Chapter Six

On the street, Eve strode toward the parking lot. Morning started to bleed into afternoon.

"Give me the rundown on the other ex who came up."

"Jon Rierdon. He manages City Style Home Goods. Ooooh. Thirty, single, one cohab that lasted about eighteen months. No criminal. New York native. Moonlights as a piano player at Swank—a piano bar downtown."

"Here's what we're going to do. You take Rierdon, I'm taking the player. Wade Rajinski—Crack got me his full name. Then together we'll follow up with Hunnicut."

"You don't want to go to a home goods store with me?"

"If I go with you, you'll drive me to kick your ass. I'm not in the mood."

"You're not in the mood to kick my ass?" Peabody did a quick dance shuffle. "It's my lucky day."

"I'm always in the mood to kick your ass. I'm not in the mood to be driven to do so by your drooling over light fixtures and table settings."

"That's fair," Peabody decided. "And bonus? I can drool without fear."

"Got cab fare?"

"Yeah, but I actually know this place. Just a couple stops on the subway from here."

"Fine. Tag me when you're done." Eve stopped at the lot, reconsidered. "I'm leaving the car here. Rajinski's place is walking distance, and so's his employment. Personal trainer and yoga instructor."

"I bet he's pretty. Stillwater was pretty."

"You're going to drive me to kick your ass after all."

"Nope. My ass is now a moving target."

As she hustled off, Eve called after her, "I've got really good aim." But she walked in the opposite direction.

She didn't mind the noonday heat, in fact preferred it to the fake, frigid air of the interiors. And she never really tired of walking New York.

Even when it was filled with wilting, sweaty tourists. Plenty of them trudged along the sidewalk, happy to spend their money on overpriced souvenirs and scratchy T-shirts from stalls or pose for pictures with their red, shiny faces in front of a shop or by a waiting Rapid Cab.

She'd never been a tourist here, she realized. No, not even when she'd had that first slice of New York pizza at the window counter. Nearly as far back as she could clearly remember, New York had been her destination, the badge her goal.

And when she'd finally been free to get there, New York was home. Her place, her city.

She walked it now surrounded by all the sounds and smells.

Honking horns, shouted insults, a distant siren, music thumping out of a car window, voices merging in a multitude of accents, languages.

Soy dogs on the boil, crap coffee, a tangy sauce from a plate on a table at a sidewalk café. A recycler overdue for pickup, some lunching lady's high-dollar perfume.

Every bit of it was just fine with her.

She didn't have to keep an eye out for street thieves—she had cop's eyes, so they stayed trained. But none crossed her path as she walked to Mind, Body, Spirit.

She went inside, where it felt like a brisk March wind had blown in. Fast, pulsing music blew in with it.

Lots of mirrors, she noted, and lots of shiny machines with people sweating and puffing on them. A good free-weight area with a couple of people pumping while admiring themselves in a mirrored wall.

Lunch-hour warriors maybe, she thought, and walked to the check-in desk.

The woman behind it had the proverbial brick shithouse build, and showed it off in skin shorts and a very inadequate sports bra. She had her hair done in many braids pulled up like a crown on the top of her head.

A pirate ship rippled across the rock-hard sea of her abs.

She folded small white towels and spoke on a headset.

"Hold on," she said, then glanced at Eve. "Just swipe your card, take any available locker."

"Not a member."

"Okay." She tapped the headset. "Get back to you." Then stepped over. "Help ya? A tour of the facilities, a day pass? Summer special on memberships through Labor Day."

Eve held up her badge. "Wade Rajinski?"

"Ha. Figured he'd run into cops one day. Second level. He should be finishing up his yoga class."

"Thanks." Then she leaned on the counter in a friendly way. "Why did you figure he'd run into the cops?"

The woman shrugged rock-hard shoulders, like boulders over the rock-hard ab sea.

"Too smooth, too shiny. Gotta be something under the smooth and shine, right? Total player with the ladies. Got dinged there a time or three."

"Dinged?"

"This one time, this woman came barreling in here. Wade, he's working with a client on the bench press and she flies right over. Me, I'm surprised we got any glass left in here the way she was shrieking about how he bounced off her and bounced right onto her sister."

