Random in Death, page 4
About eight kids sat in chairs lined up against a wall. She saw another door with a STAFF ONLY sign, another space with some rolling clothes racks, then a door that read OFFICE.
“She’s taking them in there. How about I get you something cold to drink? It’s a little hot in here. I don’t mind it myself, but it’s pretty hot.”
“I could use a Pepsi.”
“You got it.” He knocked on the door, then stuck his head in. “Boss Cop’s here.”
She stepped into an office smaller than her bedroom closet. Though windowless, it was overly bright to her eye, and fiercely organized. Peabody sat at the desk facing the door. Two kids, one with hair as brightly pink as Peabody’s boots, another with hers sharply divided into purple on one side, that same pink on the other, sat in chairs.
Eve figured the makeup each had piled on had to weigh ten pounds.
“Okay, Gabby, okay, Apple, that’s all I need, thanks. Your mom’s waiting outside, Gabby. And your mom cleared it, Apple, for you to stay the night at Gabby’s as planned.”
“Now we probably won’t get to go clubbing again until we’re twenty. This totally gales it,” Gabby added before she and Apple walked out.
“Gales it?”
“Blows hard.”
“Maybe they should consider it gales it for the dead girl. Status?”
“We hit some luck actually. I talked to the two girls who came with the vic.”
“Chelsea and Leelee.”
“Yeah, those. Believe me, they more than consider Jenna’s death gales it. After I brought them down from hysterical, I got some timing and steps.”
Peabody leaned back, shoved her hands up her face, back into her hair. “Sorry, it’s been a mess. Bitchy, scared, sulky, snarly, weepy. I’ve hit every one of those and more.”
The knock sounded before Harve stepped in. “Brought you another fizzy, PIP.”
“Harve, you’re a prince.”
“Got your Pepsi, Boss Cop.”
“Thanks.”
“You want I should send in another kid?”
“Give us a minute,” Eve told him.
“You got it. Just give a shout if you need anything.”
“PIP,” Eve said when he went out. “Pretty in Pink.”
“Hey, you got it!”
“He already called you that. Where’s our luck?”
“Both girls had the same story. They were dancing, turned out to be the last song before the break. Jenna got the squeals because she told them Jake looked right at her and smiled. He’s her god-hero, according to Leelee. And they both said she had a demo disc in her purse and was going to find a way to get it to him. She’s—”
“Into music, songwriting. I got all that.”
“Anyway, they said she totally whooshed—their term—meaning she got all flushed and giddy. She was going back to their table to recover, and they were going to the bar to get drinks.
“Alcohol’s locked up tight, Dallas. No problem there. Chelsea stated that between what they call The Smile from Jake and the end of the song, the talk about getting drinks, Jenna grabbed her arm. She said somebody or something jabbed her.”
“While they were on the dance floor?”
“That’s right. And Leelee stated Jenna looked around, maybe saw somebody. That’s a maybe because neither girl really noticed. But Jenna said, ‘Asshole.’ Then they danced the rest of the song, talked a minute, split up.”
Pausing, Peabody took a long drink of her fizzy.
“They don’t know how much time it took for them to get the drinks. But a while. When they did get to the table, they thought Jenna had gone to the ladies’ or—they got whooshed thinking maybe she’d gotten to Jake. Then they went to the ladies’, and that took a while. By the time they got back to the table, Avenue A, minus Jake, was doing the open mic thing.
“They looked around for Jenna, figuring she’d go up, wow the crowd. They both texted her, Leelee made another trip to the ladies’ to look for her. And about that time, McNab and I came in.”
“Did they see anyone else they knew?”
“Yes. A few from their school, a few from their neighborhoods. This is a big deal for their age group downtown.”
“Did Jenna have a boyfriend, a girlfriend?”
“No one special.”
“Did she blow off anybody recently?”
“They said no. But she only danced a couple of times with boys who asked. She just wasn’t interested in hooking it tonight, so they mostly danced as a group, and Jenna said ‘no, thanks’ a lot.”
“If someone stuck a needle in her tonight, they had the syringe and what was in it. It doesn’t feel like you’d carry that around, then decide: ‘Won’t dance with me, bitch? I’ll kill you.’”
