Chapter Seven

"Shauna, can you think of anyone Erin was previously involved with who might have harbored a grudge against her, or you?"

"I can't. I really can't." She looked toward Angie.

"No, I can't, either. Erin was what I think of as a flitter. She flitted, you know?"

"Did she flit with anyone who was there last night?"

Angie blew out a breath. "Well, yeah, some. Wanda Rogan, ChiChi Lopez. But not close to serious on anyone's part. Erin didn't do serious relationships. That's why Shauna was such a surprise. A really good one," she added.

Angie shifted toward Eve. "I met Shauna at Erin's art show, and I've known Erin for a long time, so I saw it. The spark. I even said something to her. I said something like: ‘Erin, you're wearing your dream eyes, and isn't she straight?' And she sighed, she actually sighed like you do when you're just gone over someone, and said: ‘Passion's passion, love's love.' I honestly thought she'd get her heart broken, and she told me if you don't risk heartbreak, you're not living. And she felt…" She trailed off as her voice thickened. "She felt like she'd finally started living."

"She said that?" Shauna murmured. "That very first night?"

"She did. Glenda and I talked about it. We worried."

"Glenda Frost?" Eve prompted. "The woman who runs the gallery?"

"Yeah. She loved Erin, as a person, as an artist. I let her know what happened, and she's heading back to New York today."

"Both she and Donna missed the party. Was anyone else a no-show?"

Shauna pressed a hand to her temple. "It's all such a blur."

"Kaydee couldn't make it." Becca spoke up. "She's an intern, doing an ER rotation. She tagged me about ten last night. Multi-vehicle accident, and they were taking the bulk of the injured."

"What hospital?"

"Midtown West."

"Anyone else?"

"No. Angie and I did the guest list," Becca said. "We shared the parties—this one and the shower last month—though Erin and Shauna did most of the planning for last night. But I did a head count once things got rolling. I'm kind of anal that way."

Greg looked up, smiled at her. "Only that way?"

She just laughed a little and poked him. "Maybe in a few others."

"Did anyone leave early? Anyone step out awhile and come back?"

"I didn't notice anyone. Angie?"

"No, not that I noticed, either. Bathroom breaks—but we went in twos or groups, like we already talked about. It's possible, I guess, but we weren't really that big a group. And between Becca and me, we know everyone. I'd swear there was no one there who'd do this."

Greg started to push up from his chair. "Shauna, let me get you some tea."

Becca nudged him back as Shauna shook her head. "Hovering," she murmured.

When he only lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, Eve continued.

"What about your previous relationships, Shauna? Besides Marcus Stillwater and Jon Rierdon."

"I talked to Marcus this morning." Tears swam into her eyes, but she didn't shed them. "He's coming over as soon as he can get away from work. This is taking over your apartment, Angie."

"Just stop. It's yours, too, as long as you need it."

"I have to find another place. I can't live there now."

"We'll deal with that later," Becca told her. "It's nothing to think about right now."

"I'll help you." Donna put an arm around her. "When you're ready."

"All right. Okay." Shauna took a moment to settle again. "I haven't talked to Jon in I don't know how long. We didn't have a big fight; it just wasn't working for me. Last time I saw him, it's been several years easy, I guess. At Jodi's party, right, Bec?"

"Yeah, he was there. He brought a smoker."

Shauna managed a smile. "She was, wasn't she? I came solo—I think that soothed his ego some. He has a pretty big one. Anyway, I dated some after Jon and before Erin, but nobody serious. And before Jon—are we going back that far?"

"Details matter."

"Well, there was Simon Pugh. I had such a crush on him. He didn't have one on me."

"I didn't like him," Becca muttered.

"Don't I know it. We dated for about three months. Me exclusively, him not so much. Then he dumped me."

"Wall Street guy," Becca filled in. "Full of himself. It was a meet-cute, shared cab."

"He was a little bit of a prick," Greg commented, and Shauna managed a weak smile.

"He really was. And I can't imagine he's given me a thought since he dumped me. I dated in college, but that was mostly party time and, we'll say, passions of the moment. If we're still going back?"

She gestured toward Greg. "High school."

