“They’re really cute together.”
In the elevator, already squeezed in with other cops, Eve turned to Peabody.
“Put that in my head, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“I don’t sleep at Central.”
“I’ll break into your apartment.”
“McNab’s right there with me.”
“I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake. I’ll kill you, quick and quiet, then plant evidence that implicates McNab. You’ll be dead; he’ll be in a cage for life.”
“It could work,” the uniform crowbarred in behind them speculated.
“Oh,” Eve said, “it’ll work. And after I allow a single tear to slide poignantly down my cheek at her memorial, I’ll go home and drink an entire bottle of celebrational wine and never, ever think about what a pair of teenagers are doing with and to each other.”
“I just said ‘cute,’” Peabody mumbled.
Eve swiped a finger across her throat. “Quick and quiet.”
“Our floor.” The uniform muscled by her. “Use a knife out of their kitchen.”
“Of course. Who’s cute now?” Eve demanded.
“Nobody.” Peabody hugged her elbows. “Absolutely nobody will ever be cute again.”
Satisfied, Eve tolerated the crowd until they reached the garage. “Plug in the stores geographically. Both murders were downtown, but that’s likely because the events were. Still, we’ll start there.”
In the car, Peabody started the program. “Just FYI, if I die of a slit throat in bed, there’s a whole elevator full of cops who’d point at you.”
“Which is why I’d wait until you got up, then bash you over the head with your fancy French cocotte.”
“It’s cast iron. That would do it. I’m still buying it.”
“Your funeral.”
“The first one’s on Broadway.”
Even Eve recognized how the franchise earned its sarcastic name after the first round. Aunt Janes and harried parents with snarly preteens made up the bulk of the customer base. The teens joining them seemed mostly interested in the cheap accessories—jewelry, sunshades, hair ties.
Music banged and boomed over the sound system while clerks shuffled along to refold stock heaped on display tables.
Signs, a forest of them, screamed FIFTY PERCENT OFF! SUMMER SALE! BUY TWO GET ONE FREE!
She got her first close-up look at the Kick Its. Yeah, she thought, he had blisters.
By the fourth stop, a post-Urban building in Midtown on Sixth, her head banged and boomed like the music, the same loop in every store.
“This is billed as their flagship,” Peabody told her. “It’s the biggest. Shoes and some activewear downstairs. Kids—like toddler to tween—upstairs. Everything else on the main.”
“We’ll try the shoes first. I notice you’ve yet to let out with one of your girlie squeals or longing sighs over any of the available merchandise.”
“It really is crap,” Peabody said as they started down. “And too young crap for me anyway. They sell—this store especially has a good crowd. But it looks like a lot of people saving some bucks because kids grow out of things almost as fast as you put the things on them.
“And Quilla’s Aunt Janes,” she added. “Plenty of the vics’ and suspect’s age group, but cheap sunshades and like that are a draw.”
“Most of that age group has a limited discretionary income. I’d’ve been stuck with crap like this at that age.”
“I’m lucky. Everybody sewed.”
On the lower level, Eve hunted up a clerk, badged him.
“We’re looking for a white male, middle teens, about five-six, who bought a pair of Kick It Zoomers.”
He looked at her with tired eyes. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Eve tapped her badge. “This says I’m not.”
“Lady, do you know how many kids swarm through here pawing through everything? How many moms or dads drag a kid in here to try on a mountain of shoes?”
“It’s Lieutenant, and no, I don’t. I’m only looking for one, almost certainly alone. Size six to seven on the shoes.”
“I can’t tell you. Seriously.”
“Seriously, how about you check and see when you moved a pair that matches that description?”
“Well, it’ll get me off the floor.”
As he walked away, Eve watched a woman with one hand in a death grip on a kid’s arm—a boy, about twelve—shove a shoe at the clerk with the other.
“These, in the red. Size seven and a half.”
“I’ll check.”
“And she has to be measured.” She pointed at a girl of about eight sulking on a bench.
“I’ll be right with you.”
The clerk escaped.
“I don’t want those!” The boy whined it in a tone that should have shattered glass in a three-block area. “I want Air Cats!”
“I’m not paying for Air Cats when you’ll grow out of them in five minutes. You can have the damn Air Cats when your feet stop growing.”
“See,” Peabody murmured.
“Shalla, do you want the pink or the green sneaks?”
“I want Air Cats, too.”
“Yeah, well, I want a vacation in Fiji. We’re all going to have to live with our disappointments. Sit by your sister, Garret.”
When he did, with a solid foot between them, the mother dropped into a chair. “Have kids, they told me. They’ll fill your life with joy and adventure. Your heart will swell with love.”