“No, it doesn’t. Nobody’s come through here carrying works. Everyone we’ve interviewed agreed to empty the contents of pockets or purse—and McNab reports the same. The sweepers haven’t found anything yet. Oh, shit—I did. Fresh puke out there, near the alley door.”
“Yeah, I caught the smell.”
“I marked it, and the sweepers took a sample. It might be hers. Probably hers.”
“All right. Take a break. I’ll talk to the rest you’ve got waiting. We need to get them home.”
“I could use a break. I’ll grab a couple minutes, then split the rest with McNab. Some of them want to come in pairs. Most of them didn’t come solo tonight, so they’re in pairs and groups.”
She rose. “We started with the youngest, like twelve to fifteen. We’re on sixteen and up now. Only a handful, compared, over that. McNab got a copy of the security, but we wanted to get the interviews first, so he just glanced.”
“Roarke’s going over it.”
At the next knock, Eve turned, opened the door to one of the sweepers.
“LT, we may have something in the boys’ john.”
“I’ll take my break later,” Peabody said. “I’ve got the next here.”
Eve followed the sweeper out, then into the boys’ john. One that smelled like stale piss and staler farts.
“See the scuff marks under the window there?”
“Yeah, I do.” She crossed over for a closer look. “Fresh marks. Somebody boosted up, climbed out this window.”
“Caught their shirt or pants.” The sweeper held up a small vial. “Left a few threads behind. Window that size? Have to be small or agile enough to get up and out.”
“It would come up close to the mouth of the alley. Away from the door cams.” She studied the scuff marks. “Any way to get a partial on the shoe?”
“We’ll give it a shot. No prints on the wall or window.”
“Smart enough to seal his hands. Didn’t think of the feet. Make sure Harvo gets those threads.”
“Nobody but the Queen of Hair and Fiber on it. Vic was just sixteen, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I hate that shit. We’ll work on the scuffs.”
Eve stepped back.
Jabbed her on the dance floor, then walked away. Headed into the boys’ john, so that meant a male—unless.
She went out, walked to the ladies’. Same setup—though it smelled like cheap perfume and face gunk. Had the window, but …
Maybe someone was in the room, in a stall, by the mirrors. Girls spent more time in johns.
Still, she thought the odds were male. A male who brought the weapon with him and had an escape plan in place.
Jab, walk away, go into the john, climb out the window.
You didn’t need to see her die, Eve thought.
Killing her was enough.
Chapter Three
She went out to hunt down Roarke.
And found him sitting behind the bar, a glass of sparkling water at his elbow, working on his PPC.
“No one left by the front or back doors during the time period,” he began. “Factoring fifteen minutes before Jake went out the back, and the uniforms arrived.”
“Forget that. He went out the window in the men’s john. We’ll run it back to when the bar opened, then try to find someone who didn’t leave by either door. I’ll pass it to EDD to try face recognition.”
“As I’m here, I’ll get a start on that. You’re sure about the window?”
“He left scuff marks on the wall, fibers caught in the window frame. He’s going to have a slight build. Height won’t matter, but he’s not a big guy. Couldn’t be to fit through that window.”
“Could be female.”
“I can’t discount that. I need to talk to McNab.”
She crossed the room, tapped his shoulder, then held up a finger to the teenage boy he was interviewing. “Hold a minute.”
“Man, I gotta get home.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She drew McNab a few steps away. “Have you let the interviewees use the johns?”
“Yeah, otherwise we’d have a hell of a mess in here.”
“Alone?”
“No way. We’re sending the girls in threes—three stalls—and the guys in fours—two urinals, two stalls. Each group goes with a uniform. Peabody’s group has a shot, then mine, then hers. Like that.”
“The uniform goes inside with them?”
“Yeah, sure.” When he turned his head, his forest of ear hoops glittered like stars. “Don’t want any shenanigans, right?”
“Exactly right. The suspect left by the window in the men’s john.”
“Well, shit! You can check with the uniforms, Dallas. Officer Grady for the guys, and Officer Loren for the girls. They’re instructed to go inside. They’re not rooks.”
