She supposed Ernestine would be considered spry.
Her face was a tiny wrinkled ball set off by oversized teeth. Her wig-Eve hoped it was a wig-sat crookedly on top and was the color of bleached wheat. She wore some sort of tracksuit that bagged over what was left of her body.
Note to God, Eve thought: Please, if you're up there, don't let me live this long. It's too scary.
"Mrs. MacNamara-"
"Oh, you just call me Ernestine. Everybody does. Can I see your gun?"
Eve ignored Peabody's muffled snort. "We don't carry guns, Mrs… Ernestine. Guns are banned. My weapon is a police issue hand laser. About your van."
"It still shoots and knocks people on their butts, whatever you call it. Is it heavy?"
"No, not really. The van, Ernestine. Your van. When's the last time you used it?"
"Sunday. Every Sunday I take a group to St. Ignatius for ten o'clock Mass. Hard for most of us to walk that far, and the buses, well, it isn't easy for people my age to remember the schedule. Anyway, it's more fun this way. I was a flower child, you know."
Eve blinked. "You were a flower?"
"Flower child." Ernestine gave a hoarse little chuckle. The sixties-thenineteen sixties. Then I was a New-Ager, and Free-Ager. And oh, whatever came along that looked like fun. Gone back to being a Catholic now. It's comforting."
"I'm sure. Does anyone else have access to your van?"
"Well, there's the nice boy in the parking garage. He keeps it for me. Only charges me half the going rate, too. He's a good boy."
"I'd like his name, and the name and location of the garage."
"He's Billy, and it's the place on West Eighteenth, right off Seventh. Just a block from here, so that's easy for me. I pick it up and drop it off on Sundays. Oh, and the third Wednesday of the month when we have the planning meetings for church."
"Is there anyone else who drives it or has access? A friend, a relative, a neighbor?"
"Not that I can think. My son has his own car. He lives in Utah. He's a Mormon now. And my daughter's in New Orleans, she's Wiccan. Then there's my sister, Marian, but she doesn't drive anymore. Then there's the grandchildren."
Dutifully, Eve wrote down the names-grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and God help her, the great-greats.
"Ernestine, I'd like your permission to run tests on your van."
"Oh my goodness! Do you think it could be involved in a crime?" Her little wrinkled face flushed with pleasure. "Wouldn't that be something?"
"Wouldn't it?" Eve agreed.
She escaped, drawing in the humid, clogged air like spring water. "I think I swallowed a hair ball," she said to Peabody.
"You've got enough cat hair on you to make a rug." Peabody brushed at her uniform pants. "Me, too. What is it with old women and cats?"
"Cats are okay. I have a cat. But if I ever start collecting them like stamps, you have permission to blast me in the heart."
"Can I get that on record, sir?"
"Shut up. Let's go talk to Billy, the good Samaritan parking attendant."
Good Samaritan, my ass, was Eve's first thought.
Billy was a long, loose-limbed black man with doe-brown eyes behind amber sunshades, and nimble feet inside five hundred dollar airboots.
The shades, the boots, and the glint of gold she noticed shining in his ears were hardly in the range of budget for a vehicle jockey in a small parking garage in Lower Manhattan.
"Miss Ernestine!" His smile lit up like Christmas morning, full of joy and innocence. "Isn't she something? I hope I get around like that when I hit her age. She's in here Sunday mornings like clockwork. Churchgoing."
"So I hear. I have her written authorization to search her van, and, if I deem it necessary, to impound it for testing."
"She wasn't in an accident." He took the authorization Eve offered. "I'd've noticed if there were any dings on the van. She drives careful."
"I'm sure she does. Where's the van?"
"I keep it down on the first level. Makes it easier for her."
And you, Eve thought, as she followed him back into the shadows and harsh lights of the garage.
"There aren't too many parking facilities with attendants in the city," she commented. "Most that do have attendants use droids."
"Nope, not too many of us left. But my uncle, he owns this one, he likes the personal touch."
"Who doesn't? Miss Ernestine mentioned that you give her a nice discount."
"We do what we can," he said cheerfully. "Nice, elderly lady. Keeps her slot year round. Gotta give her a break, you know."
"And she only uses it five times a month."
"Like clockwork."
"Tell me, Billy, how much do you make, any average month, renting out vehicles."
He stopped by a small gray van. "What's that?"
"Somebody needs a ride, they drop in and see Billy, and he fixes them up. You get the codes, pocket the fee, vehicle comes back, you put it in its slot. Owner's none the wiser, and a nice sideline for you."
"You've got no proof of something like that."
Eve leaned on the van. "You know, as soon as somebody tells me I've got no proof, it just makes me want to dig down and get it. I'm just that perverse."
He pokered up. "This van stays in this slot except on Sundays and every third Wednesday. I park and I fetch, and that's all I do."
"You're independently wealthy then, and provide this service to the community out of a spirit of altruism and benevolence. Nice boots, Bill."
"Man likes nice shoes, it's no crime."
"Uh-huh. I'm going to run tests on this van. If I find this van was used in the case I'm investigating, your ass is in a sling. It's homicide, Billy. I got two bodies so far. I'll be taking you into Interview and holding you as an accessory."
"Murder? Are you crazy?" He took a stumbling step back, and Eve shifted to the balls of her feet in case he decided to run.
"Peabody," she said mildly, catching her aide's movement to box Billy in. "Am I crazy?"
"No, sir. Billy does have nice shoes, and appears to be in big trouble."
"I didn't kill anybody!" Billy's voice spiked. "I got a job. I pay rent. I paytaxes. "
"And I bet when I do a run of your financials-income, outlay, and so on, I'm going to find some interesting discrepancies."
"I get good tips."
"Billy, Billy, Billy." On a windy sigh, Eve shook her head. "You're making this harder than it has to be. Peabody, call in a black-and-white. We'll need our friend here transported down to Central and held for questioning."
"I'm not going anywhere. I want a lawyer."
"Oh, you're going somewhere, Billy. But you can have a lawyer."
Eve went with instinct and called in a team of sweepers.
"You think this is the vehicle."
"Nondescript gray, no fancy touches. Who's going to notice it? It's parked and largely unused, only a good healthy walk from the data club. Quick subway ride or a longer but still healthy walk from there to the 24/7 where Rachel Howard worked. Same with Columbia. Drive it uptown to Juilliard, to Lincoln Center. Hey, you can take it out basically whenever you want. Safer than using your own, if you have one. Safer than officially renting anything. Slip friendly Billy the fee, drive off."
She stood back as the sweepers arrived and got to work. "It fits him. You don't steal a vehicle. That's makes the vehicle a target. Borrow a friend's? What if the friend mentions it to another friend? What if you run into trouble, have a fender bender? Friend's going to be pissed. But something happens to this, you just ditch it, and leave Billy holding the bag."
"But Billy knows him."
"Unlikely. Just another side customer. If he used it, he used it twice, and made certain he didn't do anything to make him memorable. He's smart," Eve continued. "And he plans. He'd scoped out Ernestine, this place, the van, Billy, well in advance. He lives or works in this sector."
She tucked her hands in her back pockets and looked toward the garage entrance, toward the street. "But he didn't kill them here. Don't piss in your own pool."