In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

if she had any major debts. Maybe she’s the gambler, or the one with an illegals habit.”
    “But you don’t think so.”
    “No, I don’t think so.” Eve cracked the tube, swigged as they walked. “Unless there’s more money somewhere, the fifty doesn’t do it for me. And if there was marital discord, let’s say, a spouse generally goes for contact, for the personal. This was nasty, but remote. He pissed somebody off.”
    Peabody rewound her scarf, replaced her gloves as they hit the doors and the cold exploded like an ice boomer. “Rejected lover, colleagues in competition.”
    “We’ll want to look closer at Mirri Hallywell.”
    “Parents of a student who he disciplined, or who wasn’t doing well in his class.”
    “Jesus.” Eve jammed her hands in her pockets, and discovered she’d lost yet another pair of gloves. “Who kills because their kid gets a big doughnut in a history class?”
    “Parents are weird and dangerous creatures. And I worked up another theory. Maybe it was a mistake.”
    “It was ricin poisoning, and Morris’s take is that the dose was intense and quickly lethal.”
    “See, what I mean is, maybe one of his students was upset with him.” Peabody mimed a sulky face. “I’ll fix that meanie Mr. Foster. Doctors his drink thinking he’ll maybe get sick. Oops.”
     
    33
    “Not entirely stupid.” They climbed into the vehicle, where both hissed out the breath the blustery cold had them holding.
    “Jesus, Jesus, why is there February?” Eve demanded. “February should be eliminated altogether for the good of mankind.”
    “It is the shortest month, so that’s something.” Peabody actually moaned as the heat came on. “I think my corneas are frozen. Can that happen?”
    “They can in fucking February. Let’s stick with Foster’s nearest and dearest first. We’ll go by their building, talk to a few neighbors. Most particularly the retired cop.”
    “Once a cop,” Peabody nodded, and began to blink cautiously to help her potentially frozen corneas thaw out. “If there was anything off going on, he’d probably have noticed.”
    Henry Kowoski lived on the second level of a four-story walkup. He opened the door only after scanning Eve’s badge through his security peep, then stood, taking her measure.
    He was a stocky five-eight, a man who’d let his hair thin and gray. He wore baggy trousers with a flannel shirt and brown, scuffed slippers. In the background, the entertainment screen was tuned to the Law and Order channel.
    “Seen your picture on screen a few times. In my day, cops didn’t angle for face time.”
    “In my day,” Eve countered, “the world’s lousy with reporters. Going to let us in, Sergeant?”
    It might have been the use of his rank that had him stepping back with a shrug. “Sound off,” he ordered the screen. “What’s the beef?”
    The place smelled like it had been just a little too long since laundry day, and not long enough since takeout Chinese night. The space was what realtors liked to call “urban efficient,” which meant it was one room, with a stingy bump for a kitchen, a short, narrow cell for a bath.
    “How long were you on the job?”
    “Thirty years. Last dozen of them out of the Two-Eight.”
    Eve searched her mind, pulled out a single name. “Peterson the L.T. when you were there?”
    “Last couple years, yeah. He was a good boss. Heard he transferred out a while back, moved clear out to Detroit or some such where.”
    34
     
    “That so? I lost track. You’ve had some complaints about the tenants up above here?
    Fosters.”
    “That’s damn right.” He folded his arms. “Playing music-if you can call it that-all hours of the day and night. Stomping around up there. I pay my rent, and I expect my neighbors to show some respect.”
    “Anything else going on up there but loud music and stomping?”
    “Newlyweds.” His mouth twisted. “Deduce. What the hell do you care?”
    “I care since Craig Foster’s in the morgue.”
    “That kid’s dead?” Kowoski took a step back, sat on a ratty arm chair. “Fucked-up world.
    It was fucked up when I picked up my shield, and it was fucked up when I turned it in.
    How’d he buy it?”
    “That’s under investigation. Any trouble between them? Upstairs?”
    “With dove and coo?” He snorted. “Not likely. Sooner lock lips than eat, from what I’ve seen. If there was yelling, it wasn’t a fight-if you get me. The girl’s a noisy lay.” Then he puffed out