Chapter Nineteen

While she waited for Peabody, Eve wrote up her report, made more notes on the interview.

She heard someone coming toward her office—not Peabody. But she recognized the tread and got to her feet.

Commander Whitney filled the doorway, then her office. Broad-shouldered in his suit, the same color as the gray threaded through his close-cropped hair, he flicked a glance at her board.

Eve said, "Sir."

He gave an absent wave of his hand toward her desk chair, but she didn't sit.

"You arrested, interviewed, and are now booking a ChiChi Lopez."

"Yes, sir."

He nodded, and now his dark eyes flicked toward her AutoChef.

Eve didn't ask, simply programmed coffee, black, and offered it.

He nodded again. "On assault."

"Yes, sir. Also drunk and disorderly and disturbing the peace. Ms. Lopez disrupted a memorial service, then verbally and physically assaulted the fiancée of the deceased."

"I take it since you wouldn't waste your time interviewing this individual over an assault while conducting a murder investigation, said individual is on your case board."

"She is."

"She is," he agreed. "I've received and reviewed copies of your reports. Also received a call from the mayor, who is a frequent patron of the family restaurant."

Politics, Eve thought, and struggled not to hiss. "The grandmother contacted the mayor?"

"The mother. Apparently there's a family disagreement on the issue. Due to the nature of the younger Ms. Lopez's career, the mayor would like to keep a low profile on any involvement."

"I bet. Sir."

Whitney's mouth twitched, just a little. "In any case, the mayor's office would like to see some leeway on the matter, due to the emotional state of all parties involved."

"I believe that will be up to the court, Commander."

"Agreed. I'm on my way out to a meeting or I wouldn't have interrupted you with this. While the mayor is also in agreement, the Lopezes' enchiladas are exceptional. And one of the younger Ms. Lopez's cousins works in the mayor's office."

Eve said nothing while he polished off his coffee, handed her back the mug. "So, I've done my duty, and have no doubt you'll do yours."

He started for the door, then stopped, turned back. "Is she your killer?"

"She has the nature and temperament for it, Commander. She's the center of her own world, and expects to be treated as such. A slap back by the court wouldn't hurt. But no, sir, I don't think she killed Erin Albright."

"I'm sure that will be a relief to the Lopez family, and the mayor. Have you got the scent?"

"I do."

"Then good hunting, Lieutenant."

When he left, Eve turned back to her board.

Yeah, she had the scent. What she didn't have was evidence. She believed, strongly, in following her gut. But without evidence, she couldn't make a case.

Now she heard Peabody coming.

"I saw Whitney as I was coming back. Is there a problem?"

"The mayor likes Abuela's enchiladas."

"Oh. Well, shit."

Eve shook her head. "No real interference there."

"Okay, good. Lopez is with her lawyer. The lawyer came in during booking. She was wearing Carminas."

"Carmina's what?"

"Shoes, Dallas. Carmina is a shoe designer, a goddess. These were a pale, pale blue. Stilettos with little cutouts on the sides shaped like butterflies. They're going to run like five grand, easy."

"I'm just thrilled to have a report on the lawyer's footwear."

"It's relevant," Peabody insisted. "If you can afford Carminas, and you're wearing a suit that looks like it came right off the runway in Milan, you're probably really good at your job."

"She'll probably bounce with community service and anger management."

"That seems… fair."

"It would be. Unless she pulls a judge who decides to dismiss the charges. There should be consequences, but that's not our department. We did our job."

"Yeah, but she didn't kill Erin Albright."

Eve gestured to the desk chair. "Take the chair, I'm not ready to sit yet." And she programmed coffee for both of them.

"Why didn't she kill Erin Albright?"

"Logistically," Peabody began, "it would've been tricky. Not impossible, but tricky. It feels like if she was going to do it, she'd have found a less tricky time and place."

Eve decided to counter, and make Peabody work for it.

"The time and place are part of the point of the killing. Ruining a celebration and destroying a dream at the same time."

"Yeah, but… Lopez is a hard-ass with a goddess complex. ‘I'm so special, I'm so amazing. Look at me!' And I can see her shoving a sharp into somebody's throat. Or yeah, using a wire. But if she was going to do it, I think she'd have killed Shauna. And she'd have felt like she deserved to."

