Thankless in Death (37) by Robb J. D

Author:Robb, J. D. [Robb, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781101617250
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2013-09-17T07:00:00+00:00

She walked into the kitchen. “It started here. When he picked up the knife, turned it on his mother, that’s when it all started for him. Reconstruction says she was here. It’s lunchtime. He’s fixing his lunch or she’s fixing it for him. She’s fixing it.”

Eve put a picture of the mother in her head, as she’d been in her ID shot. “She’s fixing it because that’s what she does. She fixes the meals, keeps the house. Probably a sandwich so the knife’s out. It’s right there when he decides to do it. She’s nagging at him, that’s how he sees it.”

And seeing it herself, Eve walked around the table. “You’ve got to get a job, grow up, get your shit together. Maybe she tells him she and his father are giving him a deadline or he’s out. Maybe she didn’t wait to confront him together with her husband. So he picks up the knife, jams it into her. And it feels so good, the look on her face is so satisfying he does it again. Just keeps doing it even when she tries to get away, when she falls, even when she’s already dead. And then he eats his lunch.”

“What?”

“He ate after Nuccio. Had a big snack. I bet he sat right down here and ate, and started planning how he’d kill his father. Plenty of time, time to start putting what he wanted together, hunting up their passcodes, checking out the bank accounts. Plenty of time.

“He never panicked,” Eve continued. “He never tried to clean anything up, hide anything. It’s like he … came of age here in the kitchen over his mother’s bloody corpse.”

“Well, God.”

“He’s got the ambition and the brains to go after the money, after what he recognizes or considers valuables. To take the time for planning that before and after he kills his father. To do that he gets his old bat—that memento. Maybe his old man pitched him a few back in the day, criticized his form. He doesn’t take the bat with him. It didn’t matter to him. He buys a new one for his tool kit.”

“Leaving childish things behind.”

“Huh?”

“I just thought … you said he came of age. So he left the bat he’d used as a kid and bought a new one. They probably bought him the first bat, the murder weapon. He buys one now for himself.”

“That’s good.” Eve nodded. “That’s how he thinks. Still, a little fear of the father. He hides, lies in wait, takes him by surprise. Ambush rather than confront. Then he leaves them both there, where they fell, leaves them swimming in their own blood, and eats and sleeps and plans. It’s like a kid again, a teenager maybe, tossing his stuff on the floor, stepping over it rather than picking it up, putting it away. Nobody here to tell him to clean up his space. It’s deliberate.”

“What part?”

“Staying here until Saturday night. Leaving them on the floor, dishes scattered around the kitchen. She kept a tidy home, raised him to pick up his space, nagged at him about it.

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