Golden in Death

by Robb, J. D.

  But she so looked forward to the monthly meeting in her own home. There was something special in hosting a group, at home, sitting and talking about a book.

  Not that they didn’t often disagree about the book under discussion, but that was part of the fun, and the interest.

  And it was a lovely excuse to have some wine with the light lunch and snacks she’d serve.

  The house was perfect, of course, despite the clutter her husband and their two teenage sons generated. She’d already seen to that. Of course, she’d yet to fix herself up, but there was plenty of time.

  She never failed to be on time.

  She set the box—some shipment from a place called Golden Goose—on her neat little desk. She cut the packing tape, drew out the, well, unattractive box inside. Who’d send her such a cheap box?

  When she opened that, she felt more baffled. A tacky golden egg? Nothing remotely her style. A gag gift maybe?

  All right then, she appreciated a good joke, too.

  She unlatched the egg, tugged it open.

  She never had time to understand the joke was on her.

  * * *

  Eve walked into the bullpen at Central, and saw Jenkinson’s tie. She figured it would burn your corneas if you viewed it from space. It was as if an evil rainbow infused with acid had exploded. Swirls and streams of ferocious color covered every inch.

  She swore they moved, as if alive.

  She wondered whether, if he dropped any crumbs from the cruller he munched on, those swirls would absorb them. And grow.

  Risking temporary blindness, she walked over to his desk.

  “You said you got those ties off the street. Where?”

  Jenkinson brushed crumbs off the tie. Eve imagined the swirls covering his hand, pulling him in, inch by struggling inch.

  “A stand on Canal. He’s doing the street fair on Sixth on Sunday. You looking to get one for Roarke?”

  “Sure, if I want him to have me committed. One day, one fine day, I’m going to do a drive-by of that stand, buy all the ties, and have them destroyed—it may take a vat of acid—for the public good.”

  “Aw, LT. They got pizzazz.”

  “I don’t think that word means what you think it means. Don’t even think about showing me your socks.” She pointed at Reineke, Jenkinson’s partner. “Don’t even think about it.”

  And escaped to her office.

  Coffee first, before she sat down to update her book and write up her notes, then a report. She updated her board with Roe’s ID shot, and, studying it, rolled around the idea that a woman would murder, or participate in murder—a complex and canny one—because her husband took a slap at work.

  Nothing, absolutely nothing in her background suggested it.

  Ponti, a hothead, might strike back, but she imagined he’d do so impulsively, potentially with some violence.

  But she couldn’t quite see the two of them plotting this out.

  “She’s got your number, too,” Eve murmured. “Knows you’re kind of a dick, but doesn’t seem to mind it.”

  Thomas T. Thane, she thought. More than kind of a dick. Easier to see him planning it out, figuring a way to pay back the man who’d screwed up his life—as that’s how he’d see it.

  Back to the mad scientist. Could Thane have hooked up with someone like that? Not impossible, and maybe—at the moment—the sharpest angle to pursue.

  And pursuing it, she sat down to dig deeper into Thane. A college buddy, a client, a lover. Someone with the skill who’d work with him to kill. Or the opposite. Someone eager to kill, and Thane provided the target.

  As she scoured through Thane’s past, her communicator signaled.

  “Dallas.”

  Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, report to 255 Wooster. Hazardous Forensic Team already dispatched due to potential poisonous fumes. Victim deceased. MTs, first on scene, and nine-one-one caller quarantined on scene until cleared. Hazmat protocol required until clearance.

  “Copy that.” Eve was already up, grabbing her jacket. “Dallas out.”

  She strode into the bullpen. “Peabody, with me. Now. We’ve got another one.”

  9

  By the time Eve and Peabody arrived, the special team had cleared the scene, released the MTs.

  The hazmat team leader, CI Michaela Junta, met Eve at the door. Music, some sort of bouncy rock, played on the house speakers.

  “Air’s clear and so’s the body. You’ll establish TOD, but I can tell you the nine-one-one caller, the victim’s mother, stated the vic’s husband and two sons would’ve left for work or school at about eight hundred hours. We’ve cleared her, and the two responding officers back in the kitchen area with her, also cleared.”