"It's Erin who rejected her. She probably hasn't heard a lot of nos in her life, and Erin gave her a big no. And Shauna pays. And pays. And pays."

Peabody frowned at her coffee, then frowned at the board. "Yeah, but… the way she broke down in Interview, what she said, how she said it. I really believe she loved Erin, or honestly thinks she did. And yeah, people kill what they love, and a lot, but this didn't feel like the way for her.

"She runs hot, Dallas, really hot. And there had to be a lot of cold to plan out and execute this killing. Maybe a hot motive—the passion—but a cold execution."

"Oh, she has plenty of cold in there."

Deflated, Peabody set down her coffee. "You think she did it."

"No, I don't."

Peabody looked up again, blinked. "You don't? Why?"

"For all the reasons you cited, and a couple more. If she killed Erin, where's the murder weapon? She didn't have it on her, it wasn't in the club. Sweepers went through dumpsters and recyclers, circled the block on that—which she'd have had to do if she had a bloody garrote on her."

"I forgot that one. I shouldn't have forgotten that one."

"She could've ditched it somehow. Snipped the wire to pieces, flushed. Had to have handles, but it's possible she found a way to destroy and dispose. Possible, but that's a lot of thought, and it would take more time. Then she's going to walk back into the club, slip in without notice, and keep partying?"

Eve shook her head. "I don't see her pulling it off. I can see her trying but failing. She's a performer, but that's her body, not so much her face. Something would've showed. If Crack didn't see something in her, Angie would have. She's got a sharp eye."

Eve wandered, drank coffee. "All of those points can, as I demonstrated, be countered. I hope she pays a price for what she did today, but she won't go down for murder."

"You think it's Greg Barney."

"I know it is now." Turning, Eve studied his face on her board.

Attractive, well-groomed, well-dressed, an easy, friendly smile.

"He smirked."

"Sorry? What? He smirked? At Lopez today?"

"No, not at Lopez, at Shauna. Between the slap and the punch. Lopez goes after Shauna verbally. Everybody's shocked, but he's fascinated. There were a couple more fascinated. And a couple of angry reactions. Angie, for instance, was pissed. Then the slap."

Certain of her ground, Eve turned back around. "You've got that split second, that—" Eve snapped her fingers. "Everybody's holy shit, or what the fuck. But he smirked. He's looking right at Shauna with that red blaze from Lopez's hand across her cheek, and he smirks. Like: Yeah, nice job. He covered it fast; he's got a good mask. But I saw it. Smirked, and you bet your ass he had to swallow a laugh."

"Um, are there counterpoints?"

"Oh, plenty. Involuntary reaction, nervous twitch." Eve shrugged. "But he enjoyed that moment. He enjoyed watching Shauna's emotional speech interrupted by a hostile drunk. And he seriously enjoyed the slap."

She tapped her lapel. "I turned on my recorder when Lopez started her rant."

"You recorded the smirk?"

"I had a decent angle. I'm going to have EDD enhance it. A smirk's not evidence, and we've got precious little. But I add that to the nerves outside the apartment, the way he handled the box. Add it to the no-alibi that was perfectly presented as alibi, the high school relationship, the hovering."

"You think he's in love with Shauna?"

"No, I don't think he loves anyone but himself."

She eased a hip on the side of her desk, then pushed off again. No, not ready to sit.

"He lost the Shaun part of Shaunbar. He'd been a star in high school, but part of that shine came from her, being coupled with her. Then they're back home after college, but she moved to the city. So he moves to the city, practically on top of her."

"The hovering."

"And the access to that shine. But she's not interested in going back to high school. So he starts up with her good friend and the self-identified high school wheeze. Gets some shine there. And Shauna's not really with anyone, or not with anyone for long."

"Until Erin."

"Until Erin."

"That changes everything," Peabody said, picking up the threads. "She's in her first real relationship since him."

"And she switched teams," Eve added.

Peabody frowned again. "Do you think that matters?"

"To him, yeah, it does. It matters to him. It's salt-in-the-wound time for someone like Barney. Look at his background, Peabody. His family is nearly universally straight, WASPy types. Any who aren't tend to move away. You hook up with someone of the opposite sex, eventually marry in that sector, preferably of the same race, culture, and likely creed if you've got one. You live a traditional, by those standards, life and produce a kid or possibly two. Divorce is frowned upon, so choose that life mate wisely."

