeared, pretty peeked out under them. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but from the look of her Eve deduced tears rather than the funk.

"Ms. Polinsky, I'm Lieutenant Dallas. This is Detective Peabody, and our consultant. How are you holding up?"

"I feel a little sick. Officer Morales said to drink some tea, but I still feel a little sick. I never saw anything like that. I never saw anything like Ledo in there."

Tears swam—shock not grief in Eve's estimation, so she sat on the arm of the sofa. "It's hard seeing something like that. How well did you know Ledo?"

"Not really. I mean to see—and I talked to him a few times. You know how you do."

"Have you ever been in his place?"

"No. He... he asked me over, but, well, you know." She drew in her shoulders. "I didn't want to."

"Did you ever buy anything from him?"

"I don't do that." Big eyes as blue as her hair went huge. "I swear to God. You can test me and everything. I don't do illegals."

"Okay." Eve scrolled through her PPC as she spoke, doing a quick run on her witness. "How old are you, Misty?"

"Twenty-two."

"How old are you on Planet Earth?"

The hands holding the mug trembled. "I'm not going back. You can't make me go back. I got ID that says I'm twenty-one."

"Go back where?"

"Look, I was just going to work. I work the early shift at the coffee shop around the corner three days a week. Del's, it's called, but I never met anybody named Del in there. I had to call in, tell them I'd be late, and now Pete's mad."

"And you work at Swing It four nights a week."

Misty's face went pink under the blue hair. "I just dance, okay? I don't do the other stuff. I just dance."

"How long have you been in New York?"

"Six months. Almost. I was just going to work, Officer."

"Lieutenant."

"Okay. I was just going to work, and the door over there was open. I shouldn't've looked in, but it was open, and it's not a good neighborhood, so I looked in just to make sure Ledo didn't get robbed or something. And I saw him, on his bed. The blood."

"Did you go in?"

"Uh-uh." She shook her head vigorously. "I ran back in here, locked the door. I didn't know what to do, thought I was going to boot. I was going to run out again, go to work, pretend I hadn't seen anything. But... It wasn't right. It wasn't right, so I called the police."

Though it remained pink, her face went rigid with anger. "I shouldn't be in trouble for calling the police. For doing the right thing."

"And you're not. Did you see anybody, hear anything, before you looked in Ledo's?"

"No. I told Officer Morales how I got up at five-forty, like I do when I'm working at the coffee shop. I took a shower. The water doesn't get really hot, and it's really, really noisy. I got ready for work. I have to work a shift at the club tonight, so I packed a change for that, and I got a GoBar and tube of cola, 'cause I don't like coffee. Then I got my coat and stuff, and went out—it was about quarter after six. And I looked in because the door was wide open."

"Have you seen anyone come around here you didn't recognize?"

"I don't know. Sometimes people sleep on the floor downstairs. I don't know them, but they don't bother anybody. And it's been really cold. And the bug person came once."

"Bug person?"

"To kill bugs. I guess the super ordered it, but when I asked if I could get somebody in here to do it on my place, the super just laughed at me. Guy's a dick anyway."

"Can you describe this person? The exterminator. Male, female, build, race, age?"

"God, I don't know." She drank a little more tea, blew upward and stirred her fringe of blue bangs. "I guess I thought it was a guy, but I don't really know. He had on this hood and mask, and had this tank and sprayer. I just peeked out a minute."

"Did you talk to the bug person?"

"I just asked through the crack of the door if he was doing the whole building. And he sort of nodded. I thought, good, 'cause the cockroaches creep me. I straightened up some, you know how you do when maybe somebody's coming in your place, but when I looked out again, he was gone."

She smiled wanly. "Cockroaches are still here."

"Did you notice any sort of logo, or name?"

"I really didn't. I'm sorry."

"I'd like you to work with a police artist."

The pink flush had faded away, and now she gnawed off what was left of her lip dye. "I didn't really see anything."

"You never know. We can have you taken down to Central, and the artist might help you remember some details you don't realize you noticed."

"You're going to arrest me?"

"No." Eve slid off the arm of the sofa so she sat beside Misty. "Nobody's going to arrest you. Nobody's going to send you back. You're not in trouble. You're helping us out, and I can clear two hundred for the help if you work with the artist."

"You— Two hundred?"

"That's right. We can use the help, Misty. Ledo was a screwup, and he hit on you."

"Yeah, but, well, he didn't get pushy or anything like some guys do."

"That's right. And somebody killed him. You may be able to help us find out who."

"Look. I gotta work, pay the rent. The two hundred, that'd be sweet, but I need regular pay. Pete'll fire me if I don't come in for my shift."

"Do you like working for Pete?"

"It's a job. I gotta pay the rent or I'll get booted out."

"Right. You like living here?"

For the first time a glimmer of a real smile eked through. "I'd have to be blind, deaf, and crazy to like living here, but it's what I got, and it's better than what I had."

