by J. D. Robb
“My dog’s a point for me?”
“Yeah, and maybe Morris has shifted to the other side because I know when somebody’s bullshitting me, and you’re not. And you’ve been good for him. When I look at it, at him, I’m not going to say otherwise. He’s steadier, and maybe part of that’s having you to hang with.”
“I care about him.”
“I got that. Doesn’t make you less of a snob or a media hound, but I got that.”
On a huff, DeWinter sat back again. “I swear to God, here and now, I don’t know why I half like you.”
“Back at you. Since I figure half is good enough, that should do it. I need to get home.”
“You haven’t finished your wine—” DeWinter began.
They both looked over at the sound of glass striking the floor. DeWinter looked away again, picked up her drink.
“No point in wasting—”
It’s as far as she got before Eve surged up.
Larinda Mars no longer sat in a booth, nor did her companion. Instead she walked like a drunk over the polished floor, her shoes crunching on broken glass from a tray she’d knocked over when she’d run straight into a waiter.
Her eyes, both dazed and dull, stared straight ahead as she weaved and shuffled. And blood soaked the right sleeve of her pink skin suit, dripping a thin river onto the floor.
Eve rushed for her, shoving people aside. Someone started to scream.
Mars’s eyes rolled back as she pitched forward. Eve caught her before she hit the floor, so they went down together.
“DeWinter!” Eve snapped as she fought to pull the tight sleeve away and find the source of the blood.
“I’m here, I’m here. Put pressure on it.”
“Where?”
DeWinter dropped down, pressed both hands on Mars’s right biceps. “We need to cut the sleeve away. I need something to make a tourniquet. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Jumping up, Eve dug in her pocket for a penknife. “Use this. You!” She grabbed one of the waitstaff. “Nobody leaves.”
“I can’t—”
“Lock the damn door.” As she spoke, she dragged off her belt. “You!” She pointed at one of the bartenders as people panicked, scrambled. “Call nine-one-one. Now. We need medicals.”
“I’m a doctor, I’m a doctor.” A man fought his way through the crowd.
“So am I,” DeWinter said as she cut away the sleeve. “I don’t have a pulse.”
“Brachial artery.” The man straddled Mars, began to pump her chest. “Get that tourniquet on. If we can keep her going … Tell the MTs we need blood. O-neg. She needs a transfusion.”
Eve left the victim to the medicals, dealt with the crowd.
“Everybody stay where you are!” She whipped out her badge, held it up. “I’m a cop. Take a seat, give the doctors room.” She stepped over as a man in a cashmere topcoat tried to shove the waitress away from the door. “I said take a seat.”
“You have no authority to—”
She shoved her jacket back to reveal her weapon. “Wanna bet?”
He gave her a look of intense dislike, but stalked over to the bar, stood.
“Nobody out,” Eve repeated. “Nobody in but cops and medicals.”
“We won’t need the medicals.” DeWinter, her hands wet with blood, sat back on her heels. “She’s gone.”
No DBs? Eve thought as she took out her ’link to call it in.
No, it didn’t last.
* * *
She had a bar full of people; one might be a murderer. Though she suspected whoever’d sliced Mars was long gone. Still, she needed to deal with what she had.
“Quiet down!” Her order cut down on most of the noise. “I need everybody to remain in their seats, or remain where they are.”
“I want to go home.” At the sobbing shout Eve simply nodded.
“I understand, and will try to get everyone out of here as soon as possible. For now, I need this table and this table to move in an orderly fashion to that area of the room.”
“There’s so much blood,” someone murmured.
“Yeah, and that’s why I need you to move. Take your things, and move to the north side of the room. Please.”
“Why are you in charge?” someone shouted. “You can’t keep us here.”
Eve simply held up her badge. “This is a police badge. I’m Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD, and this is now a police investigation.”
“Um, ma’am?” The waitress at the door raised her hand.
“Lieutenant.”
“Well, the MTs are here—I can see them pulling up.”
“Let them in. Please move to the north side.”
A woman stood up, picked up her purse with a shaky hand. And passed out cold. Since that started a fresh wave of panic and shouting, Eve ignored it, turned to the MTs who rushed in.
“Deal with the fainter,” she said, gesturing. “It’s too late for the bleeder. Listen up! I can take names and statements here, then send you on your way, or I can call for a wagon, have every single one of you transported to Central, and deal with it there. Your choice. If you want to get out of here, quiet down. And you people at these tables, move it.”
“I’m not leaving my girlfriend.”
Eve studied the man who’d caught the fainter on her way down. “No problem. Give the MTs room to bring her around. I’d suggest you shield her eyes from the blood, help her move to the north side. And somebody with a chair on that side, give it up for— What’s her name?”
“Marlee.”
“Give Marlee a chair.” She turned to one of the bartenders. “How about some water for her?”
“Um. The police are here.”
Thank Christ, Eve thought. “Let them in, and go ahead and move over to the north. Thanks.”
A couple of beat droids, Eve identified as they stepped in. A whole lot better than nothing. “I need to secure this scene. These people at these tables need to move to the north side. Get them some chairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can’t we find something to cover her?”