"How'd he handle that?"

"Smooth." She glided a hand through the air. "Like butter. Gets somebody to spot his client, then takes her into the consult room. About ten minutes later, she comes out, all flushed up and starry-eyed. Walked out with a smile on her face, and Wade, he comes out and finishes up the training session like nothing ever happened.

"Smooth." She shrugged again. "We lose a client now and then because of it, but management likes him because for every one we lose, he pulls in three more. Guy's got a magic cock."

At Eve's lifted brows, the woman shrugged a third time. "Sure. I mean it's right there, just looking to oblige. I figure why not go ahead and use it if the mood strikes, before some woman gets pissed enough to whack it off. But me, I don't get emotional over a cock, right? Magic or not."

"Good policy."

With that insight, Eve wove through the machines and took a set of curved stairs to the second floor.

Through one set of glass doors, she saw about a dozen people wiggling hips more or less in unison, quick stepping to the right, then the left while an instructor faced them. One of those dance-the-pudge-away deals, she assumed. Since the instructor appeared to shout, and she imagined the music blasted, she gave the place credit for excellent soundproofing.

Inside the next room a woman in a white gi led another dozen or so—older, at or around the century mark to her eye—through some tai chi.

Rajinski held the third classroom. He wore black skin shorts and a black tank that showed off his attributes. It came as no surprise to her that twenty of the twenty-two students were female.

While she watched, he bent fluidly into a split-legged, seated forward fold, golden muscles damp and rippling, golden hair shining. Shifted fluidly into cobbler, and a flow into boat pose.

She couldn't fault his form as he finished up the floor poses and slid into savasana.

Keeping an eye, Eve pulled out her 'link and contacted Angie Decker.

On-screen, Angie's eyes welled with grief. "Lieutenant Dallas. Is there anything…"

"The investigation's ongoing. My partner and I are conducting interviews. I'd like to follow up with Ms. Hunnicut when it's convenient."

"We're at the—the morgue now. Shauna's with Erin's parents. Dr. Morris is very kind, just as you said."

"Yes, he is."

In the classroom, Rajinski and his students moved into a cross-legged position, eyes closed, hands palms up on knees.

"Becca and Greg just left. Becca's going to get some of Shauna's things, and Greg's picking up some food, I think. Shauna's going to stay with me until… Well, as long as she needs. I think—" Angie swiped at her eyes. "Actually, I think the sooner the better if you need to talk to her again. Get it over with, and we can be there with her."

"We'll come to your place, within the hour."

"All right. I'll tell her. We're all just… It feels like sleepwalking today. She's coming out now. I'll tell her."

Eve put the 'link away.

Inside, Rajinski put his hands in prayer, bowed. Most began to roll up their mats, but two women made a beeline for him.

Practice over, Eve thought, and went through the door.

Quiet music—bells, strings, flutes—played under the chatter of people getting ready to move on with their day. The room smelled of patchouli with just a hint of sweat.

The two women vied for Rajinski's attention with hair tossing, body brushing, arm stroking.

He managed to smile at both of them and give Eve the flirt eye as she crossed the room.

Smooth.

"Wade Rajinski."

"Yes." His eyes, a soft sea green, fixed on her as if only she existed. "Hello."

Eve held up her badge. "Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD."

Curiosity crept into his gaze, his voice. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I'd like to speak with you regarding an investigation."

"Of course. Jin, Lea, you'll have to excuse me. You have a perfect day, and remember, five minutes of meditation before sleep quiets the busy mind."

They left, and Eve felt their looks of resentment burn into her back.

"Now, what can I do for you, Lieutenant? If you'd like to sit, we have a small water bar on the main level."

A water bar, she thought. Didn't it figure?

"This is fine. You were at the Down and Dirty last night?"

"Yes, I was, for about an hour. I enjoy its raw, real vibe."

"While there did you engage with Erin Albright and/or Shauna Hunnicut?"

"I engaged with a number of people—that's part of the vibe. But let me think."