"Shaunbar." He sent her a look of affection. "We were The Couple in high school."

"Good times."

"Good times," he agreed. "Then the emotional parting for college. You cried buckets."

"I did." The memory made her smile a little more. "Then I got over it."

"You did. And all of that netted me the grand prize."

"Aww," Becca cooed when he took her hand and kissed it. "We all knew each other in high school—I think I mentioned that. They were The Couple, and I was The Very Serious Student."

"Honor society, class valedictorian," Shauna continued. "Wheeze."

"Proudly. Then Shauna and I reconnected—or just really connected—and when Greg moved to New York, we had a kind of mini-reunion. That wasn't long before the cab ride with Snobby Simon. We had a double date. Well, Greg and I weren't really dating, more hanging. Now that I think about it, it was our mutual dislike of Simon Pugh that springboarded us into really dating."

"Do we have to thank him for it?" Greg wondered.

"Nah."

"You make me happy." Shauna spoke softly. "Seeing the two of you together always makes me happy."

"Where were you last night?' Eve asked Greg, and his eyes widened.

"Wow. I guess I walked into that one."

"Oh, Lieutenant, Greg would never—"

"It's okay, Shauna. Seriously, I get it. And thorough's important. I manage On Trend. A downtown men's shop. Since Becca was going out, I took closing last night. I'd say I was out of there about seven, seven-fifteen. I walked over to Tippler's, met a friend for a beer and some bar food. Clint Wetz. He's with Jodi of the party fame. She'd have been at the party last night. I guess we were at Tippler's a couple hours. Clint called it because he had a breakfast meeting today, and since it was a nice night, I walked home."

"You bought me flowers," Becca reminded him. "Tiger lilies."

"Right, how could I forget? A stall still open on the way home. Came home, put them in some water. I figured to watch some screen, and crashed on the living room sofa. I don't know what time, but before eleven. I was streaming… what the hell was it?"

He shut his eyes as if to think back, then with a shake of his head, opened them again.

"Sorry, some science fiction thing, aliens. I just went out, and was out until Becca tagged me about Erin."

"He wanted to come." Becca rubbed Greg's shoulder. "But I said no. I didn't know how long we'd be, and I'd stay with Shauna, how she'd need him more today."

"Okay. Thanks, that covers it. We'll get out of your way. Detective Peabody will send you a list of grief counselors. When you've scheduled Erin's memorial service, please let us know."

"Isn't there something else?" Shauna asked. "Anything else?"

"Erin's our priority. You can be sure of that."

"I want you to tell me whenever you know something, or think something. I want you to ask me whatever you need to ask me whenever you need to ask. I want what Erin would want if she was sitting here and I was gone. I want you to catch the son of a bitch."

"That's what we're working for."

When they stepped out, Peabody glanced back. "Not everyone has that much real support. If she's lucky on any level, she's lucky there. The intern checks out," she added as they started down the stairs. "She was on until after one A.M . And Glenda Frost's shuttle should be landing in New York right about now. She booked the flight just after nine this morning."

"Do a deeper dive on no-alibi Rierdon. And we'll take a look at Rogan and Lopez. Could be one of them was more serious than Erin."

"I wonder how I'd feel if McNab hung around someone he'd flitted with."

"You flitted around with Charles and hang around with him now."

"Did not! I flitted around the flitting with Charles, but we didn't actively flit. Ever. Maybe I let McNab think we actively flitted, but he was being a jerk."

Then she shrugged. "And I was being a jerk, but we worked all that out. You actively flitted with Webster."

"One bang is not a flit. Add I didn't hang out with Webster. He was on the job, that's work."

"And now he's living off-planet with Darcia, and Charles and Louise are married. Life rocks and rolls."

"And some flit their way through it."

Eve stepped outside, put on her sunshades. "Greg Barney and Becca DiNuzio's address?"

Peabody pulled out her PPC to look it up. "Gotta take a look at half The Couple from high school."

"That's right. Shauna would trust him, no question. Can't say if Erin would have, but we'll take a look. No alibi for the time in question, so we look."

"And given his address, he could've made it work."

