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“You’ve got enough cat hair on you to make a rug.” Peabody brushed at her uniform pants. “Me, too. What is it with old women and cats?”
“Cats are okay. I have a cat. But if I ever start collecting them like stamps, you have permission to blast me in the heart.”
“Can I get that on record, sir?”
“Shut up. Let’s go talk to Billy, the good Samaritan parking attendant.”
Good Samaritan, my ass, was Eve’s first thought.
Billy was a long, loose-limbed black man with doe-brown eyes behind amber sunshades, and nimble feet inside five hundred dollar airboots.
The shades, the boots, and the glint of gold she noticed shining in his ears were hardly in the range of budget for a vehicle jockey in a small parking garage in Lower Manhattan.
“Miss Ernestine!” His smile lit up like Christmas morning, full of joy and innocence. “Isn’t she something? I hope I get around like that when I hit her age. She’s in here Sunday mornings like clockwork. Churchgoing.”
“So I hear. I have her written authorization to search her van, and, if I deem it necessary, to impound it for testing.”
“She wasn’t in an accident.” He took the authorization Eve offered. “I’d’ve noticed if there were any dings on the van. She drives careful.”
“I’m sure she does. Where’s the van?”
“I keep it down on the first level. Makes it easier for her.”
And you, Eve thought, as she followed him back into the shadows and harsh lights of the garage.
“There aren’t too many parking facilities with attendants in the city,” she commented. “Most that do have attendants use droids.”
“Nope, not too many of us left. But my uncle, he owns this one, he likes the personal touch.”
“Who doesn’t? Miss Ernestine mentioned that you give her a nice discount.”
“We do what we can,” he said cheerfully. “Nice, elderly lady. Keeps her slot year round. Gotta give her a break, you know.”
“And she only uses it five times a month.”
“Like clockwork.”
“Tell me, Billy, how much do you make, any average month, renting out vehicles.”
He stopped by a small gray van. “What’s that?”
“Somebody needs a ride, they drop in and see Billy, and he fixes them up. You get the codes, pocket the fee, vehicle comes back, you put it in its slot. Owner’s none the wiser, and a nice sideline for you.”
“You’ve got no proof of something like that.”
Eve leaned on the van. “You know, as soon as somebody tells me I’ve got no proof, it just makes me want to dig down and get it. I’m just that perverse.”
He pokered up. “This van stays in this slot except on Sundays and every third Wednesday. I park and I fetch, and that’s all I do.”
“You’re independently wealthy then, and provide this service to the community out of a spirit of altruism and benevolence. Nice boots, Bill.”
“Man likes nice shoes, it’s no crime.”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to run tests on this van. If I find this van was used in the case I’m investigating, your ass is in a sling. It’s homicide, Billy. I got two bodies so far. I’ll be taking you into Interview and holding you as an accessory.”
“Murder? Are you crazy?” He took a stumbling step back, and Eve shifted to the balls of her feet in case he decided to run.
“Peabody,” she said mildly, catching her aide’s movement to box Billy in. “Am I crazy?”