He stepped over, took a rolled towel off a shelf, and dabbed at his face and neck. "Erin and Shauna, Erin and Shauna… Yes! I remember. The brides-to-be. Adorable, both of them. Their happiness just brimmed over. I enjoyed spending some time with their group. Such joy and energy."

"Had you met them, or any of their group, before last night?"

"Unfortunately no." His smile flashed. "But I hope to meet a few of them again."

"You won't meet Erin Albright again. She's in the morgue."

The towel paused in its dabbing. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Erin Albright was murdered last night, at the Down and Dirty."

"But that's—that's shocking. That's horrible." He tossed the towel in a wicker basket. "No, just no, the energy was joy, not violence. I have some sensitivity, and I'm sure I would've felt something so dark."

"Looks like you missed it. What time did you leave the club?"

"I'm not sure, but before midnight. Maybe eleven-forty-five, around. When did this horrible thing happen?"

"Why don't you tell me where you went, what you did after leaving the club?"

"Of course, if that's helpful. As I said, I enjoyed connecting with the women in the group, but— May I be frank?"

"You can be whoever you want if you answer the questions."

That little sarcasm slid right over his golden head. "A stop at the Down and Dirty usually results in a more intimate connection."

"You go to pick someone out to have sex."

"An intimacy of the moment," he corrected. "I like women. I like sex. I like sex with women, and that intimacy of the moment. Life is for living."

"Until you're murdered."

"Exactly. No, I mean, it's horrible, but that's my point. Live full while you can."

He looked blank a moment. "Where was I going with this? Oh yes, while I felt the possibility of a more intimate connection with some of the women in that group, the night was not the night for it. They were a group, they were celebrating. And while I feel marriage is a societal construct designed to restrict our natural freedom, they had joy. I took some contacts for a later connection, and left them to their joy."

"And what did you do, Wade, after that?"

"As I was still in the mood for the intimacy of the moment, I walked to Tango. It's not as raw and real as the Down and Dirty, but a little more polished, you could say. I felt a pull toward a lonely, lovely brunette, and bought her a drink. A Zombie. We talked—she'd had a recent bad breakup. We went back to her place and had that intimacy of the moment. Twice."

He smiled then. "She no longer felt lonely when I left—about two-thirty this morning."

"Did you get a name?"

"Of course." He actually looked insulted. "Daralee—isn't that charming? She moved to New York six years ago from Decatur, Georgia. Her accent was delightful."

"Last name?"

"We didn't find last names necessary, but I can give you her address and her 'link number."

"That'll work."

He held up a finger, crossed over to a small gym bag, and took out his 'link. "Here we are," he said, and read off the data.

"Okay. When you were at the Down and Dirty, did you notice anything that seemed off? Anyone who wasn't full of joy?"

"No. As I said, I have some sensitivity. I'm not a full sensitive, but I do have just a touch extra. I'm sure I would have noticed that. As right now, I feel this darkness inside."

He focused on her, eyes full of warmth, sympathy, understanding.

"You have such a demanding, stress-filled job where the dark lives. I offer private meditation practices. I'd love to work with you, give you some peace."

"Thanks. I have my own methods of working off stress."

A touch of humor now, and the sexy oozing through as he laid a hand on her arm. "I could help with that, too." He gave her biceps a quick squeeze, and his eyebrows lifted. "Slim as a willow, but muscles like stone. That's surprising."

"You'll be real surprised if you don't move your hand and I show you one of my ways to relieve stress."

He lifted his hand, held them both up, and added an easy smile. "I apologize. I'm a touchy-feely."

"Huh. I sensed that. I must have some sensitivity, too. Thanks for your time and cooperation."

"Lieutenant," he said as she started out, "I didn't get your first name."

"I don't find my first name necessary for this." With a mental eye roll, she kept going.

The brick shithouse now worked some poor schmuck through a circuit on the machines. She gave Eve a once-over. "Not flushed, not starry-eyed. Guess Wade struck out with you. But you didn't arrest him."

"Maybe next time." She paused a moment. "Has he ever been violent, overly pushy?"

"I gotta speak truth. Just no. You give him the back-off signal, he backs right off. There's plenty of others who want a ride on the magic cock, and he knows it. He's a dog, right, but he don't bite."