  Junta blew out a breath. “The mother’s fighting to hold it together. It’s the same basic setup as the Abner killing, but they used a different delivery service. Allied this time out. The egg hit carpet, so it didn’t break. The agent dissipated, had to have done so, before the mother arrived.”

  “You got the time on that?”

  “She said she came in about eleven. Nine-one-one logged at eleven-sixteen. You probably saw there’s a security cam on the door, so you’ll check the feed there. We’ll stay out of your way until you give us the go.”

  “Appreciate it. Peabody, find the hub, check the feed. I’ll take the body. Oh, and, Peabody, cut the music.”

  “This way.” Junta led Eve through a tasteful living area where tall shelves held books—the real deal—photos, little trinkets, and into a home office/sitting room, with more of the same. There was a deep cushioned chair with tiny purple flowers against a cream background, and a footstool that matched. Beside it was a desk, with a mini-comp and desk screen. And the shipping box. A sharp-edged letter opener with a smooth white handle lay beside it. The fake wood box, identical to the one delivered to Abner, sat beside both.

  The body lay on the floor, with what had expelled from it staining the cream-colored carpet.

  The golden egg lay a couple of feet away, likely rolling or bouncing there after the victim dropped it.

  “You know, you get jaded,” Junta began. “You’ve got to get some hard or you couldn’t face this, do what you have to do, every day. But I’m a mom, too, and I can’t imagine walking in and finding my daughter like this.”

  Junta let out another breath. “So. We’ll stand by.”

  Eve sealed up, then stayed where she was another moment to scan the scene. Fabric shades on the window—raised—but the window closed.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw the victim taking the package at the front door, walking into what appeared to be her home office space. She placed the package on the desk, got the opener. Dug through the packing for the box. Set it down, opened it, took out the egg.

  And opening that, released the agent and went down. From the placement and position of the body, she hadn’t tried to get to the window as Abner had. But then, he’d been a doctor, likely had a few seconds to understand what was happening.

  This one never saw it coming.

  Eve moved to her, avoided what she could of the fluids, did the official ID. And noted the same burns on the thumbs.

  “Victim is identified as Elise Duran of this address. Age forty-four, Caucasian. Married to Jay Duran, age forty-six. Two sons, Eli, sixteen, Simon, fourteen.”

  She took out her gauges. “TOD is established at ten-oh-two. The mother entered at approximately eleven—security feed to verify—so the agent dissipated within that time frame, as specialty team has tested and cleared the mother.

  “No visible signs of physical trauma, no signs of struggle. She opened the egg, which we have intact, released the agent. Succumbed. ME to verify.”

  Did you know Kent Abner? Eve wondered. Two kids, maybe he was their doctor.

  What’s the connection?

  She called for a dead wagon, flagged the body for Morris, added a note on COD.

  “Dallas.” Peabody came to the doorway. “I got the feed. The package arrived at n
ine-fifty-four—male delivery guy in an Allied uniform. No other activity, in or out, until a woman—late sixties, early seventies—rang the bell at eleven-oh-three. She waited, then took a swipe out of her purse, used it. She had a bag—Village Bakery and Sweets, and a second bag from First Page Books. She carried them in. Next activity, the MTs—she let them in—at eleven-eighteen.”

  “Okay. It’s the same, has to be the same. Another bogus name and address on the shipping box, same cheap box inside that, same cheap gold egg inside that.

  “Same result. Contact Allied, get the name of the delivery guy for this route. Let’s find out where it was dropped off. It’s going to be a drop-off kiosk again. Why change pattern?”

  “She had teenagers. Maybe Abner was their doctor.”

  “Yeah, same thought. We’ll check that. Let’s talk to the mother. She’s Catherine Fitzwalter. We’ll run them both, and the spouse, but let’s talk to her first.”

  She stepped out, gave Junta the go. “Morgue’s notified,” she added. “You can let them in if we’re still back with the wit.”