"Plug it in," Eve ordered, and got in the car.

"Plus, who's to say when he picked up the flowers, or where? I mean, that's a pretty good add, right? I bought flowers on the way home. But he could've bought them after he killed Albright, or earlier in the day."

Digging into it, Peabody sat back. "Say, on his lunch hour, and since he lives close to work, he runs them home."

"DiNuzio would've seen them when she got home, changed for party time."

"Right, right. But not if he tucked them away somewhere. Or brought them back to work in a bag, like they were something else."

"How long do flowers last without water?"

"You're crushing my buzz. Okay, so he could've bought them on the way home—the idea hits. Buy the flowers, establish my innocent steps. Or he buys them after the kill. Or! He buys them going to or from the art studio when he gets the case. Hell, he could've ordered them for evening delivery. How would we trace tiger lilies already in a vase?"

"While I appreciate your mind working in cynical ways, delivery would be stupid. If you can't find flowers—and it's New York, it's summer, you're going to find some stall with flowers—you pick up something else. Something for cash. Most likely, he bought them exactly as he said. Either because he's telling the truth all around, or because he wanted the little extra flourish as cover."

Peabody slumped a little. "Sure, if you want it to make more sense. We had The Couple in high school. Lauren Beals and Denny Parker. Why do I remember that? Is it sick I remember that?"

"Your call."

"It's a little bit sick," Peabody decided after some thought. "Not pathological though. Okay, so running through the theory that Greg Barney did the deed, motive. He still has it for Shauna, Becca's just the beard. She doesn't know. I'm sure of that one. He's hooked up with her so he stays close to Shauna. Then what! She's going for somebody else!"

"She's dated and had sex with somebody else—multiple somebodies."

"But now she's getting married."

"Point for you on that. There's the men's shop. And that puts his place between it and Crack's. A solid walk to the D&D, we're going to time that just to tie it down."

Peabody went back to her PPC. "And the bar where he met the friend? Two blocks north from… here."

Eve hit vertical and dropped into a second-level street slot.

Peabody swallowed her heart out of her throat, back into her chest. "You never warn me. You just never, ever warn me."

"Saves you anxiety time. Let's take a walk."

"Where do we start?"

"The bar." Eve jogged down the steps to street level. "Given the location, I'm betting Barney's at least a semi-regular. Meanwhile, pin down the friend, see if he verifies."

And, she thought as they walked in the steamy air, they needed to talk to Erin's friends and flit partners.

While Peabody worked her 'link, Eve imagined the walk after dark. Still traffic, sure, vehicles, pedestrians. But not as many people clipping or trudging along after dark. Cooler air, closed shops.

A block north, they hit a flower stall. And Peabody clicked off her 'link. "Checks out. They met where and when. Or by seven-thirty. The alibi says they left together around nine-thirty. Confirmed breakfast meeting this morning."

"We still start at the bar. Any of those tiger lilies?"

"Yeah, three bunches right there. Boy, they're really pretty."

"Keep walking."

"He probably got them there. Why wouldn't he? He'd walk right by them. So either a sweet gesture or a clever ploy. He did seem kind of sweet. Like stopping by a deli so there'd be something easy to eat. And I have to add Becca strikes me as a woman who'd know if she was just the beard."

"Maybe, but we play it out."

Since the bar was open, Eve walked in.

Tippler's smelled of beer and bar food—not unpleasantly. It had a decent crowd taking advantage of both.

Eve went to the bar, caught the attention of the bartender, a woman with a pink froth of hair and excellent breasts displayed in a low-cut, skintight black tee.

"What'll it be, ladies?"

Eve palmed the badge discreetly.

The bartender shook her head. "Should've caught that. What's the problem?"

"Who was on the stick last night, about seven-thirty to ten?"

"That would be me. Usually off at eight, but had to cover."

Now Eve held up a screen shot of Greg's ID picture.

"Greg? Come on, man, he can't be in cop trouble."

"Just verifying he was here last night."

"Yeah, with his pal what's-his-name. Give me a sec. Yeah, Clint. Couple of beers, loaded nachos. Their ladies were having a girl party. Greg comes in with his now and then. Pretty blond—that reddish blond type. They call it strawberry, but strawberries are red-red, so I don't get that."