"Yeah, I got that."

Holding up a finger, Brick Shithouse turned to her client. "On the pad, Paulie. And give me twenty. I could help you bulk up," she said to Eve, "put some muscle on."

Amused, Eve stepped over to the weight rack, picked up a twenty-five, and did ten smooth biceps curls.

"My mistake."

"A lot of people make it." Eve replaced the weight and walked out.

As she walked back to the parking lot, Eve tagged Peabody.

"On my way back to the car."

"I'm just leaving—in a minute."

"Then meet me at Angie Decker's. They should be back from the morgue."

"I'll head there. Any luck with Rajinski?"

"Got an alibi to check, but it's going to. He's a horndog with not too many smarts and a magic cock. He's not our guy."

"How do you know about the magic cock?"

"I have it on good authority. And if you bought something in that place—and you did—I don't want to hear about it."

"I'll just say it didn't interfere with or affect my interview. I wouldn't mind hearing more about the magic cock."

"Get to Decker's."

She actively considered continuing the walk to Decker's, but had to admit she'd waste time. And it proved the right decision when she found a parking spot half a block from the building.

Pleased with her luck, she strolled down to a corner cart and ordered soy fries and a tube of Pepsi.

"You're eating." Peabody, huffing just a little, stopped beside her.

"I had to wait for you, so it passed the time."

"Veggie dog," Peabody ordered. "Mustard, Diet Pepsi. Rierdon didn't ring bells," she told Eve. "But he doesn't have an alibi. He's in a relationship—two months in—and the woman he's seeing teaches salsa on Monday nights. I confirmed. He grabbed takeaway, a gyro, on the way home, also confirmed. Got home about seven, had a beer."

She took the dog, paid. "Thanks. Ate the gyro," she continued, "watched some screen, had another beer, and crashed by eleven."

As they walked back, she munched on the dog. "He was up front. Shauna ended things before he was ready, so he was a little pissed and didn't want the whole we-can-be-friends deal Shauna did. Hasn't had a real relationship again until this one. He didn't know Erin Albright, but he'd heard through mutual friends that Shauna was involved there, then engaged there.

"One fry? Can I have one fry?"

Eve held out the scoop.

"Only one," Peabody repeated, like a mantra. "He said—and it came off true—knowing she switched teams made him feel better about the breakup. Then he heard about the murder right after he opened the store this morning, and remembered the name. He said he started to text Shauna, then didn't know what to say."

"We'll verify, but if he didn't know the victim, it's unlikely she'd bring him in on the big surprise."

Eve stopped outside the building, a nicely rehabbed white brick, mixed commercial and residential with a Greek place—coulda had a gyro—and an upscale hair and nail salon street level.

Eve walked to the maroon residential door, found Decker, and buzzed.

A male voice answered, "4202."

"Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody."

"I'll buzz you in."

When the buzzer sounded, Eve stepped in, studied the pair of elevators in the tiny entrance. Then pushed open the stairway door.

"I should've had more than one fry."

"You can skip any cardio you planned for later."

Peabody brightened. "Good trade. And we've done some suspect eliminations."

"First-pass eliminations don't always stick."

"True, but these feel like they will."

"Stairway's clean," Eve commented. "And you hear that? The pretty much nothing? Solid soundproofing. Some baby's probably screaming somewhere in here, but we don't hear it. Solid building, nice neighborhood. Decker lives alone, she's still shy of thirty. She models, and also works for her family's business. They're plumbers."

"That explains it."

"Yeah, if you can fix a toilet on a weekend, you can charge two arms and one leg. One official cohab, male, lasted just over two years, ended last fall. If she's straight, it's unlikely she and the victim were involved in that way, but they might've been."

"Are you looking at her?"

"If Albright needed a backup, why not the person she chose to stand up for her at her wedding? Statements indicate she was in the club area at TOD. But it wouldn't take long to do the deed and get back. You'd need a way to ditch the weapon and the rest, but, if you planned it out, possible. She's tall enough, looks strong enough."