"But he's not with Shauna, and hasn't been for years. Why would it matter so much, matter enough to kill?"

"Because she still belongs to him."

She tapped the board, Barney's photo, then Lopez's.

"They're a lot alike, these two. Self-important, the center of their own worlds, tight families where, I'd say, they're well loved, even admired."

They both fit the profile, she thought, because they were very much alike.

"Both of them used to getting their way. Instead of letting it play out, hire a fancy lawyer and let it play out, Lopez's mother whines to the mayor. The fucking mayor, when her daughter gets busted for being a raging, violent asshole. I'm betting if Barney hit any bumps along the way, his family found a way to smooth them, too."

"Appearances," Peabody said. "Looks, status—those are top priorities for them. Yeah." Thoughtfully, she nodded. "Yeah, both of them. And they were both sort of stars in high school, right? She had all those write-ups about her dancing, and he was part of The Couple."

"And neither of them had the same shine in college. Smaller fish, bigger pool. Still, they're entitled, both of them. She's got family money behind her, but he does well enough. They're both attractive and wouldn't have trouble with those hookups."

"Except for her, Erin," Peabody added, "and for him, Shauna."

"Exactly. For her, I don't think she realized how deep her feelings were for Erin until Erin was dead, so it starts with jealousy. With him? It's pride, not passion. If he wants Shauna back, it's not love, not lust, not passion. Straight pride. He may actually feel some of the love, lust, passion for Becca—she pretty well suits his needs. But he doesn't feel enough to let go of the shine."

Eve eased the hip on her desk again, and this time stayed, let out a breath.

"And none of that's evidence. None of that builds a solid case. So the question is?"

"How do we prove it?"

"How do we prove it?" Eve echoed. "I thought leaving the case was a mistake—panic or just stupidity—but I'm more convinced than ever that was deliberate, a part of it. Shauna had to pay, too, for bruising that pride."

She pointed at Peabody. "What do you want to bet Shauna shared that dream with Barney back in high school. Their dream honeymoon."

"No bet." Peabody scooped a hand through the air. "It slides right in."

"It's the salt in the wound again, for him. So he gives it right back to her. Fickle bitch won't be going to Maui now."

"It's just mean."

"Yeah, and again, the mean's part of the point. He had the motive, means, and opportunity. Erin gave him the perfect opportunity. Here's a difference between him and Lopez, as I see it. Lopez would've waited Erin out, sure the relationship, even tied up in marriage, wouldn't last. He couldn't wait."

"Because, for one thing, it's a personal insult."

Now Eve smiled. "There you go. He had that weapon ready, maybe planning to kill her before the wedding. Maybe at the damn wedding. But the Maui thing, that couldn't be tolerated, plus, perfect opportunity."

She pushed off the desk to pace again.

"Erin asks him to help her with the big surprise because she trusts him. Why wouldn't she? He's not so much part of the tribe, right, but of the circle. He's Shauna's good friend, he's Becca's cohab. He's not going to the party—girls only—so it'd be easy to get him the case, the swipe, give him what she thinks is the basic timing. ‘Just come in the back way.'"

"And he's ‘Okay, sure, no problem.' The good friend, the good guy, all happy to help."

"Slip in, do the kill. Need to take her 'link, as there's some communication on that, but he's going to stage a robbery anyway. Shouldn't have picked a place like the D a satisfied smile bloomed.

"Okay, got it." And opened his eyes. He got up, walked to his wall screen. He held up another finger—just wait—then changed the position of some lines of code or equations or whatever the hell she couldn't have translated with a stunner shoved in her ear.

"And there it is."

He swiped something else she could interpret as save, copy, send. Seconds later, someone in the bullpen shouted:

"Wee-oh! Dunked it! Wee-oh, Cap!"

"Fucking-A right." He stepped back, picked up the lopsided bowl his wife had made, and snagged some candied almonds before offering the bowl to Eve.

She started to shake her head, changed her mind, popped two.

"Whatcha after, kid?" Feeney asked her.

"I sent up a recording," she began.

"Yeah, yeah, got that right here. Had to deal with this one first."

He went back around behind his desk. Manually brought the recording on-screen where she'd cued it.

"The redhead's about to get clocked by the brunette," Feeney observed.

"Yeah. The guy, off to the left, behind the redhead, beside the blonde—reddish blonde…"

Strawberry blonde—essentially a redhead, she realized. He went from one redhead to another.