At the doctor’s question, both Eve and DeWinter said, “No,” in unison. Eve lifted her eyebrows at DeWinter.
“I’m sorry,” DeWinter continued, “I didn’t get your name.”
“Sterling, Bryce Sterling.”
“Dr. Sterling, I want to thank you for what you did here. We can’t cover her, as it may compromise forensic evidence.”
“I’ve got shields coming,” Eve added. And a field kit, as hers was two blocks down in the trunk of her car. “Who’s in charge of the bar?”
“I am.” One of the bartenders raised her hand. “I’m the manager on duty.”
“Name?”
“Emily. Emily Francis.”
“Ms. Francis, I don’t see any security cams in this area.”
“No, we don’t have interior cams. Just on the exterior.”
“Is there another exit?”
“There’s an exit to the alley. It’s…” She pointed behind her. “From the kitchen.”
“Is anyone in the back?”
“I—I was.” A man—really hardly more than a boy—lifted a hand. “I was in the storeroom, and I heard screaming, so I ran in.”
“We were in the kitchen.”
A group of three, all wearing white bib aprons, stood together near the swinging doors behind the bar.
“Anybody back there now?”
“No. But I need to make sure everything’s turned off. Can I?”
“Name?”
“I’m Curt—ah, Curtis Liebowitz.”
“First, did anyone come through the kitchen in the last hour, and go out the alley door?”
“Uh-uh. I mean no. We would’ve seen them.”
“Go ahead, Curt, and come right back. Okay.” She turned back. “Here’s what’s going to happen. These officers are going to start taking names, contact information, and statements. When they, or the officers now on their way to this location, are satis
fied with that information, you’ll be free to go.”
She gestured one of the droids over.
“I want to know who was seated at the booths in front and behind the vic, at the tables nearest her booth—if they’re still on scene. I want those individuals held.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get started. Emily, right?”
“Yes.”
Eve leaned in a bit, lowered her voice. “Do you know who owns this bar?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. I didn’t until you said your name, but—”
“Good. I need you to help me keep the staff calm and ordered. I’d like you to have your most reliable waitperson help you distribute water or soft drinks to the customers still in the bar. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Lieutenant? I know the … her. Ms. Mars. Larinda Mars.”
“Personally?”
“No, I mean, not really. I mean she’s a regular. And she’s on screen. The gossip channel.”
A steady one, Eve thought. She’d expect no less from one of Roarke’s business managers. “I don’t see the man she was with here in the bar.”
“I think he left before … before she came up from the bathroom. I mean she went through there, and that leads down to the restrooms, so I assume she went there.”
“Do you know who she was with?”
“No, but I can find out. He paid for the drinks. He charged them. I think he used his ’link app. I can check.”
“I’d appreciate if you’d do that, and have a couple of reliables pass out drinks. No alcohol, okay?”
“Got it.”
“Who served them?”
“That’s Kyle’s booth.” Emily looked around, gesturing with her chin. “He’s over there with Cesca and Malory.”
“Okay, go ahead and check that charge for me.”
Eve stepped back to the body, crouched down. “I’ve got a field kit coming, but in the meanwhile we’ve ID’d her—from the primary, and from the manager of the bar—as Larinda Mars.”
“I knew she looked familiar,” DeWinter added. “I’ve seen her reports.”
“We have TOD as verified on my recorder by both you and Dr. Sterling.”
“You had your recorder on?” DeWinter demanded.
“Relax. Jesus. I engaged it when she came staggering out with blood dripping everywhere. Dr. Sterling, in your medical opinion, how long does it take someone, given her height, weight, to bleed out from a cut to—you said brachial artery?”
“It depends. It might only take a couple minutes. It might take longer, between eight and twelve. Realistically, she was dead before we saw her. We simply couldn’t have saved her, as she’d already lost too much blood.”
“Okay. Say somebody slices this artery. What’s the immediate response?”
“Depending, again, it would gush with every heartbeat. If it was only nicked or partially cut, it would leak more slowly. Without treatment, there would be confusion, disorientation, shock, increasing with blood loss until unconsciousness and death.”
“All right. I’m going to get your contact information, your statement. Then you can go back to the kitchen, clean up if you want. I’ll clear that. After, you’re free to go, with thanks.”
“My wife is here. She’s…”
“I’ll see that she’s interviewed right away, so you can leave together.”
As she straightened, one of the droids opened the door for her partner and her partner’s main man.
Detective Peabody wore a pom-pom hat over her currently flippy dark hair. EDD ace Detective McNab’s red coat and plaid airboots lit up the bar like fireworks.
Eve moved to them quickly, held up a finger to hold off questions. “Peabody, I need you to get the statement and contact information of the guy next to the DB. He’s a doctor. His wife’s in the crowd, and I need her interviewed next so they can be released. After, take the waitstaff. They’re likely to have seen more. McNab, the manager is Emily Francis—the brunette behind the bar. She’ll tell you where to find the security feed. Exterior only on this place.”
She took the field kit from him. “I’ve got shields coming, so let them in, curtain off the body asap. I’m heading downstairs, the most likely site of the attack.”
