Chapter 2

“VICTIM IDENTIFIED AS REINHOLD, CARL JAMES. Caucasian male, age fifty-six.” Eve scanned her Identi-pad. “Married to Reinhold, Barbara, nee Myers, age fifty-four.” She glanced over at Peabody.

“Yeah, female ID confirmed.”

“One offspring, male, Reinhold, Jerald, age twenty-six, address listed on West Houston.”

Carl Reinhold still had both parents, she noted, who’d migrated to Florida, and a brother with a Hoboken address. The data listed the victim’s employer as Beven and Son’s Flooring, with offices and showroom just a handful of blocks away.

“Victim was beaten severely, head, face, shoulders, chest, extremities. Injuries are consistent with the baseball bat handily left on scene, and coated with blood and gray matter. Erased his face. That’s personal.”

“I can’t count the stab wounds on the female, Dallas. She’s been hacked to pieces.”

“I’d say we’ve got the cause of death. Let’s get the time.”

Eve pulled out her gauge. “He’s been dead for about sixty-two hours. That puts it at Friday evening. Around six-thirty.”

“She has almost six hours on him. TOD Friday, twelve-hundred-forty.”

“Nearly six hours between kills.” Eve sat back on her heels. “Kills the woman in the afternoon, then what, waits around for the man? No sign of struggle in the living area. No sign of break-in.”

She pushed up. “Go ahead and call for the morgue and the sweepers.”

Solid middle-class couple from the looks of it, Eve thought as she began to wander the apartment. The woman lets someone in, middle of the day? No struggle. Both killed in the kitchen.

She set that train of thought aside once she stepped into what appeared to be the main bedroom.

“Somebody tossed the bedroom,” she called out.

“It’s pretty strange and vicious for a burglary,” Peabody began, and stopped, frowning into the bedroom. “It looks pretty tidy.”

“Pretty tidy, not perfectly tidy like the living area. Things are out of place here. The bedcovers aren’t smooth, the closet doors open, some clothes on the floor in there. That desk there—one of the drawers isn’t closed all the way, and where’s the comp? No comp or tablet on the desk.”

Eve pulled open a drawer on the bureau. “Everything’s jumbled in here. No, she kept a neat and clean house in a neat and clean building. Whoever did this was looking for something. I bet the wit’s been in here, and would know if anything’s missing.”

“You want her to walk through.”

“Yeah, after they take the bodies.” She walked out. “Second bedroom, not so tidy either. Rug’s askew. Furniture’s got some dust on it. Why didn’t she clean in here? Closet’s empty,” she added, after pulling it open. “Who has an empty closet?”

“Not me. If you have storage, you end up using it.”

“Somebody was staying in here. Dirty dishes scattered around, empty containers.” She walked to the bed, yanked the cover down, bent over to sniff the sheets. “Sleeping here. Tag these. We could get DNA.”

She turned a circle. “Someone staying here, someone they know. She’s in the kitchen, maybe fixing lunch that time of day. We’ll run the log on the AutoChef. Maybe he wants something, and she won’t give it to him.”

Letting herself see it, she walked out again, back to the kitchen. “He’s pissed, oh, he’s so fucking pissed. The knife’s right there, just takes it out of the block and lets her have it. Over and over. Bet that felt good.”

“Why?” Peabody wondered. “Why do you say it felt good?”

“He didn’t run, did he? He hung around, waiting to do her husband. Another overkill. So, yeah, I’m thinking it felt just fine. Note for sweepers to check all the drains. He had to clean up, he’d be covered with blood. But he’s got hours before the husband gets home. Hours to clean himself up, to change, and to go through the place. She probably had a couple pieces of decent jewelry, easy to hock.”

“They’d’ve had emergency cash somewhere,” Peabody added. “It’s what you do, sock some away in case.”

“Okay. Jewelry, cash. Male vic’s wallet’s gone, and he’s not wearing a wrist unit. When we find her purse, her wallet’s going to be gone, too. Electronics—that’s something we’re not seeing in here.”