Interesting.

"That guy," she continued. "Watch him, okay? Run it to just after the slap and tell me what you see."

Eve turned to watch again herself without blocking Feeney's view.

Over the gasps and murmurs, the crack of flesh to flesh snapped.

"That one hurt. And he liked it."

He paused it where Shauna's head reared back and Lopez's open hand had just started to drop.

"Right? First, I want to enhance until it's as close to the four of them—slapper, slappee, smirker, and the blonde—as we can get."

Those basset hound eyes gave her a long look. "You know enough to do this."

"Yeah, and I did, but the angle's a little tricky."

He enhanced, zoomed, sharpened.

"Like that?"

"Yeah, slo-mo it back to right before she swings, then advance slow-mo to this point again. See? See how he puts his arm around the blonde's shoulders?"

"Looks like she was going to move in, maybe try to stop the brunette."

"And he stopped her. And then how he looks sort of shocked, but—"

"More like he's holding in a laugh."

"Yes!" Vindication had Eve mentally pumping her fist. "Yes, yes, then the brunette swings, connects, and what do you see?"

"Fucker's smirking."

"He's smirking. Now, if you're at a memorial for the fiancée of one of your oldest, closest friends, do you smirk when she gets clocked?"

"Hell no." Feeney zoomed out again, then ran it back. "See the guy on the right? He's pissed and moving in. If he'd gotten there before the brunette took that swing, she wouldn't've taken it."

"I need a copy of the zoom and enhance, then if you can do the same with his face. The smirking fucker."

Feeney nodded, worked his magic. "This the one who killed the fiancée?"

"I can't prove it, yet, but I'm damn sure of it."

"Good-looking face. All-American boy. When it smirks like that, it's punchable."

As Eve studied the enhanced close-up, Detective Callendar strolled in. "Hey, Cap— Sorry, Dallas, didn't see you. I'll swing back."

In her orange bibs and a tee that looked as if someone had tossed green paint on a white canvas, she started to step back.

"Hey, I know that dooser. Where do I know that dooser?"

Eve remembered the word—dick/loser—and sent Callendar a sharp look.

"You know him? Greg Barney?"

"Not the name, but that face. That asshole smirk. Check it!" she said, and lifted a hand. "Fancy men's shop guy, downtown shop."

"How do you know him?"

"Not know-know, but he's the one who gave me that same snarky look when I went in there."

She dug into one of the many pockets of her bags, pulled out a pack of gum. She offered it to Eve, who shook her head, then to Feeney, who took one before Callendar took one herself.

"My brother's twenty-first birthday, back several months, and what does he want but this fancy shirt from this fancy designer. Seems this place was having a sale, so I poke in. And this guy, he's watching me like I'm going to grab shit up and run for it."

She shrugged, tossed her short, streaky dark hair. "So okay, I don't look like most people who shop there. Then when I find the stupid shirt—it's just a freaking tee, but it's got the fancy guy's label on it, which means they can charge easy ten times as much—and I hold it up to check it out, he comes marching over. Tells me how they prefer people don't handle the merchandise. I say how I'm thinking of buying it and is it on sale?"

Snapping her gum, she slid her hands into hip pockets. "He gives me that look right there. Like I'm a bug and he's the boot that's going to really love squashing me. He says how that designer never goes on sale, and how I should try the L&W for a more affordable knock-off. He pissed me off so much I bought that damn shirt, full price. But my brother freaking loves it, and it was his twenty-first."

Callendar smirked back at the smirk. "Is he a vic or a suspect?"

"Suspect."

"Hope you nail him good and hard."

"That's the plan. Can you copy all that for me, Feeney, and send?"

"Already did. Thinking time," he told her. "Take some."

"Yeah, I'm going to. Soon as I can. Thanks. You, too, Callendar."

As she started out through the color, movement, and sound, her 'link signaled.

She pulled it out as she went, scanned the text from Peabody.

Mira just got a window. She can give you about fifteen if you go now.

On my way. Keep pushing on the high school angle. Move to college if possible. Back in twenty.

Movement, she thought as she hopped on a glide. Callendar had given her a new perspective of the man his friends described as a nice guy, a helpful guy, an average guy.

There would be other perspectives, too. Maybe enough when they put them all together, that would give her some buttons to push.