Thankless in Death (18 page)

“You’re taller than I thought.”

“Okay” was the best Eve could offer.

“Could use some meat on you. Skinny girls,” she said to Peabody with a quick, crooked smile. “Hard to understand them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on in. Mal’s back in the den putting in a new screen. I don’t allow the screen in the living room. Living room’s are for living, and living means having conversations.”

There was plenty of seating for just that—chairs, sofa, cushioned squares. Where most might’ve put that wall screen, she’d opted for shelves loaded with photos, fussy pieces, and several books.

“I like books,” she said, noting Eve’s gaze. “Pricier than discs or downloads, but I like holding them, looking at them.”

“My husband does, too.”

“Well, he can afford it. My kids give them to me for special occasions. You go ahead and sit down. I’ll get Mal, and he’s got Davey with him back there. I’m going to fix you a snack.”

“There’s no need to bother with that, Mrs. Golde.”

Mrs. Golde merely gave Eve that dead-on stare again. “I’m fixing you a snack.” She walked off in navy skids.

“We’re getting a snack.” Peabody grinned.

Eve shook her head. Mrs. Golde struck her as a woman who ran her home and her family, and had enough punch left over to run most of the neighborhood. It was mildly intimidating.

Mal came out with a shorter, beefier guy with a lot of brown hair. Eve recognized Dave Hildebran from his ID shot, and saw in both of them barely contained nerves.

“Um, Lieutenant.” Mal started to extend his hand, obviously wondered if he should, started to pull it back. Eve solved his dilemma by taking it for a brisk shake. “Mal. Mr. Hildebran?”

“Dave. Nice to meetcha.” Immediately, he flushed. “I mean …”

“I got it.”

“I asked Dave to come over when you said you wanted to come by. We’re both just … God, this is just fucking awful.”

“You watch your language in this house!” The booming order came from the back of the apartment, and had both men wincing.

“Sorry, Ma! Like I said, I’m going to stay here until …” He trailed off again. “And Dave’s staying with his folks, too. It just feels like we should.”

“The neighborhood can’t talk about anything else,” Dave put in. “People really liked Mr. and Mrs. R. And even if they didn’t, well, Jes … jeez,” he corrected with a quick glance toward the kitchen.

“They were good people.” Mrs. Golde came back in carrying an enormous tray.

“Lemme get that, Ma.” Mal muscled it from her, set it on the table in front of the sofa. In addition to little plates, glasses, a big clear pitcher of some sort of deep amber liquid, the tray held tiny
sandwiches—basically a bite—cookies sparkling under a dusting of what must’ve been sugar, and a ring of carrot sticks circling some chunky white dip with green flecks.

“We could’ve come on back to the kitchen, Ma.”

“Living room’s for company.” In what Eve now saw as her nobullshit way, Mrs. Golde hefted the pitcher, poured out glasses. “This is sassafras tea, and it’s good for you. It’s my grandma’s recipe.”

“My granny makes that.” Delighted, Peabody accepted a glass.

“Does she now?”

“Yes, ma’am.” After a sip, Peabody grinned like a child. “It’s got to be the same recipe, or close to it. It really takes me back.”

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Detective Peabody. My granny’s a Norwicki.”

“Polish.” On a wide, beaming smile, Mrs. Golde pointed an approving finger. “My grandma was, too. A Wazniac. She died just last year. A hundred and eighteen. Went skydiving two weeks before she slipped off in her sleep. Can’t say better than that.”

“No, ma’am.”

Eve supposed this was living room conversation, but they didn’t have time for it. “We have a few follow-up questions,” she began. “We believe Jerald Reinhold will target someone else.”

“I kept thinking, I don’t know, he just had some sort of break-down. But after I heard about Lori, what he did to her.” Mal stared down at his hands. They held steady, but his voice shook. “I don’t know how he could do that. I don’t know how he could do what he’s done.”

“He’s a spoiled, good-for-nothing whiner, and always has been.”

Mal rolled his eyes toward his mother. “Ma.”

“Actually, I’d like to hear your opinion, Mrs. Golde.”

After sending her son a smug look, Mrs. Golde nodded at Eve. “You show some sense. I watched him grow up, didn’t I? His ma and I, and Davey’s ma, too, we spent a lot of time together, or handling each other’s boys. My Mal’s a good boy, and it’s not bragging to say so. He had his times, sure, and he got slapped down for them when he needed to be.”

“Still happens,” Mal muttered but with a smile.

“Always will. I’m your ma, birth to earth. Davey here, he’s a good boy. Not that his ma and my own self didn’t slap him down a time or two—and still will,” she added, jabbing a finger at him. “Barb and Carl, they were good people, and they did the best they could with that boy. But he was born a whiner, and he never did grow out of it.”

