In Death 38 - Thankless in Death

Barrett.”
    W hen she finished with the body, she started on the room.
    She believed he’d spent considerable time in there, forcing Farnsworth to drain her accounts. And wouldn’t she be the perfect source for a new ID? A veteran e-teacher.
    Eve closed her eyes a moment. He’d changed his appearance here—hair, skin tone, eyes. He’d waited until he’d come here.
    “He’d already planned this next move.” She turned as Peabody stepped up to the door again. “He probably came here straight from the ex’s. The timing works well enough with the last sighting of his vic. He had what he needed in the duffel. Tape, rope, knife, bat, clothes, the products. Kill the ex, come here, use Farnsworth not only for the next kill, but as his vehicle for a new ID, more money.”
    “This place is worth a nice bundle,” Peabody commented. “How much did she have?”
    Eve’s ’link signaled, and she read Feeney on her display. “Tell you in a minute. Dallas.”
    “Your vic had nearly four mil not including real property, jewelry, art, and like that.”
    “Damn it. He’s rolling now.”
    “Every account she had I found on a quick search was emptied as of today.”
    “You’re not going to make my day and tell me by a simple transfer.”
    “No can do. Some fancy fingerwork, but we’ll find it. Just giving you a heads-up.”
    “Appreciate it. He hit the jackpot,” she said to Peabody when she clicked off. “And he was smart enough to make it complicated. We’re going to stick with she was smarter, and we’re smarter. But right now, he’s feeling rich.”
    “He could rabbit with that much money.”
    “I don’t think so.” Enjoying it too much, she thought. Batting a thousand so far. “More scores to settle. He’s still going to want money. Why quit when you’re ahead? But that won’t be as urgent. He may do the next without that as a particular factor.”
    “It’s a long list, Dallas.”
    “We’re going to contact every name on it, and we’re going to ask everyone we contact if they know of anyone else we should add on. If any of them wants protection, we’ll put a cop on them. I’ll find it in the budget.”
    “He had a tantrum down in the kitchen, at least it looks like one.”
    “Yeah, I saw.”
    “It’s mean when you really look at it. Broken dishes, gouged countersand appliances, glassware shattered, food tossed around. Something pissed him off.”
    She took one last look at the body. “I hope it was her. He wanted her to suffer. He learned the perks of that with the ex. That’s part of the fun, the power, the payback. He kept her alive the longest. He’d want to keep the next one alive so he can enjoy himself.”
    She started out just as a uniform started up the stairs. “Lieutenant? We’ve got a wit outside says he saw a man fitting the morph description.”
    “I’ll take him.”
    “Yes, sir. And the sweepers just pulled up.”
    “We’re ready for them.”
    She stepped outside where between her vehicle, the black-and-white, and the sweeper’s van they’d screwed traffic to hell and back.
    Eve ignored the blasting horns, the enthusiastic cursing, and homed in on a boy of about sixteen in a fake leather jacket, high-step airboots, and a mop of brown hair shaved high on one side to show off the cluster of silver studs along his ear canal.
    Didn’t it hurt, she wondered, to get holes punched there?
    “Lieutenant Dallas. Your name?”
    “X.”
    “Your name’s X.”
    “It’s like Xavier. Xavier Paque. I’m X.”
    “Okay, X. You saw this man?”
    The kid glanced at the morph again, bopped his shoulders up and down twice. “Yeah, hey. So I live, like, over there.” He gestured across the street. “Just riding my board back up from the mart. Went for a fizz and a pop, and I saw the dude over here, gimping along with a couple of rollies.”
    “He limped?”
    “Yeah, hey, you know.” The boy demonstrated, hobbling some. “Looked peeved, got it? But nice, tight threads.”
    “Describe said threads.”
    “Good jacket, looked like real cow. Mostly that’s what I noticed, and the gimping. Maybe nice boots.” He screwed up his face in thought. “Yeah, nice boots. Cow, too, I bet, so he had some. The one rolly was mag—duffel style, sharp. But the other? Been around. Pretty dumpy, and man, it was
red
. Bogus for a dude. Wrap shades. Had some, busted them. Bummed.”
    “Limping, tight threads, and pulling a rolling duffel and a red suitcase.”
    “Yeah, big red