Page 135 of Random in Death
“She bought the shoes for somebody. She’d have records. She has to. It fits, too, doesn’t it? Parents or guardians don’t want to take the time to shop for the kid. Hire somebody to take care of it. Fromer first. We’re nearly there. But the personal shopper fits.”
Fromer wasn’t home, but his event-planning wife was.
A tall, almost majestic blonde in a sharp white suit, she frowned at the badges. “Is there some sort of trouble? You just caught me. I have a meeting.”
“You may be able to help us in an investigation. Is your son at home, Ms. Fromer?”
“Lance? No. He’s spending the week at the beach with some friends. Is he all right? Is there—”
“I’m sure he’s fine. Your husband charged a pair of these shoes.” Eve held up her ’link.
“Those?” She laughed, and Eve heard the relief. “Not for himself or for Lance. Way too conservative for my guys.”
“They were charged to Mr. Fromer’s account, purchased at Dellan’s.”
“When?”
“In March.”
“March, March.” Frowning again, she took out her ’link, flipped through its calendar. “Oh, Mickey’s birthday. Our nephew. I swear the kid will probably grow up to be president. I think Kevin picked up three pair. The kid’s a shoe hound, and those are what he wanted. Thirteenth birthday,” she added. “So we splurged on him some. What’s this about?”
“Is it possible for us to talk to Mickey?”
“Sure. But he lives with his mom in Toledo. Kate’s a widow, and the last few years have been tough. So we splurged on Mickey. I really don’t understand why it matters to the police.”
“As it turns out, it doesn’t. Thank you for your time.”
They walked back to the car.
“Mickey may be an odd kid wishing for conservative designer shoes,” Peabody said, “but I don’t think he flew from Toledo to New York to kill girls.”
“Personal shopper.”
En route, Officer Shelby, partnered with Carmichael, tagged her. “No dice with Post, Lieutenant. The kid was home, still sweating from a pickup game in the park. He said his dad bought him the ugly old man shoes to wear to a wedding, so he had to. Otherwise, no way. Kid had no problem showing us his closet in the dump heap he calls a room. He’s got three pair of well-worn kicks—good ones—plus the newer ones he had on his feet. And the loafers, stuffed in the back. Barely worn.
“In addition, sir, on the night of the first murder, he was at the Yankees game—verified that—with his dad and some friends. Second murder, he was at his grandparents’ for Sunday dinner, then, according to him, the adults played cards for hours, and he and his cousin chilled with some screen time.
“He doesn’t ring, Lieutenant.”
“Got that. Fromer was a bust, but we’re heading to Charro’s.
“Personal shopper—we checked. That’s got a ring.”
“It does.”
“Do you want us to keep at it? We’ve still got some on the list.”
“Yeah, finish it out, cross it off, then head back to Central. Dallas out. Check with Yancy, Peabody, see where he is in this. Text,” she added. “He’ll answer when he’s not in the middle with a wit.”
“I think we’re going to get a face,” Peabody said as she texted. “We’ve got a handful of witnesses who at least caught a glimpse.”
Pieces, Eve thought. But they had to put those pieces together.
“He answered quick. He just got to Kiki. He worked with Hank from the first murder, with the concession worker and A.J. from the attempt. He made a little progress, but not enough to give us yet. He’ll tag us back after he’s worked with Kiki and David.”
“That’ll have to do.”
But the day was sliding away.