She plucked up a carrot stick, waved it. “Somebody else’s fault always with him. Never appreciated anything they did for him, and always found fault. Maybe I could say they indulged him more than they should, but he was their only chick, and they did their best by him. Worked with him on schoolwork, even hired on tutors when he didn’t do so well. Boy wanted to play ball, so Carl—and the man, bless him, wasn’t much of an athlete—he spent hours throwing the ball or chasing it with Jerry. I remember when these two, Jerry and that Joe Klein, swiped candy and comic discs from down at Schumaker’s, we all—Barb, Davey’s ma, and Joe’s and me—we all dragged these boys in there to make it right.”

“Worse day of my life,” Mal mumbled.

Mrs. Golde’s expression clearly transmitted she was fine with that. “Davey and Mal here, they were shamed and sorry, and rightfully. That Joe, he was mostly shamed and sorry he got caught, but Jerry? He was mad.”

“He was,” Dave confirmed, and took a cookie. “He went off on
me. He said I’d screwed the whole thing up. He punched my guts out before Mal pulled him off.”

Mrs. Golde’s finger ticked between the two men. “You never told me that.”

“Ma, I can’t tell you everything.”

“Hah.” Her sniff was her opinion on that. “Jerry apologized to the Schumakers, sure, had no choice with his mother holding him by the ear and seeing he did. And when a rock went through Schumaker’s store window one night a couple weeks later, I know Jerry’s the one who threw it.”

“You don’t know that, Ma. And we weren’t there. I swore to you then, and I swear to you now, we didn’t do it.”

“I’m not saying you did. If I thought different, you still wouldn’t be sitting down easy. Barb knew it. She didn’t tell Carl, but she told me. Sitting back in the kitchen, and shedding some tears over it, too. Couldn’t make him say he did it, but she knew.”

“Is Schumaker’s still there?”

“Fifty-one years, same location. Frank and Maisy.”

Eve noted it down. “What I want from you is the names of anyone you can think of he has something against, he had trouble with, who he complained about. Going back. I don’t mean just recent problems.”

“I hope you’ve got a lot of time,” Mrs. Golde said, and helped herself to a sandwich bite. “Because that boy stacked up grudges like a kid with building blocks. I’d be one of them.”

“He’s not going to hurt you, Ma. I’d kill him first.” Mal’s face went fierce as he turned to Eve. “I mean it.”

“You’re a good boy.” Mrs. Golde patted his arm. “But I think this skinny policewoman and her friend with the Polish granny can take care of Jerry.”

“That’s just what we’re going to do,” Eve said. “We have his former employers, his coworkers, you and your families, and Joe Klein and his. Who else comes to mind? How about other ex-girlfriends?”

“Lori was the first one he lived with, was really in a serious deal with,” Mal began.

“There was Cindy McMahon,” Dave put in. “They dated pretty regular for a few months a couple years ago.”

“Is she in the neighborhood?” Eve asked.

“She was. She moved to East Washington just, I don’t know, like in June maybe?”

“She got a good job,” Mrs. Golde added. “A media job, writing news and such. She’s coming home for Christmas though. I talked to her ma.”

“I think he’ll stay local, for now.”

“There was Marlene Wizlet.”

“He never dated her,” Dave objected.

“He
wanted
to. She shut him down. That’s the kind of thing you mean, right?” Mal asked Eve.

“Yeah, it is. Do you have contact info?”

“I can get it. She lives Upper East, with some guy. She’s modeling. She’s really frosty, and Jerry had a thing for her. She wouldn’t give him the first look, and told him to screw off.”

They ran through a few others, right back to the sweaty days of puberty, with Mrs. Golde adding in the occasional parent, shopkeeper, older brother, younger sister.

She’d been right, Eve thought. A long list.

“How about teachers, instructors, coaches?”

“He was really piss—upset,” Mal corrected quickly, “with Coach Boyd. He was our Little League coach for three years. Jerry got picked off twice trying to steal bases after Coach told him not to, so
Coach benched him for three games. Then we were in the championship game, and Coach told him to take the pitch—their guy threw a bunch outside, and he wanted him to try to take for a walk, but Jerry swung away, and struck out. We lost, and he blamed Coach. Wouldn’t play after that. Shit. Sorry, Ma. I just started realizing how many people he had a hard-on for. How many people didn’t do anything for it.”

“You’ve got a good streak of loyalty, Mal.” She handed him a cookie. “That’s nothing to apologize for.”

