Page 133 of Random in Death
Andrea just waved a hand at her son.
“A real shit about it. Brags a lot if he can get anyone to listen. Even the nerds mostly ignore him. He wouldn’t get bullied so much if he’d just shut up about how smart he is.”
“We don’t bully him,” Kiki said quickly. “I swear. We don’t roll that way, and if we did? He’s not worth the time. Anyway, I’d have recognized him for sure.”
“But he’s a type?”
Kiki shot up a finger. “Yeah, that’s it. Going off David, and what I sort of saw. He’s a type. Without the pimples. Barry’s always got at least one exploding on his face. Dude! There’s treatment for that.”
“And the one who attacked you had clear skin?”
“I… Yeah. I think, yeah.”
Saw more of him than you think. And Yancy would dig it out.
She went another round, nudging here, nudging there, but accepted she’d gotten all she’d get.
“We appreciate your time and cooperation,” Eve began, “and the pizza.”
“I wish I’d punched him,” Kiki murmured. “Not just for me, but for those two other girls. We talked about going to Club Rock It the other night, but it was Meem’s—our great-grandmother’s—birthday. I wouldn’t have had the bruise if he’d picked me then. I read about her, the one he killed, this morning.
“You were out talking to the doctor,” Kiki told her mothers. “And I looked it up. They had her memorial today. Jenna Harbough, she was my age. And I looked up the second one, Arlie Dillon. Hers is day after tomorrow.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you think I could go to that, maybe tell her mom I’m sorry about what happened to her? And maybe, sometime, talk to the first girl’s mom and dad and tell them?”
“Oh, Kiki.” Andrea’s eyes streamed. “That’s so kind. I’m just not sure if it’s appropriate, but it’s so kind.”
“I’m sure. We’ve spoken to Jenna’s parents, to Arlie’s mother. It is kind,” Eve said, “and appropriate. And I think they’d very much appreciate you making that gesture.”
“Can I go?”
The two women joined hands. “We’ll all go,” Connie said. “Would you mind, Lieutenant, checking with them first? We don’t want to overstep.”
Eve glanced at Peabody, who nodded. “I’ll do that, and get back to you.”
Kiki looked Eve dead in the eye. “You’re going to get him, aren’t you?”
“I’ll repeat. It’s what we do.”
“That nearly teared me up,” Peabody said when they stepped outside. “You think a girl that age doesn’t think beyond the moment, and a lot of times it’s true. But she’s thought of what her own family would go through if he’d succeeded. And that led her to think what others are going through.”
“She’s tough. And you know, if she’d managed to clock him? We’d have his ass. He’d have been down.”
She got behind the wheel. “And she saw more than she thinks.”
“Yeah, I got that. Yancy will slide it out of her. And there’s the wit from concessions, there’s David, there’s A.J., there’s Hank. We may just have a face to work with.”
“He’s a type.” She stayed parked while she rolled it around. “We knew that, but it helps our survivor sees it that way. A type. I wonder if our teenage killer has an aunt Matilda who picks out his clothes.”
“You’re not looking at this Barry Finklestein.”
“No. She’d have recognized him. On line for a while? Yeah, you do glance around some. If she’d seen somebody she knew—and clearly disdains—she’d have said something to Lola, at least. But the type. Smart but clueless.
“Check with the two victims’ families about Kiki reaching out. We’ll push on the goddamn shoes.”
“That pizza,” Peabody said as Eve pulled away from the curb. “I ate two slices. Couldn’t help it. I should’ve thought of doing a pizza oven in my mag-o new kitchen. Too late for that, but you know, I could build one.”