Connections in Death (In Death, #48)- J. D. Robb Page 0,58
expression soured further. “Let me know when you find his lazy punk ass so I can fire it. He hasn’t been in for two days running.”
Too busy killing people, Eve thought. “Is that usual?”
“It’s not unusual, right? You cops?”
Eve took out her badge. “You don’t seem surprised cops would be looking for your employee.”
“Employees show up for work, right? What he is, is the lazy punk-ass nephew of my woman’s cousin, so she nags me shitless to give him a job. What he do this time?”
“Do you know where he might be?”
“Hell.” After shoving at his do-rag, the man let out a long-suffering sigh. “Probably out getting high or at home where he mooches off his old lady—who works for a living—sleeping off his last high. You find him, you tell him he’s done here. Last time he showed up I come up sixty short. He’s done and if the Banger trash he runs with don’t like it, screw ’em.”
“Do the Bangers extort money from you for their questionable protection?”
“This place ain’t much, but it’s my ain’t much. I got nothing to say about that. But that don’t mean I have to put up with Barry’s lazy punk ass anymore.”
“All right. Could I have your name?”
“Ain’t you got one of your own?” He actually grinned at his own humor. “Hoobie. Kent Hoobie.”
“Mr. Hoobie, if he comes in, or you see him, I’d appreciate you not mentioning this visit—and contacting me.”
When she passed him a card, Hoobie started to stuff it in his pocket, then he stopped, eyes narrowed. “Homicide? Jumping Jesus, did that stupid kid kill somebody?”
“We need to speak with him,” was all Eve said.
Outside, she contacted her uniforms, told them to come around. “Peabody, did you dig up the exact location of the apartment?”
“Fifth floor, east side. My map shows an alley between the building and the one directly east.”
“Okay. Suspect hasn’t come into work the last two days,” she told the uniforms. “So here’s how we roll on the residence.”
A few blocks later, Eve double-parked again. They’d moved beyond Banger turf, into the sort of borderland between the badlands and the solid middle class.
Working-class building, she judged, with a single entrance cam that might even work. She mastered in while the uniforms took the alley.
Inside the lobby with its dull beige walls stood two elevators with dull green doors.
She took the stairs.
“Five flights,” Peabody grumbled. “Loose pants. His mother works as a sales clerk at Trendy, a chain store in the Sky Mall. Long commute.”
“Rent’s cheaper here.”
She could hear music and muffled voices from screen shows, some baby sending out wild screams as if being eaten by wolves. And a lot of quiet. Working class, she thought again. Too early for most to be home.
“It’s 516,” Peabody said as, breathing a little heavy, she reached the fifth floor.
Eve approached, noted the additional lock and another cam that might actually work.
She rapped the side of her fist on the door, listened hard for any sound, any movement. Heard nothing. Pounded harder.
The door just down the hall opened. A girl of about fourteen, wearing a teenager’s bored disgust, poked her head out. “What’s the what, duet? Nobody’s in there, okay? Some people are trying to do their homework.”
“We’re looking for Barry Aimes. Have you seen him?”
The girl, a lot of wavy brown hair with fading blue streaks, eased out a little more. “No. Why would I want to? If he was in there, he’d have the music or the screen on. Probably both, so I have to put on my headphones to get my homework done. So he’s not in there. Maybe at work. Probably not, but maybe.”
“When’s the last time you saw him, or heard him?”
“A while, I guess. My mom thinks he moved out. Hope so. I’m never supposed to open the door to him, even if she’s home. She says he’s trouble. What do you want him for anyway?”
Eve held up her badge. “He’s trouble.”
The girl looked mildly impressed with the badge, and eased up for a closer look at it.
“Man, how come she’s always right? If you’re a cop, how come you have that rocking coat? And she has those chill boots?”
“If you’re a kid, why aren’t you in school?”
“Yo, school let out hours ago.”
The accompanying eye roll, Eve had to admit, was practiced and perfect.
“My mom says Mrs. Aimes works really hard, and tries her best and doesn’t deserve trouble like her son, and how he’s going to end up dead or in jail.