Possession in Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

She didn’t live far from here,
and she came in a couple times. That’s why Madam rented the place upstairs.
Anyway, the granddaughter came to work, wanted to dance—on Broadway, like
they all do, you know? Then about three months ago her family stopped hearing
from her, couldn’t reach her. And the place she worked waitressing said how she
just stopped showing up. They contacted the police, but the cops didn’t do
much, I guess… Sorry.”
    “No need. Do you know the granddaughter’s name?”
    “Sure. Madam Szabo talked to everybody about her, put out flyers.” Karrie
continued as she reached under the counter, “She worked at Goulash—
Hungarian restaurant a block west. We hand out flyers for her. You can have
this. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I think that’s what her name means.”
    “Beata,” Eve murmured, and felt as if her heart cracked in her chest. Such
grief, such sorrow it almost took her to her knees as she studied the photo on the
flyer.
    The face that had been the light in the black.
    “Ma’am? Um, Lieutenant? Are you okay?”
    “Yeah. Thanks for your help. I may need to speak to you again.”
    “If we’re not here, we live up on six. Six A, front of the building,” Karrie
told her. “Anything we can do.”
    “If you think of anything, you can contact me at Cop Central.” Eve dug into
her field kit for a card. “Anything strikes you.”
    Eve walked out just as Peabody approached. “Sweepers have the alley,” she
said.
    “Vic was Gizi Szabo, and had a weekly unit on four. Claimed to be a Gypsy
from Hungary.”
    “Wow. A real one?”
    “Nobody claims to be a fake one,” Eve returned, and felt herself steady a
little. “Been here about three months, looking for a great-granddaughter who
went missing.” Eve used her master to access the apartment building’s entrance.
“Did some fortune-telling out of her place.”
    One glance at the ancient elevator had Eve choosing the stairs. She handed
Peabody the flyer. “Run them both,” she said. “Had Morris confirmed TOD
before you left?”
    “His TOD jibed with your gauge. Around one this afternoon.”
    “That’s just bogus.” And it infuriated her more than it should have. “I know
when somebody dies when I’ve got my hands on their fricking heart, and I’m
talking
to them.”
    “Hungarian Gypsy fortune-teller. Maybe it’s some sort of—”
    “Don’t even start with that voodoo, woo-woo, Free-Ager shit. She was
alive, bleeding, and talking until about an hour ago.”
    At the door of 4 D, Eve took the key she’d found out of the evidence bag,
slid it into the lock. And turned the knob.

Chapter Four
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    It reminded her of her first apartment—the size, the age. That’s what she
told herself when struck, just for an instant, with a sharp sense of recognition.
    The single room had no doubt been rented furnished, with a couple of cheap
chairs and a daybed with a cracker-thin mattress, a chest—newly and brightly
painted—that served as dresser and table.
    Boldly patterned material had been fashioned into curtains for the single
window, and with these and scarves and shawls draped over the faded chairs,
spread over the narrow bed, the room took on a hopeful cheer.
    One corner held a sink, AutoChef, friggie, all small-scale, along with a
single cupboard. Another table stood there, painted a deep, glossy red under its
fringed scarf. For seating, there were two backless stools.
    Eve saw the old woman there, telling fortunes to those who sought to know
their future.
    “She made it nice,” Peabody commented. “She didn’t have a lot to work
with, but she made it nice.”
    Eve opened the single, skinny closet, studied Szabo’s neatly hung clothing, a
single pair of sturdy walking shoes. Kneeling, she pulled two storage boxes out of
the closet.
    “Beata’s things. Clothes, shoes, ballet gear, I’d say. A few pieces of jewelry,
face and hair stuff. The landlord must have boxed it up when she didn’t