“Just one question?” Peabody held up a single finger. “What the hell happened?”
“Looks like somebody decided to cut off the social information network. Keep this crowd in line,” she added, then strode off, moving around the blood trail so as not to compromise it more than it already was.
2
Eve followed the blood trail across a short hall, down a steep flight of steps to another longer sort of vestibule with restrooms—painted doors with Femmes on one above a stylized female silhouette, and Hommes on the other, with a male silhouette.
The blood led to the female. She paused, pulled a can of Seal-It from her kit, coated her hands, her boots. Eased open the door.
Blood, an arterial spray, she assumed, slashed across a wall painted in pale gold, over a section of the wide, framed mirror above a long silver trough with curvy silver faucets.
It pooled on the floor, where it had already begun to congeal.
Stepping over, Eve opened the large pink handbag hung on a hook by the trough. Rifled through.
“Victim left her purse, ID inside verifies. Also holding pepper spray, panic button, and lookie here, an illegal stunner. Indications the vic was either paranoid or had reason to carry defensive tools.
“And that’s likely her lip dye on the shelf under the mirror.”
She verified same, setting up a marker, testing the dye tube for prints, running them. Then bagged the tube, sealing and marking it.
“She came in to use the facilities. Stood here, putting on lip dye, fluffing up. Most likely the attacker followed her in. Lying in wait seems a stretch. Had to have the weapon, though the attack itself may have been spur-of-the-moment. Pull the weapon, cut the arm. One wound from my brief on-site exam, so the attacker either knew where to cut or got seriously lucky. I lean heavy toward knew where.
“Did she scream?”
Eve imagined it, brought the picture into her mind of Mars standing in front of the mirror.
The door opens, she thought, and Mars sees the killer in the mirror.
Turns, certainly turns, according to the pattern of the spatter.
“If she screamed, she didn’t scream loud enough for us to hear her upstairs. The attacker … if he or she avoided getting any blood on his or her person, that’s not luck, either. Knew where to stand to avoid the spray. Or covered any spray with a coat. Might have washed any blood on the hands in the damn sink right here. Might have worn gloves, then taken them off.”
She closed her eyes a moment, tried to bring back the goings, the comings upstairs while she sat having a damn drink.
Shaking her head, she studied the room again.
“Four stalls. All swank. No signs of struggle, no signs of an altercation. Everything neat and clean and ordered—except for the blood.”
An argument, maybe, she thought. Her drinks companion, someone else. Someone else having drinks. Someone who trailed her into the bar.
A lot of possibilities.
She took a sample of the blood for her own kit. The sweepers, she thought, would deal with the rest.
And now she dealt with something she’d put off. She tagged Roarke.
His face came on her ’link screen. Those impossibly blue eyes. That slow smile just for her, curving that beautifully sculpted mouth.
“Lieutenant. And how’s Garnet?”
“DeWinter’s upstairs in your place. Du Vin.”
“Ah, so you went for a touch of France.” His voice held that lyrical touch of Ireland. “How do you like it?”
“I liked it okay, until I caught a case.”
“Ah, well. I’m sorry for the dead, and for myself, as I expect you won’t be starting for home for a while yet.”
<
br /> “Yeah, not for a while. I mean I literally caught a case. As in: I caught her as she went down, and before she died on the really nice floor of your French bar.”
The smile vanished; those bold blue eyes turned cool. “There’s been a murder in my place?”
“I’m down in the women’s bathroom. You’re going to have to repaint the walls.”
“I’m on my way.”
“I’m going to say, for form, there’s no need for you to come here. But you don’t need to say, for form, why there is. I’ll see you when you get here. Sorry.”
“So am I.”
He clicked off.
As she dropped her ’link back into her pocket, Peabody opened the door.
Brown eyes scanned the room. “Well, we know where it went down.”
“We do.”
“Shields are here and in place. It’s helped calm people down, but we’ve got a lot of nerves up there. Do you want me to take the body or statements?”
“Statements, for now. I told the droids to cull out people who sat nearest her booth. Take those. She was having a drink with someone. Male, mixed race, late thirties, wavy brown hair, blue eyes. Rich—expensive dark gray suit, ah … blue shirt, blue-and-gray patterned tie with some red in it. Pricey-looking wrist unit. Silver or white gold.”
“How close were you?”
“Not close enough, apparently, but I got a decent enough look at him. They didn’t seem to be having a happy talk from his expression.”
“You know who the DB is, right?”
“Yeah. Larinda Mars, scandal queen. I’ll verify that officially. The manager should have the companion’s name by now. Take the statements. I’ll get that and run it.”
“Sweepers?”
“Yeah, call them in, and the morgue team.”
Eve took a last look around, walked over to bag the purse. “Too damn big for an evidence bag, even the jumbo.” To solve it, she dumped the contents in a bag, marked and sealed, stuffed the purse in another.
She carted it all up, went directly to Emily. “Have you got any sort of a box, with a lid?”
“In my office. I’ll get you one. Lieutenant, the man who had drinks with Ms. Mars is Fabio Bellami. I have his contact information. I made a copy of the readout.”