Closing her eyes, she breathed, then sighed.
“Let’s get through this, okay, kids? Then we’ll go get ice cream.”
The clerk came out of the back, handed her a shoebox and a sympathetic smile. “Give me one more minute, and I’ll measure your girl.”
He crossed back to Eve. “Haven’t sold a size seven in over a month. Three weeks ago on the six in red, five weeks in black. Two weeks ago, the last six and a half, and the new shipment hasn’t come in.”
“Let’s try the six and a half. Color?”
“Last one was black. We’ve been out of the red and white for a while. Shipment hasn’t come in, like I said.”
“Do you remember selling that last pair?”
“Lady—Lieutenant,” he corrected, “I’m lucky to remember my name after shift. Could’ve been Carleen, anyway. She rotates.”
He circled his finger. “She’s working activewear.”
“All right. Appreciate it.”
“Whatever.”
“Let’s find Carleen,” Eve said as he went back to work.
They found her folding table stock. Barely older than the customer base, she had pink-streaked blond hair to her shoulders, a glinting nose stud, and a look of unspeakable boredom.
“Shoes? The worst. It’s mostly the boppers, right? The eight to twelve, maybe thirteen, dragged in by Mom. Or Granny. They curl up their toes when you try to measure them. And whine. Sometimes they kick ya.”
“This one would’ve been alone, around sixteen.”
“Yeah, we get those. They mostly don’t go into shoes in groups ’cause they don’t want buds to know they’re buying Kick Its or Sprints or Joe’s.”
“Two weeks ago, the last Kick It Zoomers, six and a half, in black.”
“I don’t know. I guess I sort of remember selling the last pair. Sort of remembering marking it in inventory because now we’re out total, you know, and we’ve been waiting for the shipment.”
“A white kid, about sixteen. Brown hair.”
She poked out her bottom lip as she thought. “Maybe. Sort of maybe. We don’t get them in shoes much over fourteen, maybe fifteen. Do better with activewear, but shoes, you know, that’s status, and they’re really thinking about that once they hit high school.”
“Give me the sort of maybe.”
“Excuse me.” One of the Aunt Janes tapped Carleen on the shoulder. “Can you help me? I have a list.” She held up her ’link displaying said list.
“Of course. Give me a minute,” she told Eve, and led the woman away.
“He’d have gotten the baggies and tee on the main. See if you can track that down, Peabody. I’ll wait, see if we get anything.”
“It’s the first sort of maybe. I’ll hold on to that.”
While Peabody went back up, Eve watched the parade.
Yeah, mostly moms or grannies, herding bored, excited, or fussy kids. A woman pushing a toddler in a stroller had another three in tow.
Potentially four, six, eight, ten.
Four kids, Eve thought, unsure whether to feel astonishment or deep pity.
She had an enormous net bag filled with clothes in the back of the stroller, and another hanging from one of its arms.
“Just shoes, gang, then we’ll go check out.”
She walked by Eve with the look of someone who’d been through one war and was braced for another.
She took a tag from Roarke, and immediately decided looking at his face on-screen was a major improvement over watching irritable kids and exhausted parents.
“Do you own L&W?” she asked before he could speak.
He took a long moment just to stare at her.
“I’m going to firmly believe you don’t know how insulting that is. And I’m going to assume from the vicious music you’re in one now. Have you tracked him there?”
“Maybe.”
“Well then, good luck with it. I’m letting you know I’ll likely be a bit late getting home.”
“Anything to do with letting Jamie ditch you for EDD?”
“No. Was that a problem?”
“Another no. We hit some of that luck earlier, so I know he’s white, about five-six, and was wearing Kick It Zoomers, size six to seven, cheap-ass black baggies, at least on the night of the first murder.”
“Then L&W’s the place to be, isn’t it? Substandard apparel is their business. We had their like when I was a boy in Dublin. I wouldn’t’ve pocketed a pair of socks inside those doors.”
She had to laugh. “You and Quilla have more in common than I realized. She was with Jamie. She’s doing a report on EDD.”
“So I’m told. And she intends to try to tap you for one on Homicide.”
“She already did. I’m thinking about it. Later.”
With mild amusement in those fabulous eyes, he smiled at her. “Are you now?”
“Not now, later. Here comes my source. I don’t know if I’ll be late or not. It depends on if this lead pans out.”
“Then I’ll see you at home when we get there.”
Eve pocketed the ’link.
“Sorry about that. Long list.” Carleen whooshed out a breath. “Anyway, I’m thinking. Short white kid, I think white kid, alone. Dopey clothes.”