By the time they got to high school, the list of names hit unwieldy. Considering how to refine it, Eve took a cookie without thinking. “These are … amazing.”

Mrs. Golde preened. “Family recipe, and you have to be willing to spring for real sugar, and plenty. I’ll give you some to take.”

“Mr. Garber caught him cheating in Global Studies. He got suspended and grounded for it.”

Mal shrugged at Dave. “Yeah, but he didn’t really care. He said it was like hooky with permission.”

“Nobody likes getting caught cheating,” Eve put in, and noted the name down.

“Well, he was a lot more pissed, seriously pissed. Damn it, Ma, sorry.”

“You’re excused, considering the circumstances.”

“It was Ms. Farnsworth, Computer Science.”

“Oh yeah.” Dave nodded. “That burned his … chaps. He flunked. Truth is, though I said I was on his side back then, she gave him like six chances, even worked with him after school, but he didn’t care. He hated her. And when he flunked, he got grounded again, and worse, he had to go to summer school.”

“We ragged on him,” Mal added. “We really rubbed his face in it.
Especially Joe. I know there were some instructors when he was in college, before he crapped out. But I don’t know who. I went to NYU, so we didn’t see each other much during the semester.”

“Let’s add an element. He needs money, or things he can liquidate into money. Anyone you’ve mentioned have money, to speak of? Or any sort of valuable collection you know of?”

“Marlene’s making some bucks now. She’s raking it in with the modeling, and I heard the guy she’s with has a pile.” Mal’s face screwed up with thought. “We always figured the Schumakers had the scratch. And if he’s got it against any of us, Joe likes to buy big-deal stuff. He doesn’t keep a lot of money because he blows it on things.”

“He’s a showoff, always was. And he’s got a mean streak.” Mrs. Golde pointed at her son before he could protest.

“He does,” Dave confirmed. “He’s tough to be friends with, when you think about it. Farnsworth,” Dave added, with a grin. “Everybody said she was rolling.”

“That’s right.” Mrs. Golde lifted a finger. “Mostly her dad’s money, if I remember. He died pretty young. And her husband had some, too, and he died in a car wreck about six, seven years back. I remember I sent her a sympathy card. She has money, or had it anyway. She always had nice shoes. Not flashy, but quality. And she donated comp equipment to the school.”

“I didn’t know that,” Mal said.

“She didn’t want to be flashy about it, like the shoes. But I hear things.”

“You got ears like a cat, Ma.”

“Ma ears,” she countered and winked at him. “Goes with the territory.”

“I forgot one. My brother. My big brother, Jim.” Dave scrubbed his
hands over his face. “He can’t stand Jerry, never could. Used to call him Fuckweed. Sorry, Mrs. G., but that’s verbatim, you know? Jim’s not rich or anything, but he does okay. He lives in Brooklyn, him and his lady. They’re getting married next year. Jim tuned him up once. Jerry said something ugly about the girl Jim was seeing then. You remember Natalie Sissel, Mal. So, Jim punched his lights out. Just
pow, pow
, and walked away. It was pretty humiliating because Jim let Jerry throw the first punch, then just rocked him out. Right outside Vinnie’s Pizzeria, so everybody saw it. I’ve gotta talk to Jim.”

Dave sprang up, dragging out his ’link as he hurried into another room.

Looking ill, Mal watched Dave run out. “You really think he’ll try to hurt somebody else, try to do what he did to his parents, to Lori?”

“I think it’s good you’re staying here, looking after your mother. You need to contact me, immediately, if he contacts you, if you see him.”

She pulled out the morph. “He’s changed his looks. This is more what he’ll look like now.”

“God. He looks … different.”

“That’s the idea.” Eve got to her feet. “If you think of anyone else, anything else, contact me. Anytime. Something strikes in the middle of the night? Pick up your ’link and tag me. Don’t mess with this, Mal.”

“I’ll get you those cookies.”

Eve started to refuse the offer, but realized she wanted them—and that Mrs. Golde was giving her the eye. “Thanks. I’ll come back and get them.”

She followed Mal’s mother into a spotless, working kitchen.

“He’s not going to want to tell you if Jerry gets in touch.” Mrs. Golde
kept her voice low as she laid cookies in a clear, disposable tub. “He’s loyal, and there’s a part of him still that can’t believe it. He’s a good boy, a good friend. But he won’t leave me alone, and he’d tell me. So I can promise you, if that fuckweed—and I can swear in my own house—tags him or comes by, you’ll know, and know quick. And if he thinks I’m afraid, he won’t hesitate to tell you himself. I’ll make sure he thinks I’m afraid.”