“Easy and portable.”

Eve looked at the victims again. “And an afterthought. You don’t kill like this for trinkets. You don’t kill people you know like this for some spare cash. You do it for a lot more. Maybe they had more. Let’s see what the neighbor has to say.”

Eve headed for the door, glanced back. “Run the son,” she told Peabody.

“You think somebody could’ve done that to his own parents?”

“Who pisses you off more than family?” She stepped out. “It’s clear for Crime Scene,” she told the uniform. “And the wagon’s on the way. What’s the wit’s name?”

“Sylvia Guntersen. Her husband’s Walter. He’s in there, too. He stayed home from work.”

“All right.” Eve knocked on 824. The female officer answered, a young blonde with her hair pulled back tightly at the nape of her neck.

“Hey, Cardininni.”

The blonde smiled, her frosty blue eyes warmed. “Hey, Peabody. Some morning, huh?”

“You could say. Officer Cardininni and I walked the beat together a few times.”

“Before you went Murder on us. Lieutenant. It’s good meeting you. More or less.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The woman’s taking it hard. The husband’s holding on, but not by much. They were tight with the vics. Lived across the hall from each other for about a dozen years. They hung a lot, took some vacations together. Close buds.”

“Got it.”

The apartment layout mirrored 825. The decor was less fussy, but the tidiness factor meshed. The Guntersens sat at the square-topped black kitchen table, cups in front of them. Eve judged them to be about the same age as the victims.

The woman wore her hair short, stylishly spiked, while the man went long and ponytailed. Both sets of eyes were red-rimmed, swollen. The woman took one look at Eve and began sobbing.

Eve only had to glance at Peabody to get her partner moving forward.

“Mrs. Guntersen, we’re so sorry for your loss. This is Lieutenant Dallas, and I’m Detective Peabody. We’re going to do our best for your friends.”

“They were my friends, our best friends.” She choked it out as she reached for her husband’s hand. “How could this happen to them?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Eve took a seat at the table. “We need your help.”

“I just worried when she didn’t answer, so I went in. I found them. I found Barb and Carl.”

“I know this is hard,” Peabody began. “But we have to ask you some questions.” She measured the woman, decided she’d do better with a task. “Do you think we could have some coffee, ma’am?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Pulling herself together, Sylvia stood up.

“When was the last time you spoke to or saw Barbara or Carl?” Eve asked.

“I talked to Barb Friday morning. Just a quick chat before Walt and I left. We went to see our daughter and her fiancé in Philadelphia for the weekend. They just got engaged.”

“Carl and I met up and had a beer after work Thursday,” Walter put in. “That’s the last I saw him.”

“When did you get back from Philadelphia?”

“Sunday night. I called Barb, but I didn’t think anything of it when she didn’t answer. I just figured she and Carl went out. They like to go to the vids.” Her chin wobbled, but she managed to set two cups of coffee on the table. “Most Friday nights we go to a vid together, but we were going to see Alice and Ben, so...”

“Who was staying with them?”

“Oh, Jerry. Their son. God, I never thought! I don’t know where he could be, what might’ve happened to him.” Her eyes, full of fresh horror, darted toward the door. “Is he... is he in there?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Thank God for that.”

“When did he move back home?”

“A while ago. About three weeks ago—no, nearly four—after he and his girlfriend broke up.”

“Girlfriend’s name?” Eve asked. “And the names of anyone you think he might be staying with. Friends?”

“Um Lori. Nuccio. Lori Nuccio,” Sylvia said. “And he didn’t have a lot of friends. Mal, Dave, Joe—Mal Golde, Dave Hildebran, Joe Klein. Those are the main three.”

“Good. Coworkers?”

“He, well, he lost his job, so he moved back in until he could straighten it all out. Jerry’s, well, Jerry’s a little bit of a problem child.”

“He’s a lazy bastard.”