Right there with you, Eve thought, but asked, "When did they leave?"

"Hell, hard to pin that down, but not late. I'm going to say before ten for sure. Friend wanted an early night. Greg toyed with hanging for one more beer, but decided to cash out and leave with the friend. Is that it?"

"That's it. Thanks."

"He's a good guy," the bartender added. "You can tell a good guy by how he treats his lady—or his guy, whichever. And he'll ask how you're doing and mean it. Tips decent."

"Good to know." Eve stepped away. "Time it," she told Peabody. "Steady walk, we pause at the stall, then steady walk to the apartment building."

"On your mark. He wouldn't have to dodge and weave so much on the walk at going on ten."

"It'll be close enough. We're going to take a look at the two women Erin flitted with who were at the party. Odds are she trusted them."

"Because she flitted with them?"

"Because she stayed friendly with them, friendly enough to invite them to the girl party. Pause."

Since they paused at the flower stall, Eve talked to the vendor.

"How late are you open?"

"Ten to ten, every day from May to October."

He hit mid-sixties, Eve thought, neat as a parlor in a short-sleeved shirt and well-pressed khakis. He wore a blue fielder's cap with a white daisy over a grizzled buzz cut, and metal-framed sunshades.

"You work the stall that late?"

"Oh, not me, honey." He smiled so sweetly, she didn't bite him for the honey . "My son comes on, takes over 'bout three most days. He brings a fresh supply in if we need it."

Once again, Eve showed Greg's ID shot. "You recognize him?"

"I sure do. He stops by, buys some of our pretties for his woman. Nice young fella."

"That's what we hear, thanks. That's about how long it should've taken him to buy flowers," Eve decided as they continued to walk.

They waited at the corner for the Walk signal.

"I'm starting to lose that buzz. Bartenders like him, flower vendors like him." Peabody shook her head. "All those women like him."

"And of course, likable people never kill anybody."

"Well, they shouldn't." They crossed the street in the pedestrian stream. "I could see it more if it had been in the moment. Like—crime of passion. It gets harder to see when you know it was planned out—and planned on a night when they were celebrating."

"Whoever killed her knew what was in the case. They'd have looked. Why wouldn't they? Definitely not trustworthy when you're going to garrote the bride. It's a fairly slick kill. Stupid part was wasting time taking the jewelry, leaving the case. No half-blind cop would look at the scene and think mugging. And he should've taken the case—in fact never picked up the case in the first place."

"Shit, when did he pick it up?"

"He's the backup—she told Donna she had backup, so he already knew about the case, the whole deal. Erin would have told him Donna had to be in Baltimore. Wouldn't surprise me if she dropped off the case to him herself. Or told him where to find a spare swipe. Then Donna heads out of town, Erin tags him. Plan B. It's his opening."

"If Donna's sister hadn't gone into labor—"

"She did. Fact. We stick with that, for now. Here's the building. Time."

"Twelve minutes, forty seconds, including the flower stop."

"If he'd rushed, he'd have cut that time. I don't think he'd need to."

She stood, studying the building. "What floor are they on?"

"Second."

"One of those post-Urban toss ups—no cams, crap security, soundproofing's going to be crap, too. If he's smart, he makes some noise going in, maybe gets someone to notice. Gets in the apartment, takes care of the flowers, changes out of his work clothes. Checks what's on-screen. Turns it on. Not too loud, just loud enough. Get the case, the weapon, gloves, the swipe for the privacy room. If she'd let him in the back, she'd just take the case and go. So he's in the room. He'd dump the swipes to the studio—if he had them—in her purse after she's dead."

"You really like him for it."

"I'm just running it through. You want to be quiet leaving, you want to be sure you're not seen now. Gotta take your time—it's too early anyway. And you've gotta get your guts up. Yeah, you'd have to get your guts up."

Eve shook her head. "It's a hell of a lot over a high school deal. And that's what, nearly ten years back?"

"My buzz is dead on it."

