She had a brisk five-minute walk of her own when she finally found a slot. And spotted Peabody as her partner emerged from a subway station.
Eve’s eyes narrowed. Peabody had left her hair down, sort of curly, and mixed in the dark, little tips and streaks of red glowed.
“What did you do to your hair?”
“I got Trinia’d.”
Peabody’s happy face glowed like the streaks and tips. “She was over at Mavis’s last night, and I just went for it. It’s fun.”
“You’re a cop. You’re a murder cop.”
“I’m loving it,” she said, completely unabashed. “And McNab got all mmm after, so—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Eve slapped a hand on her twitching eye. “Jesus Christ on an airboard, I don’t want to hear it. Pull your shiny-faced self together. We’re going up to interview a possible murder suspect.”
“Oh, I can interview a possible murder suspect even with mag hair.” As they mastered in the entrance doors, Peabody gave her mag hair a little finger flick.
“Don’t do that. Don’t go tossing it around.”
“It’s so soft!” Even as Eve ignored the elevator and started up the stairs, Peabody’s glow didn’t dim. “Trina put some genius product on it, gave me a sample to take home, too. My hair’s thick, but a little coarse, and now—”
Eve stopped, gave Peabody the stony eye. “Another word about it, and I swear to the god of all cops I’ll knock you out and shave your head bald with my penknife.”
“Harsh.”
“Don’t test me.”
Peabody cleared her throat and gamely took the second flight of stairs. Somebody, she thought, had gotten out on the cranky side of the bed. “So Ponti’s new wife…”
“Did a research paper on poisons, aced her way through chemistry.”
“Well, that’s interesting.”
“I’ll add it to the book once we talk to her. Ponti’s alibi holds—he was at the hospital. She wasn’t, but supposedly was waiting for him.”
They started up the third flight, so Peabody began her inner mantra of Loose pants, loose pants. “Probably not in tune with the mad scientist theory, or only part. But yeah, she could’ve been pissed since Abner dissed her husband. They could have worked it out together.”
“I went by the murder scene. No way the killer or an accomplice could or would have hung around to see Abner die. First, you’d have to know just where he’d open the egg in the house to position yourself, and how would you? And even then, there’s just not a good eyeline unless he was right in the front window.”
“Yeah, I guess that was a long shot.”
“I’m going to clear the scene so the family can get back in. Before I do, you could contact the son—I think that’s the way to go—and give him the name of some of the mop-up crews.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of that.”
When they reached the fourth floor, with doors opening and closing below, elevators humming as people rode down to start their day, Eve crossed over to the Ponti-Roe apartment.
Decent security, she thought, like the building was decent. She remembered Ponti’s comments about Abner—rich, private practice—the fact he’d borrowed a beach house from a friend.
Envy often provided the springboard to violence.
She pressed the buzzer. After thirty seconds, pressed it again and held it longer.
“All right, all right!” someone shouted from inside. “Who is it?”
“NYPSD.”
“What? Let me see a badge—you can just hold it up to the peep.”