“Then I’ll give you one. Rachel Howard.”
He continued to smile, and lifted his hands, palms up.
Eve gestured to Peabody, and took the picture of Rachel, held it out. “Refreshed?”
“Ah, yes. Pretty Rachel of the dancing feet. We had a brief and beautiful romance, but I had to end it.” He laid a dramatic hand on his heart, and a gold ring winked on his pinky. “She wanted too much of me. I have to give myself to all the ladies, not just one.”
“You ended it? By stabbing her in the heart and tossing her in a recyler?”
The smirk vanished as his jaw dropped, and his expression went bright with fear. “What is this?”
“She was killed night before last. Word is you were hassling her, Diego.”
“No. No way.” The slight Spanish accent disappeared, and his voice was all New York. “We danced a few times, that’s all, in that data club a lot of the college crowd hangs in. I hit on her, okay, no crime in that.”
“You came by her place of employment.”
“So what? So the hell what? Wanted a taste, that’s all.”
“What about your brief and beautiful romance?”
He sat now, looking slightly ill. “We never got down to it. I took her to dinner, showed her a nice time, then she brushed me off. Challenged me, so I put the squeeze on. Figured she was playing me, wanted a pursuit.”
“Want to give me that lady’s name now?”
“I don’t know it. Jesus. I was on the bounce, club to club. Got a little action with some girl at her place. On the East Side. Shit. Second Avenue. Halley, Heather, Hester. Fuck if I know. Just some blonde chica who wanted a bang.”
“You’re going to want to do better.”
“Look.” He put his head in his hands a moment, then scooped them through all the glossy black. “We were wasted, okay? Scored a little Zoner, dipped a little Erotica. Went to her place. Second, I know it was Second, maybe in the Thirties. Near a subway, ’cause I caught a train home at three, maybe four in the morning. It was just a one-night bang. Who pays attention?”
Eve nodded toward the pictures of naked and scantily clad woman that graced his walls. “You like to take pictures, Diego?”
“Huh? Oh. Man, what is this? I download them from the Net, frame ’em up. I like looking at women, so what? I like women, and they like me. I don’t go around killing them.”
“Slimy,” was Peabody’s opinion when they walked back to the car.
“Yeah, slimy’s an offense, but it’s not a crime. We’ll get a search for the uncle’s vehicles, see if we get a fiber match. But I can’t see him planning this out. Popping her in the heat of the moment, maybe, but putting all the parts in play? He’s a petty operator. Still, he’d be able to score the opiates, had contact with the victim, a reason to be annoyed with her, played in the club where the transmission was sent, and has access to a vehicle that fits the general type we suspect was used for transport. We’ll keep him on the short list.”
“What now?”
“We’re going shopping.”
“Sir, have you had a blow to the head recently?”
“Cameras, Peabody. We’re going to take a look at cameras.”
She’d run a list the night before of the top outlets for cameras and imaging supplies in the city. This was someone who considered himself a professional, even an artist, and who took pride in his work. To Eve, that meant he’d take pride in his tools.
A good investigator had to understand the murder weapon. A camera had killed Rachel, every bit as much as the knife through her heart.
She stepped into Image Makers on Fifth.
Businesslike, she noted, scanning the shelves and counters. Organized. In addition to products there were two wall screens that ran various still photos, all very colorful and artsy.
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A small, dark-haired man in a limp white shirt hustled right over to her. “Something I can show you?”