“Walter!” Appalled, Sylvia sat down hard. “That’s a terrible thing to say. He’s just lost his parents.”

“It doesn’t change what he is.” There was gravel in Walter’s voice now, as if hard little pebbles blocked his throat. “Lazy, ungrateful, and a user.” Grief and anger spread over his face like a haze. “I met Carl Thursday night because he needed to talk about it. He and Barbara were at their wit’s end. That boy had been out of work for over a month, maybe a month and a half, but he hasn’t so much as looked for a job. Not that he’d keep it for long anyway.”

“There was friction between him and his parents?”

“Barb was upset with him,” Sylvia said, plucking at the tiny Star of David around her throat. “She wanted him to grow up, make something of himself. And she really liked Lori—the girlfriend. She thought Lori could help Jerry grow up some, be a responsible man, but it didn’t work out.”

“He blew the rent money—and what he stole from Lori—in Vegas.”

Sylvia let out a sigh, patted her husband’s hand. “It’s true. He’s immature and impulsive. Barb did tell me Friday morning he’d taken some money out of her house cash.”

“Where did she keep that?” Eve asked.

“In a coffee can in the back of the kitchen cupboard.”

Another glance had Peabody rising, stepping out.

“They were going to give him until the first of the month.” Walter picked up a spoon, stirred his cold coffee. “Carl told me Thursday, he was going to talk to Barb, but he’d made up his mind. They’d give him until December first to get a job, start being responsible, or he had to go. Barbara was upset all the time, there were arguments every day, and it just couldn’t go on.”

“They argued a lot,” Eve prompted.

“He’d sleep half the day, go out half the night. Then he’d complain the water wasn’t wet enough, the sky wasn’t blue enough. He didn’t give them any respect or appreciation, and now they’re gone. Now he’ll never be able to make up for it.”

When he choked on tears, Sylvia leaped up to put her arms around him.

“Do you know how to get in touch with Jerry?”

“No, not really.” Sylvia soothed and stroked her husband. “He probably went off with his friends for a few days.”

I don’t think so, Eve mused, but she nodded. “I’m sorry to ask, but would you be able to tell if anything’s missing across the hall?”

Sylvia closed her eyes. “Yes. I’m sure I would. I—I know Barb’s place, her things, as well as I know my own.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look. I’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to do that.” Eve rose. “We appreciate your help.”

“We’ll do anything we can.” Sylvia pressed her face to her husband’s shoulder, and they rocked each other.

When Eve stepped out into the hall, Peabody stood talking to Cardininni.

“Coffee can’s there, and it’s empty.”

“See my shocked face.”

“And the sweepers are on their way up.”

“Okay. Officer, when the scene’s clear, I want you to walk Mrs. Guntersen through, make a note of anything she says is missing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Peabody, let’s go find the lazy bastard son.”

“Keep it legal,” Peabody called back to Cardininni.

“When I have to.”

Eve stopped long enough at the elevators to brief the sweepers when they unloaded, then stepped on with Peabody.

“Tell me about the son.”

“Lazy bastard probably fits,” Peabody commented. “Flunked out of college, second year in. He hasn’t held a job for longer than six months, including one at his father’s place of employment. His last job was delivery boy for Americana restaurant. He’s had a couple minor pops for illegals, one for drunk and disorderly. Nothing big, nothing violent.”

“I think he graduated.”

“He did that over what they had stuck in a coffee can?”

“He did that because his life’s in the toilet and they’d decided to stop pulling him out. That’s how it strikes me. See if he’s used any credit cards, debit cards, in his father’s or his mother’s name.”

She stopped off to get the security disc from the uniform in the lobby. “Start canvassing the building,” she told him. “Find out if anybody saw anything, heard anything. And when and if anyone saw Jerry Reinhold. Start on the eighth floor, but cover the building.”

“Yes, sir.”

In the car, she slid the disc into the dash unit. “Let’s see when he left.”

