Echoes in Death(22)
“What do you mean ‘without the tables and chairs’?”
“Well, not her tables and chairs. The rentals, for the fancy first course.”
“What company?”
“Loan Star,” father and daughter said together.
“We’ve done events with them for years,” Jacko continued. “They’re solid.”
“When do they bring in the rentals, take them away?”
“They brought them about five,” Xena told her. “I was there to supervise the setup. Nat and I did the table decor—with Mrs. Strazza. She likes to have a hand in. They picked them up at eight-thirty. We cleared, they came in. In and out in about ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Did you know the crew?”
“Ah … mostly. I mean … I’m not sure. We were so busy.” She looked at her father. “Oh, Dad.”
“You don’t worry.” He came around the island, pulled her to him. “You don’t worry about this.”
“He’s right,” Eve said. “Do you remember how many in the rental crew?”
“Four—no, five. Five. I do know a couple of them. But I was busy, just didn’t have time to think about it.”
“If you remember anything more, contact me or Detective Peabody. We appreciate your time, the help. And everything else.”
Rubbing his daughter’s back, Jacko looked over her head. “Can Mrs. Strazza have visitors?”
“I wouldn’t say right now.”
“Can we check with her doctor, see if we can send her some soup?”
“Delroy Nobel at St. Andrew’s. You do what you do, Jacko,” Eve said. “We’ll do what we do.”
* * *
On the street, Peabody hunched inside her coat. “If I could afford to have something catered, I know who I’d use.” She tapped the top of the box she carried. “Those were seriously amazing sticky buns. Are you taking these into Central?”
She considered it. “Cull one out.”
“You’re going to eat another one?”
“No. Cull one out. Roarke’s earned one.”
“Aw. See, for you, every day is Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m a romantic fool 24/7. Just cull one—hell, cull two, one for McNab. Seal them in evidence bags. And find out where Loan Star Rentals is.”
“Next stop?”
“I tend to think Jacko’s got a firm hand on his people. Not that one couldn’t go nuts. But with the similar attacks, it’s more likely this is a serial offender. I don’t see Jacko and Gula fooled for long. So, the rental company’s next. We’ll talk to the rest of the catering staff, but let’s pull them to us, after the rental company and the morgue.”
“Right. Wait. It’s Sunday.”
“So what?”
“Rental company might be closed. I’ll check.”
“If it is, find the owner, the manager, whoever can get us the names of who worked this job.”
“On that.” But first, she got two evidence bags from the field kit in the trunk. Once the buns were all secure, Peabody started on her PPC.
“Open by appointment only on Sundays. I’ll dig up the manager.”
“Do that. So, morgue first.”
“Oh, joy. Got her.” Peabody settled in for the drive. “Want me to contact her—the manager?”
“Start there. Get the names.”
As Peabody went to work, Eve let her mind play with what she’d gathered.
Daphne liked. Strazza disliked. Daphne interacted—liked her hand in, had coffee with the caterer, briefly volunteered at the hospital. Strazza was cold, arrogant. So an older, wealthier husband, a demanding and domineering one.
If Jacko was right about the flash of fear, would they add abusive to that list?
She used her in-dash to do some digging of her own while Peabody talked with the rental manager.
No reports of domestic abuse, no nine-one-ones from Daphne or from the house itself. No visits to the ER or hospital.
“Five guys,” Peabody reported. “I’ve got names and contacts.”
“Run them.”
“Running them.”
Still, he was a doctor, Eve thought. He’d know how to hurt her without letting it show, if he was the physically abusive type. And where, if so, would that play in this?
A cold, abusive, jealous husband. A young, beautiful wife. Maybe a fling there, or someone who wanted a fling. Someone she’d discarded or rejected outright. A kind of payback.
If it turned out to be a single attack, maybe.
She went back to the dash ’link.
“We have the case files from Olsen and Tredway. And a request for a sit-down asap. We’ll work it in.”