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“Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know yet. Can I come in, speak to you?”
“Ah.” He glanced behind, shifted, looked back at her. “Yeah, I guess. I’m working at home today,” he said as he opened the door. “I was just taking a break, doing a few miles on my bike.”
Eve saw the desk against the short window with its piles of discs, of files, a bag of soy chips, and a tube of some sport’s drink. A couple feet away sat a gleaming stationary bike facing a massive wall screen.
“Look, I know I got a speeding ticket a couple weeks ago. I’m going to pay it.”
“Do I look like a traffic cop?”
“Um … I guess not, not so much.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Homicide.”
“Homi— Jeez, God!”
“Are you Malachi Golde?”
“Yeah. Mal. People call me Mal. Who got killed? Do I know somebody who got killed?”
And suddenly, he looked very young. “I don’t know yet. You know Jerry Reinhold.”
“Jerry? Jerry?” Now he looked young, and ill. “Oh, Jesus, Jesus. I need to sit down.”
Full-weight, he dropped onto a slick-surfaced sofa in shimmering silver. “Jerry’s dead?”
“I didn’t say that. My information is you know him. How do you know him?”
“From the neighborhood. We grew up together. We lived a half a block from each other growing up, went to school together. We hang out, have a beer or whatever. I’ve known Jerry my whole life. What happened?”
“I’ll get to that. What kind of work are you doing there, Mal?”
“What? Oh, ah, I’m a programmer. I can work at home most days if I want. I do programming and troubleshooting for Global United.”
“Are you good at it?”
“Yeah.” He passed a hand over his face, like a man trying to wake up. “It’s sweet work, what I wanted to do since I can remember.”
“Pays good.”
“Yeah, pays good if you’re good. I don’t understand what this is about.”
Just getting a picture, Eve thought. “I’m looking around here, Mal, and you’ve got some nice stuff—furniture, equipment. The building’s kind of a dump.”
“Oh.” He managed an uneasy smile. “Yeah, but that’s just the shell, right? It’s what’s inside. And I like the location. I can walk or bike to work, to the gym, to my folks’ place. I know everybody, you know? I didn’t want to move when I started making some shine.”
“Got it. Jerry’s data lists this as his address.”
“It does?” Mal’s eyebrows drew together. “We shared the place for a couple years, but that’s been awhile, months now. Maybe eight, nine months now.”
“Why did he move out?”
“Oh, well, he hooked up with Lori, and—”
“Lori Nuccio?”
“Yeah, Lori. He moved in with her.”
