Eve stood back as the mother comforted the daughter, as she helped the grieving widow into boots, coat, scarf.
“I’ll take her to breakfast,” Cicely told Eve. “There’s a place down the street. We’ll be there if you need us.”
“Thank you.” Eve waited until the door shut behind them. “Took the same cup every day.”
“Fits his MO,” Peabody said. “Routine.”
“Yeah, so he not only habitually drank the same thing every day, but out of the same thermos. Used that same thermos for over a year. Maybe, for efficiency’s sake, the killer bought a dupe, just switched the cups.”
“We can run the make and model, retail outlets.”
“Yeah, we can. Let’s do the room first. Let’s go to work, Peabody.”
5
THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE APARTMENT THAT spoke of murder. No poisons hidden away in secret compartments, no threatening correspondence or incriminating photographs.
There was, as far as Eve could see—as far as she could feel—only the lives of two everyday people whose marriage had still been shiny and new.
The shared work area held his professional debris, and hers, as well as silly, sexy e-mails they sent to each other. Signs, Eve thought, of that first rush of love and belonging where nothing was more important or immediate as the two of you. There were ’link transmissions to and from Lissy and her mother, one from Mirri Hallywell who’d talked to both the Fosters—confirming a study date with Craig and chatting with Lissy about a date with someone called Ben.
The night before he died, Craig Foster had outlined the pop quiz he would never spring on his students, and had put nearly an hour into a paper on the economic and social developments post–Urban Wars.
The screen saver on the comp unit was a wedding portrait—Lissette in flowing white, Craig in formal black, sharing what Eve assumed was their first kiss as husband and wife.
“It’s a tough one,” Peabody commented when they were back in their vehicle. “Looking around that place, everything’s new. Everything was just getting started. Now it’s done. The good wine glasses—had to be a wedding gift—barely used. Matching towels and shower curtain, dried flowers from her wedding bouquet, the disc of the ceremony and party. It’s tough.”
“It’s tougher because nothing in there pointed to motive. They don’t have money, they don’t use illegals, the probability of either of them having an affair at this stage is next to zip. So what was his secret?”
“His secret?”
“People have them. Little pockets they keep to themselves. Things a man wouldn’t share with his wife.”
Frowning, Peabody shook her head. “At their stage, and from the vibe, I don’t see them keeping secrets.”
“That’s what makes them secret,” Eve muttered, and hunted up parking near the school.
Inside, they passed through security, waited to be cleared. She saw a couple of staff members crossing the main hall. Each wore a black armband. “Let’s go over the timing and movements. If the ricin didn’t come from home, it came from here.”
Peabody pulled out her memo book. “Vic signed in at six-forty-two. His wife’s statement has him leaving the apartment about six-thirty.”
“He walked. Find an apartment close to work so you can walk and save transpo costs. It would take seven, eight minutes to walk it, so it’s unlikely he made any stops on the way. Nothing open at that hour on the route. Closest twenty-four/seven is three blocks west.”
Peabody nodded. “There’s a deli a block over, but it doesn’t open until seven.”
“Okay. So he puts on his coat, gets his briefcase, his packed lunch, kisses his wife good-bye, and walks to work. Comes in the main, like we did. Goes through security, gets signed in. He’s going to work out, so he’d go to his classroom, store his stuff for the day. Coat, gloves, hat, scarf. Briefcase, which contains his last meal.”
She headed that way now, taking the most logical route. “No one interviewed mentioned seeing or speaking to him before he made it to the fitness area. He goes upstairs first.”
She stopped at the classroom door, uncoded the police seal, entered. “Puts the briefcase on the desk, stows the lunch in the drawer, hangs up his coat. Efficient guy, orderly guy,” she murmured. “Wears the workout gear in. Takes his duffle with his school clothes with him down to the fitness area.”
“Affirmative.” Peabody read her notes. “We’ve got the duffle with his workout gear in it.”
“Goes down to the main level,” Eve continued as they backtracked. “Goes down to work out, leaving his classroom—including his go-cup—unattended.”
“Yeah.”
They walked back out, toward the fitness area. “According to wit statements, he’s already in the gym, on the machines, when he’s first seen.”