Eve paused on the third floor. "Say she and Erin had an on-and-off. Go back to booty buddies. Maybe even kept that on the down-low. Then Erin falls for Shauna. It doesn't pass or wear out like before. It sticks. Now they're getting married, and we cut to the classic ‘If I can't have you, no one will.'"

Eve started up the next flight. "It's a theory."

"You wanted to follow up with her as much as Shauna."

"They were tight. She was trusted. Gotta look."

"Why didn't she kill Shauna—get rid of the obstacle?"

"What's that thing people say? How you always strangle the ones you love."

"I think it's ‘hurt.'"

"I bet getting strangled hurts."

"Either way, I get it."

"Keep it in mind while we talk to them."

"I will. But now I wish I hadn't liked her right off. The way she and DiNuzio flanked Hunnicut, the way the three of them held together like a unit."

"And all that might be true. But somebody Albright knew and trusted killed her."

On four they walked to the apartment. Good locks, Eve noted, a door cam with intercom. The door opened before she could knock.

The male voice, she assumed. He came in just over six feet, about a hundred and seventy, a leanly muscled build in black pants, a pale-blue-and-gray pin-striped dress shirt open at the collar, rolled to the elbows.

Caucasian, and another vid-star handsome with a clean-shaven angular face, short, wavy brown hair and deep-set, deep brown eyes shadowed with fatigue.

"Lieutenant, Detective, please come in. I'm Greg, Greg Barney. We're… we're all in the living room."

He led them down a short entrance hall into a spacious living area with large windows offering a street view.

Shauna sat on a cream-colored couch, a rose-colored pillow pressed to her middle with one arm. Her other hand clung to Donna Fleschner's.

"They said I could come," Donna said quickly. "I wanted to come."

"That's fine," Eve told her.

Angie rose from the facing love seat, stepped to the side. "Please come in, sit down. I was going to make coffee, but no one wanted any. I can make coffee."

"We're fine."

As she crossed the room, Eve gauged the tableau. Stylish furniture—muted backdrop with bold splashes of color.

Some of the art on the wall had to be Erin Albright's; even Eve recognized the style.

Becca sat on the arm of the sofa on Shauna's other side.

Shauna, ghost pale, her red hair pulled back and rolled into a knot at the base of her neck. She wore a black dress, one a bit too big on her.

Greg stood, his hands going in and out of his pockets as if they didn't know where to settle.

"I went by the deli. I've got lunch meat and sides. Shauna, let me make you a sandwich."

"Not now, Greg. Not now."

"You need to eat," he insisted. "I got the pastrami you like. I'll make you a sandwich."

She just shook her head. "Maybe later."

Becca rose, went over to take his hand. "Sit, babe. Stop hovering and sit." She nudged him into a chair, then sat on that arm with a hand on his shoulder.

Shauna let out a long sigh. "Nobody knows exactly what to do right now. We all had something to do before. We needed to go see Erin. We went to see her in that place. And Erin's parents. We all went to see her, and Mr.—I mean Dr.… I can't remember his name, but he was very, very kind. But you know how people say at a funeral or memorial, how she looks like she's sleeping?"

Shauna's hollow, bruised eyes met Eve's. "It's not true. She didn't look like she does when she's asleep. It's not true."

"No," Eve said, "it's not."

"Erin's mom and dad—I thought they should plan the memorial. I thought that was the right thing. But they wanted me to have a part of that, and I asked if we could have our wedding flowers and some of the music. I thought Erin would want that. I don't know. Everybody thought so, too, but I don't know for sure. Do you think that's the right thing?"

"I think it's beautiful," Peabody said. "I think it's exactly the right thing."

"It feels like the right thing, but nothing really feels right. I can't imagine it ever will."

"Ms. Hunnicut—"

"Shauna."

"Shauna," Eve corrected. "You have a lot of support here, and that's going to be a tremendous help. But we're going to give you the name of a grief counselor."

"All right. But what if I don't want to let go of that? What if I don't want to stop the grief?"

"Then they—and your friends—will help you live with the grief. And when we find the person responsible, that will help you live with it."

"She'll still be gone."

"Nothing can change that. If you were gone, and Erin was here, what would she want?"

Shauna took a breath, straightened her shoulders. "She'd want you to find the son of a bitch."