“Dopey?”
“Well, like his mom made him dress for school or church or to visit snooty Aunt Martha. Honest, I can’t tell you what clothes, just not what you usually see in here. Like pants—not bags or jeans or sweats. I think a button shirt, all pressed and whatever. I know not a tee or sports jersey. But what I remember is he had really good shoes. Dress shoes, not sneaks or kicks or airs. Quality though. Leather dress shoes, like you’d wear to church or like that.
“I remember because I thought if he could afford—or his parents could afford—good leather shoes, what the hell was he buying Kick Its for?”
She lowered her voice. “They’re totally crap.”
“So I’m told. Can you describe him?”
“It was a couple weeks ago. I swear they blur. And we were having a sale, so we were crushed. I’m not even sure he was a white kid, just pretty sure.”
“Hair color, build?” Eve pressed.
“Sorry, got nothing. I mostly remember the shoes. I mean the ones he wore in.”
“What about the shoes? Describe them.”
“Well, brown leather dress loafers, with the tassel. I mean who puts a teenage kid in those? Lame. But real quality. Alan Stubens.”
“You’re sure about that? The brand?”
“Yeah. Most of the rest is maybe, but I’m solid on the shoes because I thought how you could buy fifty … nah, more like a hundred Kick Its for one pair of Stuben loafers.”
“All right. I’m going to give you my card. If you remember anything else, any detail, contact me. If he comes in again, don’t alert him. Go into the back and contact me.”
“Well hell, what did he do?”
“Just contact me.”
Eve took the steps up two at a time and found Peabody.
“Bombed,” Peabody said. “But if he bought those items here, he paid cash. They checked. And the cams are overwritten every twenty-four.”
“He bought them here. Carleen remembered him.”
“Holy score! We get a description?”
“Not of him. She fixed on his clothes—quality, neat, conservative. And more, on the shoes he came in wearing. Run a search on what venues carry Alan Stuben dress loafers. Brown leather. With the stupid tassel.”
“Stubens?” Peabody hustled after Eve. “Those are premium. It’s going to be high-end boutiques, high-end department stores, or one of his stand-alones. I know there’s a stand-alone on Madison. I think around Fifty-Third.”
“Check. We can start there.”
“Crap, it’s still raining. Madison and Fifty-Fourth. And crap again, there are over sixty places that carry Stubens in the city, and four more at the Sky Mall. Another three dozen in Brooklyn. Then there’s—”
“Let’s just start with Manhattan.”
Two hours later, they’d covered the first stand-alone, two major department stores, and three boutiques.
“Bombed.” Peabody dropped into the passenger seat. “Coffee. Can I get coffee?”
Eve held up two fingers.
“You’re as wiped as I am. You didn’t threaten me when I let out girlie squeals and longing sighs in that last store. And the venues are closing soon for the day.”
Sometimes you couldn’t fight the clock, Eve admitted. And she was wiped.
“We pick it up tomorrow.”
“I have to say it. They could’ve bought the shoes while traveling.”
“They won’t be his only pair. Maybe of that brand, maybe. Quality clothes and shoes—somebody’s got the scratch to outfit him that way.”
“If he wasn’t a murderer, I’d feel sorry for him for having to dress like a rich doofus. You know what else? Unless he likes the doofus-wear, and why would he, the L&W haul makes him feel like he’s got it.”
“That could be part of it. I’m just like you. Smarter, better, cannier, but just like you. It’s after shift. House or apartment?”
“First, mega thanks for not making me deal with the subway. The apartment. I need to crash for an hour.”
“Pick a downtown venue, send it to me. We’ll start there.”
“They won’t open until ten.”
“Take the gift.”
“Oh boy, will I! We’re going to hit, Dallas. We have to hit. Who’d have thought we’d nail him over his shoes?”
“Scuff marks. First mistake. If he made one at the second scene, we just haven’t found it yet. He made another wearing his dopey clothes in a place like L&W. They got noticed because they’re out of place. Smarter to have bought good kicks or sneaks and the rest. Walk into a higher-end shop, nobody’s going to notice. But he didn’t know any better. Didn’t think that one through.”
“You’re right, and I didn’t think of that, either. But if they keep him on a really short leash, maybe that’s all he could afford, in cash.”
Eve shook her head. “They don’t pay that much attention. If they did, they’d see him. They’d wonder what the hell he’s doing growing poppies, or spending all that time in a lab—maybe his own, because they could afford it, and it keeps him out of their hair. They’d have seen he doesn’t have friends, isn’t dating, isn’t … just isn’t right.”
