In Death 31 - Indulgence in Death

Is there anything else I can do?”
    “This should cover it. Thanks again.” Eve rose, held out a hand to Dudley. “Shoot, sorry, lost track. Interview end.”
    “Mizzy will show you out. Please keep me up to date on these matters.”
    “You’ll be first in line.”
    After they’d walked out, gotten into their vehicle, Eve let her own smirk free. “You caught the footwear?”
    “Oh, yeah, and now we’ve got them on record, with his murdering feet in them.”
    “Murdering feet?”
    “Well, he’s a murderer and the feet are attached to him. Solid alibi,” Peabody added. “And the first red-suited bombshell mentioned Moriarity was at the party, so it’s looking like he’ll have one, too.”
    “Easy drive from here to the Simpson place. I clocked it at six minutes. Maybe shave off a minute that time of night, but stick with twelve for the round-trip, ten to do the kill, add another two at most to gloat and pack up the wine.”
    Eve gave a last glance at the Dudley house in the rearview as she drove away. “Big party, drinks flowing, people wandering around outside, in the house. Who’s going to notice one guest slipping out for under a half hour?”
    “It’s a little squishy. But they’re all really rich people, and people of the same type tend to stick together. I bet more than half the people who were there will swear Moriarity was.”
    “Then we’d better prove he wasn’t, for at least the time needed to skewer Delaflote. Next, there’s going to be a past connection between the vic and Dudley. We find it. The vic’s got about ten years on him, so they didn’t go to school together. We’ll search the society and gossip shit first. And we dig into the vic, see what he had in common with Dudley. If they traveled to the same places, had any common interests.”
    She engaged the dash ’link, contacted Feeney.
    “Yo,” he said.
    “I’ve got an image of Dudley in the same fucking shoes he wore on Coney Island. Can you compare images, get me a match?”
    “Bring it in. Amusement park’s image isn’t pristine, but we ought to be able to give you a solid probability.”
    “Heading in now. I’m going to need you and that match later today. I need ammo, and plenty of it, to talk my way into search warrants.”
    “We’ll take our best shot. What time later?”
    “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
    She clicked off. “Book us a conference room.”
    “For when?”
    “For starting now until I’m damn well finished with it. I need more room to spread this out. I need a bigger board while you’re at it and a second comp, and I need Baxter and Trueheart.”
    “I need a million dollars and a smaller ass. I was just throwing that in the pot.” Peabody shrugged off Eve’s snarl, and got to work.
    A block from Central her communicator signaled. She used her wrist unit to answer.
    Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.
    “No fucking way.”
    Obscenities over official communication can result in a reprimand. Report to Central Park, Great Hill Jogging Track. See Detectives Reineke and Jenkinson.
    “On what matter?” Eve demanded.
    Possible homicide, possible connection to previous ongoing investigations. Urgent request for you from your detectives. Acknowledged.
    “Acknowledged. Goddamn it,” she said as soon as she cut off the transmission. “Tag one of those guys now.” Eve cut west, cursing all the way, then headed back uptown.
    “Reineke,” Peabody told her, on dash ’link.
    “This better be damn good,” Eve warned him.
    “We think it’s one of yours, Lieutenant. It looked like a suicide first glance, then when we got here, took a better look, it smelled of homicide. We ran the vic. Adrianne Jonas. She was what they call a facilitator for the rich. They want it, she finds a way to get it. She’s number one, get it?”
    Yeah, she thought as her stomach sank. She got it. “Keep going.”
    “She’s hanging from a tree right off the track here, by a freaking bullwhip. You don’t see bullwhips every day, and you don’t usually see some skirt in a party dress hanging by one. We figured it fit your vic profile pretty much down the line. Public place, vic considered the tops, screwy weapon.”
    “Keep the scene secure.” She swung toward the curb, ignored the blare of horns. “Get the recording to Feeney, get the rest set up. Get what you can started. Run the list, Peabody. Work it. I’ll take this with the detectives on scene.”
    “Dallas, how the hell did he do it?