Eve glanced at Roarke. "I might be able to help you find a decent place where you could stay until you find better work, and better than this."

"I'm not going in a group home. I'm not—"

"Just hang on a minute. Nobody's going to make you do anything. Just hang a minute."

She rose, gestured for Peabody to sit with Misty, and to Roarke to step out in the hall with her.

"She's seventeen. I figure a runaway—out of Dayton, Ohio—but nobody's looking for her. I got enough of her medical to see a pattern of physical abuse. The father's doing some time right now—went in last month for assault. Mother's been in and out—illegals abuse. I know the youth shelter isn't near finished yet, but maybe—she doesn't altogether fit—but maybe there's a place for her at Dochas until. She'll be eighteen in May."

"I can arrange that, if she's willing. Some of the women there aren't much older."

Eve nodded, said nothing. And Roarke lifted his brows.

"You want me to talk to her."

"You'll slide her right in. She respects the badge, but she's afraid of it. Odds are nobody wearing one gave her much help. You'll keep it smooth, and she won't be afraid of you."

"All right." He gave her a little poke in the belly. "Softie."

"I can't have my only wit going into the wind, can I? Or risk having the bug person coming back for her, just in case. She'll work better with Yancy on a sketch if I don't have to take her into protective custody."

"You can play that line." He leaned down to kiss her before she could evade. "Give me a minute to make the arrangements, on the assumption I can slide her right in."

···

With the arrangements made, Eve called in another black-and-white to transport Misty to Central, and to Detective Yancy, her choice of artist.

"She's a little bit of an artist herself." With Eve, Peabody loaded their field kits back in the trunk. "She painted the flowers on the boxes in there, and did the little pencil sketch of the cats hanging on the wall. It's good you're getting her out of here."

"Her decision, Roarke's place."

"Still. Here come the sweepers—and the wagon."

Eve waited, then walked over to Dawson. "Same team?"

"As requested."

"Good, the fewer hands on this, the better. You're going to need detox after processing that pit." When he started to laugh, Eve shook her head. "True."

"Crap." He sighed, deep. "Fizz, Lottie, Charis! Hellhole time, with detox for dessert."

There were groans as the team unloaded equipment and the full-coverage white suit of the sweeper.

"I'm calling in a handwriting analyst."

His mouth thinned. "Another message for you?"

"That's right."

"I'll tag Jen—Jen Kobechek. She's the best we've got."

"That'll save me time. Appreciate it."

"Gotta take care of each other." He signaled to his crew. "Let's sweep it out."

Eve walked back, got into the car.

"You're going to tell me we're going underground," Peabody began.

"Maybe not. Carmine Atelli owns Gametown. We dealt with him briefly when we went down for Ledo a couple years ago. He has a place in the Hudson Towers."

"Swank."

"A nest of rabid rats is swank compared to the underground." Eve slid into traffic. "He's more likely home this time of day than below, so we'll check it. But we're going to make another stop first."

As it was still shy of nine, Eve tried Hilly Decker's apartment first. The slapdash, post-Urbans triple-decker needed a face-lift, but it held its own in a neighborhood of struggling-to-claw-up-to-middle-income housing and shops.

Inside it smelled faintly of someone's breakfast burrito. The inhuman wail of a baby rattled the walls of the first floor.

"Why do kids always make that sound? Like somebody's stabbing them in the ear?"

"It's about all they got," Peabody told her. "Something hurts, they're hungry or just pissed off, all they got is crying."

"Strikes me they're just pissed off most of the time."

The sound eased slightly on the second level, or was drowned out more by someone playing a morning talk show at ear-thumping volume.

Eve banged a fist on 2-A.

No cam, she noted, no palm plate, but an electronic peep and good sturdy locks.

"Hold on, Mrs. Missenelli!"

The door wrenched open. Hilly Decker stood, one stubby-heeled half boot in her hand, the other on her left foot. She wore a black skirt and vest with a pale blue shirt under it. Several big silver clips stuck haphazardly through her brown hair.

Her eyes, the color of kiwis, popped wide.

"You're not Mrs. Missenelli! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"

She ran the words together into one hysterical squeal, dropped the boot, bounced up and down. "Oh my GOD! You're Eve Dallas. You're her. Here. You're here."

"We need to speak with you, Ms. Decker."

"Oh my God, I just have to hug you." As Hilly lurched forward, arms out, Eve put both her hands up.

"No," she said, definitely.

"Right, right, sorry. God. You're not a hugger. I know, I'm just so excited. Oh my God. My heart's racing. You should feel my heart. Do you want to? No. Sorry. Oh my God."

Peabody elbowed in. "Can we come in, Ms. Decker?"

"Oh God, yes. Please. I know you, too. Peabody! Is it just amazing working with Eve Dallas? Is it just like ultra-abso-mag?"

"I'm living the dream." Somewhat concerned Eve might punch if Hilly lost her mind and tried for another hug, Peabody insinuated herself between them. "Maybe we could sit down."

