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Despite the officer manager’s sensibilities, Eve took the time to speak with everyone on staff. When she felt she’d wrung that area dry, she walked out into sleet.
“Maybe I’m off,” she said to Peabody. “I’m off, and Michaelson was as random as the other two. Wrong place, wrong time.”
“I get why you’re tugging that line.”
“But?” Eve prompted as they climbed up to the car.
“Well, the third vic almost had to be random. But if I wanted to zero in on one of the others, I’d go with the first.”
“Why?”
“Jealousy factor. Young, really pretty, really talented. And, in her way, flashy. Some asshole she didn’t pay enough attention to, or shut down. And she was first. If I were going to take that kind of shot, I’d want to be sure my primary target went down.”
“Reasonable points. Take her.”
“Take her?”
“Turn her inside out,” Eve said. “Work, family, school, friends. Find her pattern. Where she ate, shopped, what route she usually took. Subway? Bus? Walking? Talk to her family again, talk to her friends—work friends, college friends, neighborhood friends. You take her, I’ll take Michaelson. And we both take the buildings. I’ll drop you at the college, you can start there while I take a pass at Michaelson’s residence. Then you take the York and First Avenue locations. I’ll take Second and Third. Reineke and Jenkinson started working east from Madison, so they should cover Madison, Park, and Lex. You start as far east as you can go without walking into the river.”
“I can do that.”
“If we’re in the same vicinity, I’ll pick you up. Otherwise, when you’ve covered the ground, head back to Central. We’ll conference with Jenkinson and Reineke. If any of us catches a break, we move on that.”
“Okay.” With a little sigh, Peabody looked up at the ugly sky. “I’ll take the subway from here. It’s quicker than you driving me.”
“Good.”
As Peabody walked back to street level, Eve got in the car, lifted out as she’d dropped in, and headed to Sixty-First.
—
Dr. Brent Michaelson had lived well, Eve thought when she used her master to access his dignified white brick building. Solid security, discreetly done, including the spotlessly clean stairwell as she took that to the third floor rather than the elevator.
She’d already ordered the electronics taken in and reviewed by EDD, but wanted a sense of his living space.
A quiet hallway—only one neighbor sharing the floor. Again, good security on his apartment, which she bypassed with her master.
He had a spacious living area open to a small, neat kitchen, a dining area with a couple of never-lighted candles in a couple of chunky stands on the table.
The furnishings struck her as masculine and simple, comfortable, without fuss. One long table held a forest of photos. His daughter—various ages—his daughter’s family. Photos of Andy Spicker and, Eve surmised, Spicker’s parents. Others of his staff, a lot with babies.
Friendly, happy photos.
In the kitchen she checked his AutoChef, refrigerator, cupboards. Nothing like food to give you a sense of how people lived, in her opinion.
The man had a weakness for ice cream—the real deal. Preferred red wine, but otherwise ate healthy.
His home office was as simply decorated and as quietly organized as the living space. As in his professional office, this also boasted a wall of photos. She imagined Michaelson sitting at his desk, doing whatever doctors did at desks, and seeing that wall of life.
Many of the babies—the really fresh ones—struck her as creepy. They either looked like fish, or really pissed-off alien life-forms. But she imagined Michaelson had taken great pride in knowing he’d been a part of bringing them into the world.
He kept a small AutoChef and a mini-friggie—fizzy water, straight juice, and herbal teas in the friggie; fruit and veggie snacks in the AC.
Not a candy bar, a caffeine source, or a bag of chips in the place.
How did the man live?
“Not a problem now,” she murmured, moving out to study his bedroom.