She programmed it to start Friday morning, then moved it fast forward. She saw the Guntersens leave with big smiles and suitcases, and others move in, move out.

“That’s our vic coming home from work, eighteen-twenty-three on Friday night.”

“He looks tired,” Peabody commented.

“Yeah, he thinks he’s going to have an argument with his son. It’s going to be a whole lot worse.”

She ran the disc through Friday night into Saturday morning.

“He stayed in there?” It horrified Peabody. “He stayed in there with his dead parents.”

“Plenty of time to get whatever he wanted, think things through. There he is, there he comes, twenty-twenty-eight, Saturday night. Over twenty-four hours in there with them. And he’s hauling two suitcases. Let’s check on cabs picking up at the address or on either corner at that time. Lazy bastard isn’t going to drag those suitcases far.”

“He’s smiling,” Peabody said quietly.

“Yeah, I see that. Keep running it, see if he comes back.” As she spoke Eve pulled out into traffic.

“Where are we going first?”

“We’ll try his last known address.”

While Eve drove, Peabody multitasked. “No activity on either of the vics’ cards.”

“So he’s not completely stupid.”

“And he didn’t go back to the apartment.”

“Got what he could get.”

“But how far can he get on the contents of a coffee can? Even if they stashed a couple thousand in there, and that’s a lot for home cash.”

“We need to check financials on both vics. Any transfers or withdrawals from any account. People tend to write down their passwords,” Eve added before Peabody could speak. “He had plenty of time to dig out the passwords, any codes, dig into their accounts. Cab first. We could get lucky.”

Eve started to make the turn to Jerry’s listed address when Peabody let out a whoop. “I got him!” She held up a finger, continued to rapid-fire into her ’link. “Got it. Thanks. Rapid Cab pickup,” she told Eve, “right in front of the damn building, drop off at The Manor—that’s a fancy boutique hotel, West Village.”

“Address, Peabody.”

As Peabody rattled it off, Eve hit sirens, lights, and took the corner. Peabody grabbed the chicken stick, white-knuckled it, and said a short but heartfelt prayer.

· · ·

The Manor looked like just that, something found in the English countryside and once owned by a wealthy earl. The gorgeous old brownstone, obviously recently and lovingly rehabbed, boasted a wide portico entrance, fat urns of trailing flowers, and a liveried doorman Eve expected to give her grief when she pulled her dull-looking DLE into the loading zone.

She braced for it as he hotfooted over in his royal blue and gold uniform and shiny knee boots.

“Listen, pal,” she began before his expression changed from that of a man about to toss out some stinky garbage to warm yet distinguished welcome.

“Lieutenant Dallas. How can we help you today?”

He threw her off stride. She hated that. But it only took her a moment to understand. The Manor belonged to Roarke, and the doorman had gotten the business-wide memo to cooperate fully with the big boss’s wife.

She didn’t really hate that, but it kind of irked.

“I need you to leave my car where I put it, and I need the manager, asap.”

“Absolutely. Diego!” He signaled to a black-suited bellman just rolling out a loaded cart. “See that Lieutenant Dallas’s vehicle remains undisturbed. Let me get the door for you, Lieutenant.” He pulled the tall, heavily carved door open, gestured them inside.

The lobby resembled a large parlor, appointed to Old World perfection. Just Roarke’s style, Eve thought, all the gleaming wood, glossy tile, the heavy bronze lighting and abundance of artfully arranged flowers. Rather than a team manning a front desk, a woman sat at a long table in a high-backed leather chair, the same color as the doorman’s livery. She wore a simple and sleek black suit and her auburn hair in a shining high ponytail.

“Rianna, this is Lieutenant Dallas and... I apologize.”

“Detective Peabody,” Eve said.

“They need to speak with Joleen right away.”

“Of course. Give me one moment. Won’t you please have a seat?”

“We’re fine.”