"Oh yeah, sure! Is the place a mess? It's not too bad," she decided, rushing around on one shoe, fluffing pillows. "It could be worse. It has been worse, especially when Luca was around. My ex?" She beamed at Eve. "Remember, I told you about him."

"Sit," Eve ordered.

"Okay." Hilly sat, obedient as a puppy and twice as frisky. "I feel like I'm jumping out of my own skin, and..." She waved her hands in front of her face, blinking rapidly. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry when I finally met you, and here I go anyway. This is just the best day of my life!"

"Where were you at six this morning?"

"What? Sleeping. Oh, I should get you coffee! I don't have the kind you drink. I can't afford it, but I tried it once just to see. It's seriously ulta. I've got Pepsi, though. I can get you a tube of Pepsi."

"Sit," Eve ordered again when Hilly jumped up. "Were you alone—at six this morning?"

"Oh yeah. I haven't been interested in anybody since Luca. After we broke up, I asked myself: What would Eve do? It really helps me to think things through that way. WWED! And I thought, Well, Eve would sit back, take some stock, just live life, you know?"

Radiating joy, she hugged herself.

"I was getting upset you never wrote me back, but here you are. Right here. I don't know how many times I walked by Central and tried to drum up the courage to go in, see you. I just knew if we ever got the chance to just talk, we'd totally click. Like, you know, sisters."

"December twenty-seventh, between five and seven in the evening. Where were you?"

"When was that?"

"Two days ago," Peabody said helpfully. "Two days after Christmas."

"Oh, right! My mind's just blown! I was right here. Recovery time from Christmas, you know? I had to go see the fam—three days of fam—and that takes it out of me. Our offices are closed this week, so I had the day off work. I'm only going in today because I have a court thing. So I just hung here, watched screen. We could go out tonight, totally have drinks.

"The Blue Squirrel!" she announced, inspired. "Do you still hang there? I've been a few times, but never saw you."

"Did you see or speak to anyone?"

"When?"

"December twenty-seventh, between five and seven."

"No. Did I? I don't know. Who remembers?"

Eve leaned forward. "Think about it."

"Oh well, okay, if that's what you want. Um... Oh, that must be Mrs. Missenelli. She'll die to meet you. I've told her all about you."

When Hilly sprang up to rush to the door, Eve squeezed her eyes tight.

"Mother of God," she muttered.

"She's still wearing one shoe," Peabody pointed out. "No way, Dallas, no way this is the crafty, controlled, organized killer."

"Mrs. Missenelli, and Toby." All smiles and shiny eyes, Hilly came back holding an enormous and fluffy white cat and towing a tiny woman with a helmet of shoe-black hair. "This is Eve Dallas."

"Metcha," the woman said, and looked mildly annoyed.

"Can you believe it? Can you believe she's here?"

"I'm dumbfounded. You're gonna drop Toby by the groomer's, right, Hilly?"

"Sure, sure, on my way to court. I've got to be in court by ten, but I've got plenty of time to visit first," she told Eve, "and get Toby to the groomer's. It's right on the way. Do you want to hold him? You have a cat."

"No. Thanks."

"Toby should meet Galahad. I bet they'd be best friends, too." Hilly snuggled the giant cat. "We were just talking about how we spent the day after the day after Christmas, Mrs. Missenelli."

"Between five and seven in the evening," Eve repeated. "December twenty-seventh. Did you see or speak to anyone during that window of time?"

"I don't know."

"You saw me, you spoke to me. Jumping Jesus, Hilly, your brain's always scattered. Don't know how you get yourself up every day."

Missenelli fisted her hands on bony hips. "I came over here, asked you about Toby and the groomer's. Right about six o'clock, because Mr. Missenelli was watching his show, and it comes on at six. And you still in your pajamas—nice ones though, like I said."

"From my aunt, for Christmas."

"You had a glass of wine, and you said I should have one, and since I hate Mr. Missenelli's six o'clock show, I did. Now, you make sure Toby gets to the groomer's. I appreciate it. You're a good girl, Hilly." Missenelli arrowed back at Eve. "Now what's all this about?"

"Routine," Eve said.

"Don't hand me that. This is about that dead lawyer lady, isn't it? I heard about that."

"Bastwick?" Hilly's eyes popped again. "Leanore Bastwick? You're here about... murder. But, but, but, I didn't even know her. I thought—I thought you came just to meet me, and talk. And we'd—we'd—we'd hang out. Am I a suspect? Oh my God."

"Not anymore," Eve said.

When Hilly burst into tears, hovered over by Mrs. Missenelli, who sent Eve the serious stink eye, Eve got out.

"I think you broke Hilly's heart."

"Oh, you're funny, Peabody. I'm cracking up inside."

She strode out, got back in the car with a headache throbbing like a tooth. "‘Living the dream'?"

"Day in, day out," Peabody said cheerfully.

"Dreams can become nightmares really fast," Eve warned, and bulleted away from the curb.