  “It’s a really nice house,” Peabody said, keeping her voice low. “Ult clean and tidy and all, but it’s not fussy or rigid. She had to be expecting guests because she’s got fancy plates and napkins set out on the dining room table.”

  Eve saw that for herself as they passed into the open kitchen area. Ult clean and tidy there, too. With two bakery boxes on the kitchen island. A cup of coffee—half-full—beside them.

  Eve signaled to the two uniforms. “Give me what you’ve got,” she ordered when they crossed to her.

  “We responded to the nine-one-one from the MTs already on scene, arrived on scene at eleven-twenty-one. Ms. Fitzwalter let us in. The MTs were already with the DB. We, like the MTs, had the alert on the egg, the potential hazard, so we moved the wit and MTs back here, contacted Dispatch for the hazmat team.”

  “Ms. Fitzwalter’s pretty shaky, sir,” the second officer put in. “I know her, seeing as I grew up near her bookstore. It’s like an institution in the West Village. I knew the vic, Lieutenant. She worked in the store.”

  “You were friends with the victim?”

  “Friendly. We didn’t grow up together, seeing as she’s got ten or twelve years on me, but I’d see her in there, have a word now and then. It’s a good store, been around for like fifty years, family run. Like I said, it’s an institution.”

  “Okay. You start the knock-on-doors. And when we’re done here, you can do the same in the bookstore area, since you know it.”

  “Yes, sir. Can I—since I know her, can I give Ms. Fitzwalter my condolences again before we start?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She watched the woman, face sheet pale, eyes glazed with tears, unclutch her hands and reach for one of the officer’s. He bent to her, murmuring while she clung to his hand, nodded.

  Eve waited until the uniforms left before she approached. “Ms. Fitzwalter, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. This is Detective Peabody. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I can’t— She’s my baby. She’s my girl.”

  “Ms. Fitzwalter, can I get you something? Some water?”

  She raised her ravaged eyes to Peabody. “No, no, I don’t think I could swallow anything.”

  Eve slid onto the padded bench of the breakfast nook to face her, made room for Peabody.

  “Ms. Fitzwalter, I know this is difficult, but we need to ask you some questions.”

  “I know. I know how it works. I’ve read countless police procedurals in my time. I never thought … Who would do this? Elise never hurt anyone in her life. This is going to shatter her father, and Jay, the boys. I don’t know how to tell them.”

  “We’ll help you,” Peabody told her.

  “I know who you are. I read Nadine Furst’s book. I’ve recommended it more times than I can say.” She leaned forward, a pretty woman with a lovely swing of auburn hair. “Is it true, what she wrote about you? That you care, that you won’t stop until you have answers? That you’ll do everything, everything that can be done to find who did this?”

  Eve decided simple was best. “Yes.”

  Catherine breathed out, lowered her head. “I need to know. We’ll all need to know. Nothing can bring my girl back, but we need to know. You want to know if I know anyone who would want to hurt her.”

  She lifted her head again. “I swear I don’t. No one’s threatened her. She’d have told me. We talked about everything, anything. She and Jay have a good marriage, a fun, loving one, are raising good young men. Have they had spats? Of course. But they’ve been married twenty years.

  “I want to tell you about her.”

  “All right.”

  “She’s a good daughter—not that she didn’t give her father and me some headaches along the way. She met Jay in college, and neither one of them ever looked back, or at anyone else. They shared a love of books. We raised her with books. When Rob and I retire—if ever—she was going to take over the store. She loved her family, loved her home. She loved tending it, making it a happy place, a good place. Like her dad, she was organized, almost terrifyingly.”

  The faintest smile came and went. “She ran on lists, had her schedules. You could count on her to be where she said she’d be when she said she’d be there. She loved hosting friends, and fussing so they’d—”

  She stopped, let out a gasp. “Oh God, oh my God. The book club. They’ll be here at one. We hold a book club here once a month, that’s why I’m here. I—I—I picked up the desserts.”