"We'll finish it out. Time." Eve started to walk again. "On the street, you're just some guy carrying a case, and it's raining—more cover. Or just finished raining, depending. But it's damp, steamy. You're sweating. Could change your mind, just deliver the case. What's driving you, after ten fucking years?"

"Okay, so maybe the fire went out, after high school. Good times, fond memories, and all that. Reconnect, and maybe the spark with Becca was real, but as you go, that fire starts up again."

"How long have they been together, him and Becca?"

Peabody pulled out her notes. "Official cohabbing two years, three months."

"Long time to fake it." She shook her head. "But play it out. What killed the spark and started the fire? Shit, it's stupid." But she kept walking as the neighborhood got seedier. "No logic to it. Nearly there though, so we go around the block and into the back."

Once they had, Eve said, "Time."

"Sixteen minutes, twelve seconds."

"Have to give him opportunity. Definitely had opportunity, but motive is stupid weak, means is questionable."

Still, she broke the crime scene seal and mastered in.

Play it through.

"I'm going to say, coming in this way, getting into the privacy room quick and unseen, he's likely been here before. Scoped it out. He's already got the swipe."

With a nod of agreement, Eve shut her eyes. "Backtrack a minute. She's got a morning cleaning job, and she swings in here after that, before she heads home, or to the studio or wherever. Crack gives her the swipe—around noon, he said. She meets her backup, passes it off because Donna's in Baltimore and might not make it. Gives backup the swipe to the studio. And here comes opportunity."

"Why didn't she just bring the case herself, get the swipe, stow it?"

"She didn't or Crack would've noticed it, so… Had to be a time factor—time factor passing off the swipe to her backup."

Noontime, she thought. Lunch hour?

"We'll check on the timing, cleaning job, location. But this is how it went down. The backup, and let's keep Barney in the lead for now, comes in the back, goes straight to the privacy room."

In the silent club still smelling faintly of sweepers' dust, Eve started toward it. "Somebody sees him? Recognizes him? He can just scratch the kill, play up the secret. But nobody does."

She mimed swiping into the unsecured privacy room.

"It only takes a few seconds to come in, swipe in, get inside."

With Peabody, she stepped inside, closed the door.

"He doesn't think to secure it after the kill. Nervous, probably nervous, a little shock. This was likely a first kill.

"Can you do it, can you really do this?"

The room held little more than a bed. Blood had coagulated on the floor, and stained the air.

"She couldn't have given the backup a specific time," Peabody commented. "How could she know exactly when she'd be able to slip away without Shauna noticing?"

"Ballpark. She wants the party in full swing, wants this to be like the big deal that pumps it forward. Can't ask her, but he can't just drop it off because he has the swipe, and she needs it back. No other reason for her to want him to stay, or ask him to stay."

"No place to hide in here," Peabody pointed out. "She had to see him as soon as she opened the door."

"That's right. She's a little drunk, a lot happy, and probably doesn't think twice. Stand right there."

Eve stepped out, then in again. "She sees him, and happy, a little impaired, excited, says something. ‘Oh, you're here. Thanks for doing this!' Turns, shuts the door. And he's on her. Get on me."

Peabody moved forward, cupped her hands around Eve's throat to mimic the garrote.

"Pain, shock. Drops her purse. She can't scream, but claws at the wire. Bam! He bashes her head against the door, and now she's blacking out, choking, terrified. Helpless. Struggling, but helpless. Goes down right here, loses a shoe."

After signaling Peabody back, Eve turned.

"He takes her 'link out of the purse. But he can't take just that, has to take it because there's communication on it, but he takes her jewelry, her cash, dumps the swipes. Takes the weapon and gets out the way he came."

"It didn't take long. Probably under five minutes. He may have waited for her longer," Peabody added, "but this part was really quick."

"Opportunity knocked." She opened the door again. "We'll head back to Central. See if you can reach Wanda Rogan, ChiChi Lopez, and bring them to us. I'll let Crack know he can open tomorrow—after he gets a crime scene cleaner in here."

"Greg Barney? Is he still top of the list?"

"We'll keep him up there with Rierdon, do those deeper dives. Motivation's weak and stupid on both, but with some, love can be both."