Still smiling, the woman tapped her earpiece. “Joleen, Rianna at the front. Lieutenant Dallas is in the lobby. I—I will, yes.”

Another tap, another smile. “She’ll be right out. In the meantime, can we offer you any refreshment? We have a lovely menu of teas.”

“All good.” But Eve pulled out her PPC. “Take a look at this guy. He should be registered under Jerald Reinhold. I need his room number, then I—”

“Oh, but Mr. Reinhold checked out, about two hours ago.” Rianna’s smile turned to a look of nearly comic distress. “I’m so sorry.”

“Damn it. Were you on?” she asked the doorman.

“Yes, I was. I loaded his two suitcases into our complimentary airport shuttle. He said he had an early flight to Miami.”

“Lieutenant.” A middle-aged woman in a garnet red suit with a sweep of gilded brown hair clipped across the tiles in sky-high heels, hand extended. “I’m Joleen Mortimer. Welcome to The Manor. How can I help you?”

“I need to see the room Jerald Reinhold was in. I need to know how he paid, what he ordered, if he did so, while in house, who talked to him.”

“Of course. Rianna?”

Already swiping madly at a tablet, Rianna nodded. “I’m bringing it up. Mr. Reinhold stayed in The Squire’s Suite. He booked Friday evening, via e-mail, reserved with a credit card, but paid in cash on arrival Saturday evening. He also paid cash for room service, ordered at twenty-one-five, yesterday at ten-thirty, last night at seventeen hundred, and again this morning at seven. Additional charges incurred by use of the in-suite minibar.”

“What’s the damage?” Eve demanded.

“I’m sorry.”

“How much did he spend?”

“Oh...” Rianna glanced at her manager, got a brisk nod. “Three thousand, six hundred dollars and forty-five cents total on his bill, paid in full. With cash, as I said.”

“We’ll need a copy of everything you have. And I need to see his room. Now.”

“Come with me.” Joleen clipped her way across the tiles again to a bronze elevator door. “It’s in the process of being turned.”

“Make that stop,” Eve ordered.

“Yes, I did. I’ve instructed housekeeping to leave any trash, laundry, dishes in the room.”

“Good thinking. I also need copies of your security discs, entrance, his floor, elevators, lobby.”

“I’ll see to it.”

Maybe it didn’t irk so much after all.

“May I ask what Mr. Reinhold did?”

“He’s the prime suspect in a double homicide.”

“Well, my... goodness.”

Joleen led the way off the elevator, down a wide hall to the left. She swiped her pass key over a pad in front of a snowy white door with a bronze plaque reading THE SQUIRE’S SUITE.

“Peabody.”

At Eve’s direction, Peabody headed for a tidily tied bag of trash by the door. Eve studied the petite dining table, scattered with plates, cups, glasses.

“He ate a hearty breakfast.”

“Eggs Benedict, a split of champagne, fresh orange juice, a pot of hot chocolate, mixed berries with whipped cream, a large apple tart, a rasher of bacon.” Joleen glanced up. “I’m checking on the specifics, and can tell you he ordered Shrimp à la Emilie—a house specialty—as an appetizer, a filet mignon—medium rare—with salted roasted potatoes, extra butter requested, candied carrots, a chocolate soufflé, two chocolate chunk cookies, and a bottle of our Jou?t Premium champagne on the night of his arrival. He also had eight Cokes, three waters, two jars of cashews, the Chocolate Dandies and the fruit gummies, and assorted liquor from the in-room bar.”

“Eating like a king,” Eve muttered, “with a massive sweet tooth.”

She circled the room. He’d used it, she thought, noting the entertainment discs tossed around, the scatter of glasses.

“Can you check if he used that?” Eve gestured toward the house ’link placed discreetly on a curved-leg desk.

“I did. Only for in house, to order room service, and again to check on the airport shuttle.”

“Nothing here, Lieutenant,” Peabody announced.

“Miami.”

