The Other Side - J. D. Robb [13]
“I know how that sounds,” she continued. “But—” She glanced over. “Here’s Detective Lloyd. Sorry I went on like that.”
“Don’t be,” Eve told her. “Every detail, every impression, is helpful.”
“I just can’t believe Madam’s gone. She was such a presence, even for the short time I knew her. Excuse me. I need to tell Jan. Hello, Detective Lloyd, have a seat.”
Lloyd was a square-faced, square-bodied man who transmitted I’m a cop from thirty paces. He gave Eve and Peabody a brisk nod, then sat at the little square table. Shook hands.
“It’s too bad about the old lady. She had some juice, had some spine. She should’ve stayed back home.”
She made home where she landed, Eve thought, remembering Peabody’s take. “Tell me about Beata Varga.”
He hitched up a hip, took a disc out of his pocket. “I went ahead and made a copy of the file for you.”
“Appreciate it.”
“She’s a looker. Smart, from what I get, savvy, but still green when it comes to city. Used to wandering with her family—tribe, you’d say. Came here wanting to be a Broadway star, and the family wasn’t happy about it.”
“Is that so?”
“Wanted her home. Wanted her to stay pure, you could say. Get hitched, have babies, keep the line going, that sort of thing. But, the old woman—Szabo—overruled them. She wanted the girl to take her shot, find her destiny, like that. The girl got a job here and a place a couple blocks away. Started taking classes—dance classes, acting classes, stuff like that, at West Side School for the Arts. Went to the cattle calls regular. No boyfriend—or not one in particular. Dated a few guys. I got the names and statements, the data in the file there.” He nodded toward the disc. “Nobody rang the bell.”
He paused when Mirium came over with a tray holding three tall glasses. “I don’t mean to interrupt. Just something cold to drink while you talk. If you need me for anything, I’ll be out front.”
“They’re good people,” Lloyd commented when she left them. “Her, her husband. They come up clean. Ran the whole staff when I caught the case. Got some bumps here and there, but nobody popped.”
“What’s the time line?”
When he didn’t refer to his notes, Eve knew the case had him, and his teeth were still in it.
“Beata Varga went to her regular dance class, eight a.m. to ten. Hit a rehearsal for the show she just landed at Carmine Theater on Tenth at eleven. Reported here for work at one, all excited about the show. Worked a split shift, so she was off at three, hit her acting class from three thirty to five, back to work at five thirty, off at eleven. Walked down the block with a couple friends from work—names in the file—then split off to go home. That’s the last anyone can verify seeing her. Eleven ten, then poof.
“Apartment’s not big on security. No cams,” he added. “No log-in. The neighbors can’t say whether she came in that night, but nobody saw her. A bag and some of her clothes and personal items are gone, and there was no money in the place. According to statements, she pulled in hefty tips and was saving. It looks like she got itchy feet, tossed what she wanted in a bag, and took off.”
“That’s not what you think,” Eve said, watching his eyes.
“Nope. I think between here and home she ran into trouble. Somebody snatched her. I think she’s been dead since that night. You know as well as I do, Lieutenant, we don’t always find the bodies.”
No, Eve thought. “If she’s dead, then someone she knew killed her. Why else try to make it seem like she took off? Why pack clothes?”
“I lean that way, but I can’t find anything.” Frustration rippled around him. “It could be whoever did her used her ID for her address, had