  “Peabody.”

  “It’s all right.” Peabody slid out. “I’ll take care of it.”

  When Peabody left, Eve drew Catherine’s attention back. “You came early.”

  “Yes, yes. I had the desserts, and I was going to help her finish setting up, just spend some time with her. She didn’t answer. I thought she might be in the shower. She’d want to fix herself up before everyone got here. I know my girl, and she’d have been cleaning and fussing first. So I used my swipe and came in.”

  “Can you take me through it?”

  “I called out, then came right back here. I took out the bakery boxes, and I’d brought some pretty bookmarks, so I got a cup of coffee and one of her little vases to arrange them in. I set them on the table. I decided to go upstairs, see if she was nearly ready, but she wasn’t upstairs. I wasn’t concerned, just puzzled. I thought maybe she’d decided to run out for something, so I … I took out my ’link to tag her. I heard it ring from her office, so I went there. And I saw her. I saw my baby.”

  “Take your time.”

  “I think I could use that water now after all.”

  Eve rose, found a glass, filled it.

  “I don’t know if I blacked out or fell, or … I came back to myself on the floor, just sitting on the floor in the doorway of her office. I kept hearing this awful noise, like an animal in pain. It was me. It was me.”

  Covering her face with her hands, Catherine rocked. “I wanted to go to her, to my baby, but I knew I shouldn’t. Preserve the scene—that’s the term, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You did the right thing.”

  “They came very quickly. It seemed like years, but I know they came quickly, the MTs, and the police. Officer Krasinsky—Mike—I’ve known him since he was a boy. He’s been in the store many times. It helped to have someone who knew us.”

  “Do you know, or did your daughter know, Dr. Kent Abner?”

  “I don’t think so.” Catherine drank more water, pushed her hands through her hair, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I heard, there was a story about his death on Channel Seventy-five this morning. This is … the same?”

  “It’s possible. Have there been any problems at your bookstore? Employees you or your daughter had to reprimand, even let go?”

  “We’re like a family.”

  “Customers who’ve caused problems?”

  “We’re pretty good at handling complaints. We have customers
who’ve shopped with us for fifty years, who span generations. We’re not a huge business, you understand, but a steady one, a neighborhood fixture. Elise worked there three times a week—more if we needed. She focused on raising her boys, running the house, but she couldn’t stay away from her second home. That’s what First Page was for her. For us. No one who knew her would have wished her harm. I swear I’d tell you, without hesitation, if I knew of anyone. Even a sliver of doubt about anyone. She’s my only child.”

  Catherine managed to drink more water. “The world’s still going on outside this house. But for me, everything stopped. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I do.”

  “I need Rob. I need my husband. I need to tell him.”

  “Where would he be now?”

  “At the store.”

  “Why don’t we send Officer Krasinsky and his partner to the store, and have your husband taken home? We’ll take you home. We’ll…” She started to say notify, amended. “We’ll talk with your son-in-law, and have him and your grandsons brought to you.”

  “Yes, yes, then we’ll be together. We need to be together now.” She swiped at her eyes, then reached out and gripped Eve’s hand with her still damp one. “Nadine Furst wrote truth. You care. It shows. It matters.”

  Peabody had started back as Eve walked toward the front of the house. “I’ve got Krasinsky and his partner taking the father and the bookstore, and pulled a couple more uniforms in to finish the canvass.”

  “Good.” Eve rubbed at the tension in the back of her neck. “We need an escort to take Ms. Fitzwalter home, and let’s have her taken around the back. She doesn’t need to see what’s going on out here.”

  “I’ll call for transpo. Look, why don’t I walk her around when they get here? So it’s not another face, but one she’s already seen.”

  “Yeah, do that. Go, I don’t know, sit with her until. I’m going to start upstairs.”

  “Should I have EDD come in, scan the electronics?”

  “Yeah. Allied?”

  “Tracked the package. You were right, another drop-off, twenty-three hundred. The charge? To an account of a ninety-three-year-old woman who reported her ’link missing less than an hour ago.”