“Surely there’s no greater ego boost for a performer than having someone believe he was the character he portrayed. It’s a terrible sort of praise, isn’t it?”
“Ego,” Eve murmured. “A need for praise. He made the women praise him while he raped them. Next to stupidity, ego’s the thing that causes the most mistakes.”
Again she gestured to the board. “Following a pattern’s another. There’s got to be some connection between the victims. Some linchpin. The SVU detectives are solid, they’ve been thorough, but there’s something they haven’t found.”
“So you will.”
She angled her head to look at him. He so rarely looked tired, so rarely showed fatigue, but she saw the first signs of it in his eyes. “So I will. And you should go home.”
“Kicking me out?”
“For your own good.”
“Come with me and work at home. After you have a nap.”
“I’ve got the valets coming in—I have to cross them off. And some other things to deal with. Then I’ll be home. And maybe take a nap in our big, fancy new bed.”
He rose, came over to take her face in his hands. “Coming home as we did only yesterday—then going out again to the charity ball—we haven’t yet slept or anything else in our big, fancy new bed.”
“We’ll make up for it. I like how it’s turning out, the bedroom and all.”
“And like even more that the bulk of the work was done when we were on the island.”
“Goes without saying. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, and kissed her.
And that, she thought as he left her, summed up the miracle of her life. She had a home with him, and he’d be there.
Swinging her legs off the desk, she started her murder book.
*
When they finished the last interview, Eve prepared to send Peabody home.
“Get some downtime. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“Are you going home?”
Not directly, Eve thought, but … “Yeah. I want Mira’s profile, another prod at the survivor when the medicals clear it, Yancy’s sketch. None of that’s going to happen now. I can comb through Olsen and Tredway’s files at home.”
“I can walk out with you,” Peabody began, knowing her partner’s methods.
“I’ve still got to grab my things,” Eve began, then turned to the burly man with a visitor’s badge clipped to his New York Knicks sweatshirt. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Lieutenant Dallas.”
“You’ve found her.”
“I’m Carmine Rizzo. My boys—Luca—he said Dr. Strazza’s been murdered, and you talked to my crew.”
“Yes. One minute. Go home, Peabody.”
“I can speak to Mr. Rizzo.”
“I’ve got it. Go.” To solve the matter, Eve turned back to Carmine. “Why don’t we go sit down in our lounge? I appreciate you coming in,” she continued as she steered him out. “We didn’t see any reason to interrupt your Sunday as your crew was cooperative.”
“They’re good boys. Men,” he corrected. “All five of them on that job. I know them, their families. I want to make sure they’re not in trouble.”
“At this point, I’m looking at Luca, Ollie, Stizzle, and a valet—a Bryar Coleson—as witnesses.”
“I know Bryar, she’s a good girl, friends with my daughter. Witnesses, because they saw the one you think killed Dr. Strazza?”
“That’s right.” She led him into the lounge. “You want coffee?”
“No, no, thanks.” He waved that away. “I’m cutting back.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Rizzo.”
“Carmine. Everybody calls me Carmine. Been at the game,” he told her. “Whole family—doing the thing, so all day. I didn’t hear about any of this until Luca finally tagged me. The boy’s sick about this, half blames himself.”
“He shouldn’t. He’s not in any way to blame.”
Carmine nodded, blew out a relieved breath. “I told him the same. He said Mrs. Strazza was in the hospital. She’s a sweet girl. Is she hurt bad? There was a news report when I tuned in on the way here, said how there’d been a murder and assault, but they didn’t say how bad she was hurt.”
“She was roughed up, but she’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t understand the world most of the time. Don’t understand the world. Now she’s a widow, and at her age. Maybe we can send her flowers or something.” Face grim, he stared down at the table.