“Didn’t think of that, either.”
“They’d have seen something twisted in him. They dress him in what they approve of, but they don’t see what’s inside the button-down shirts and pressed pants.”
She pulled up in front of the apartment building.
“He doesn’t give them any grief,” Eve continued. “He’s quiet, studious, gets exceptional grades. He keeps out of their hair.
“There was a woman in L&W with four kids, ranging probably from four to ten. I bet she pays more attention to every one of them than whoever’s in charge pays to him.”
“You’re going to make me feel sorry for him again.”
“Don’t. They don’t abuse him. They don’t even neglect him. They just don’t see what he is.
“Go crash.”
“Gonna. You know, it’s only weeks now until we move into the house. You can count it in weeks, and I’m so excited. And still, I’m going to miss this place.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“Oh, bet your skinny lieutenant’s ass. Thanks for the lift.”
She drove uptown the way she’d driven downtown that morning. In steady, dreary rain.
She’d deal with the headache, she thought, by crashing herself for twenty or thirty minutes.
Let the worst of the fatigue drain, sleep the fog out.
Then take another good, hard look at where they stood.
She had more, considerably more, than she had when she’d left the house that morning. The picture of the killer had begun to coalesce in her mind.
He hated being short in stature when his intellect was so tall. He hated his clothes, hated his life. He was destined for so much more.
He despised the others his age for their shallow brains, their shallow interests. Despised them for their lack of interest in him, their inability to see all he was and would be.
But more, so much more, he despised what he most craved. The girls who ignored him.
He’d experimented, she thought, refining his weapon against them. A lab rat, a stray cat.
A scientist had to experiment, had to test his methods, the results. Keep records.
Yet whoever kept him, mother, father, guardian, didn’t see.
How did he get out for the events? Did he have a curfew? Didn’t they see the cheap clothes?
Maybe he snuck out. Maybe they trusted him to be compliant and never considered he’d leave the house.
She stopped at a red, closed her eyes. Then shook herself when she nearly nodded off. Though tempted to take the rest of the trip on auto, she knew herself well enough.
She’d end up dead out in the car parked inside the gates.
Maybe she was being too hard on whoever they were. Maybe they encouraged him to go out. Have a good time! Enjoy the music. Be home by midnight.
No. No. It didn’t fit the rest.
So quiet, so polite, so bright.
That’s what they’d say about him. The “they,” and anyone who thought they knew him.
The neighbors, other relatives, shopkeepers, at least most of his teachers or tutors.
And while he desperately wanted them to see him, he made sure they didn’t.
Relief swamped her when she drove through the gates. Even in the rain, the house looked beyond a dream. Lights gleaming in windows through the gloom, blossoms forming streaks of color and shape.
And quiet, she thought as she pulled up. Already the quiet after so much noise, such relentless movement.
She dragged herself out of the car, through the rain, and into the house, where Summerset and Galahad waited.
“You’ve had a long, wet day, Lieutenant.”
She had nothing, so kept walking.
“Was there another? After last night?”
She glanced back as both the man and the cat watched her. “No. But there will be.”
“She may be wet,” Summerset told the cat, “but she’s wrung herself dry. Go on now, go see to her. Roarke will be a little while yet.”
In the bedroom, she dragged off her damp jacket and considered it done. As she had the day before, she dropped facedown on the bed.
Thirty minutes, she told herself, and went out.
She didn’t feel the cat leap onto the bed, or spread himself over her ass to guard her.
When Roarke came in a half hour later, Summerset waited.
“She’s upstairs. Exhausted.”
“Small wonder.”
“You’re a bit fagged yourself. How was Philadelphia?”
“Dry, so there’s something. And all’s in place.”
“That’s good. After last night, I anticipated considerable fatigue. I made fresh pasta and meatballs.”
“That will be very welcome, on both our counts. She’s closer.”
Understanding, Roarke laid a hand on Summerset’s arm. “I had a brief update, and she’s closer.”
“Go tend to your wife.” Summerset gave the hand on his shoulder a brief pat. “There’s cherry pie for later.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“It kept my mind occupied.”
“She’ll find him.”
“She will, and you’ll help her.”
“As I can.”
Roarke walked up, made his way to the bedroom.
Galahad blinked his eyes open but maintained his perch.
“We’ll both see to her now, won’t we?”
He sat on the side of the bed, skimmed a hand lightly over her hair.
He took off his suit jacket, his tie, his shoes. Then lay down beside her. After setting his mental clock for ten minutes, he dropped into sleep with her.