“I’ve got that going,” Peabody told her, tapped her PPC. “It’ll take a while to run all the transpos—shuttles, commercial, charter, private.”

With a nod, Eve walked into the bedroom. Housekeeping had already stripped the bed, but left the laundry in an orderly pile on the floor. She checked the closet, the dresser, every drawer, the bath while Peabody did the same in the parlor area.

“He’s messy,” Eve calculated. “Tossing his towels around, playing with all the amenities, spilling a lot, going through the entertainment discs, hitting the in-room bar, ordering heavy meals. Playing hotel, playing big shot, that’s what he was doing.”

“He figures he can afford it.” Peabody frowned at the screen of her PPC as Eve turned to her. “I just got a hit on the financials. The Reinholds had eighty-four thousand and change in joint accounts, another forty and change in a floater, and six thousand in a debit card account. Every bit of it was transferred, via wire, with Carl Reinhold’s data, Friday night and Saturday. He did the transfers in pieces, wired them to three different accounts under his name. He got it all.”

“Not if we freeze it.” Eve grabbed her ’link.

“It’s too late, Dallas. He’s pulled it out. Cash and cashier’s checks, in person. He hit the last bank less than fifteen minutes ago.”

“Now he’s got a hundred-thirty large after spending some. He’s got playing money. And he sure as hell isn’t in Miami.”

“Lieutenant,” Joleen began, “if there’s anything we can do?”

“You’ve done what you can do. It’s noted and appreciated. We’ll just need copies of the security discs, and his paperwork.”

“You’ll have it.”

Thinking, thinking, Eve moved to the door, and out. “He won’t come back, but on the off chance.”

“Yes, I’ll have his photo and name posted. Should he return to The Manor, I’ll contact you personally.”

“That works. How long have you worked for Roarke?”

Joleen smiled. “Three years in this position. I was the assistant manager here for the previous owners. When Roarke acquired The Manor, he asked if I would consider taking temporary positions at some of his other hotels for the six months estimated for remodeling. And in addition if I would train staff, specifically for The Manor, then take the manager’s position when we opened again.”

“Roarke knows how to pick his team. What about the previous manager here?”

Joleen’s smile sharpened a little. “Let’s say he didn’t make the cut.”

She walked them across the lobby to where Rianna had a disc bag and a thick envelope waiting.

“I hope you catch him quickly.” Joleen offered her hand again to Eve, then Peabody.

“That’s the plan.”

“That was pleasant,” Peabody commented when they were back in the car. “Frustrating, but pleasant. If Roarke owned everything, this part of the job would run smoother.”

“He’s working on it. I’m going to drop you at the first bank, then check out his last known address, go by the morgue. Get yourself to all three financial places, see what you can find out. Let’s put out a BOLO, all transpo centers, rental vehicles.”

“No driver’s license,” Peabody pointed out.

“He could skim on that if he found somebody stupid enough.”

“He could buy a car.”

“Big chunk of his pie, but let’s cover that, and the high-end hotels. He wants the good life now.”

After she dropped Peabody off, she circled around, and tried to imagine what Jerry might be doing. He’d either want a way out of the city or a place to settle in it, for a while at least. Hauling two suitcases? Too much work and annoyance.

He had what he wanted from his parents’ apartment. Eliminate them, take their money and valuables.

Why risk staying in New York?

But she thought he might. He wasn’t stupid, she decided, or not entirely. But he was an idiot. Blowing over three thousand on a hotel room and food—for one night? Smart to hide out until Monday, banking hours, grab the rest of the money; stupid to spend so much of it just so he could gloat.

She pulled up at his last known address, flipped up her On Duty light. Since he liked to gloat, wouldn’t he like to brag to friends? Maybe roll out and hit Vegas again, see if his luck improved there, or go sun on some tropical beach?

He’d had a girlfriend, Eve reminded herself, made a note to interview her.

She used her master to gain access to the dumpy three-story walk-up, ignored the rickety elevator, and took the stairs to the top floor.