“I’ll check, but the suspect left before we got here.”
“Well, shit twice.”
“Finish the interviews. Somebody might have seen something. He’d have slipped out during the last song before the break.”
“Got it.”
She checked with the two uniforms, and both stated they, as ordered, escorted each group to the assigned restroom, accompanied them inside, then escorted the group back to their interview waiting area.
Then she started a hunt for Harve.
She found him and a woman built like an Amazon in the bar kitchen. The woman, with a soiled apron over a spangly, skintight dress, scrubbed viciously at a prep counter.
The room smelled of grease, onions, and chemical lemons.
Harve stopped his studious mopping of the floor, leaned on the handle. “Get you something, Boss Cop?”
“I’d like you to switch the lights in the bar to whatever you had going during that last song before the band took their break.”
“Sure, sure, I can do that. Glo, this is Boss Cop Dallas.”
“I figured.” When she straightened, Eve judged her at a solid six feet—add another three with the sparkly heels she wore. She had skin like polished oak, eyes like green lasers, and what looked like a mile of corkscrew curls tied up on the top of her head.
“The other cops said the kitchen staff couldn’t clean in here till they processed. Whatever the hell that is that leaves an even bigger mess.”
“Did they finish? Clear you to clean?”
“We’re cleaning, aren’t we? You gonna arrest us for cleaning so the frigging health department can cite us for not?”
“No, ma’am, I—”
“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me!” She stabbed a green-tipped finger at Eve. “I’m not your ma’am.”
“Now, Glo.” Leaning his mop on the counter, Harve came around it to pat her. “Everybody’s just doing their job.”
“I’m doing mine right here, and don’t need some fancy badge coming in telling me how to do it. We’ve run this place for more than twenty years. You know how many times we had to have the cops in? I’ll tell you,” she snapped before Eve could respond. “Three.”
She jerked up three fingers in case Eve needed to count.
“Three times in more than twenty years. We run a decent club, and don’t put up with any bullshit. Somebody crosses a line, out they go. Nobody—”
She broke off, covered her face with her hands.
Given the length of her lashes, it surprised Eve they didn’t spider their way through her fingers.
“Oh Jesus, Harve. A kid died here. A kid.”
“I know, babe.” He put his arms around her, and though his head barely reached her shoulder, seemed to provide the rock for her to lean on.
“Just kids,” she said. “Just kids. We’ve been doing these kid nights for years. A kid tries to sneak in some booze, we take it, dump it. They get one warning. Screw up again, and out. Try to sneak in illegals, same deal. If it’s hard stuff? No warning, banned and that’s that.
“Now a girl’s dead, in our place, and you cops are saying it’s an overdose, and maybe even somebody did it to her. How the hell did that happen?”
“It’s my job to find out,” Eve told her. “Ms. Reiser.”
“Ah, fuck it. I’m Glo, and I’m going to half—only half—apologize.”
“I’ll half accept,” Eve countered, and got the faintest smile. “Glo, I’ve corroborated that your alcohol is and was securely stored away during this event. Your beer taps locked and secured. I have no reason at this time to conclude that either you or your partner are responsible for the circumstances that resulted in Jenna Harbough’s death.”
“She died here.”
Because she understood, Eve nodded at the simple statement. “Let’s find out how and why. My detectives are nearly through the interview process, and the last should be released momentarily. I’d like to see how the club area looked during that final song.”
“I’ll get the lights for you. We’ll get through this, Glo.”
“Yeah, we will. Sure we will. You want the music, too? We’ve got the boys on the house loop. I can cue up the song. It’s not tonight’s live version, but it’ll be close.”
“That would be helpful. Before we do that, let me check, see that the interviews are complete.”
When she went out, McNab had only a handful left.
“Peabody took another six or so a few minutes ago,” Roarke told her.
“Any luck with that?”
“Not so far, and it’s going to be problematic.”
At his gesture, she walked over, looked at the screen.
“A lot of groups, and a lot—primarily boys—with their heads down, hair flopping over, hands in pockets.”
“Trying to look frosty. Bet you did that back when.”
He smiled. “If your head’s down, you might miss a pocket ripe for the picking. In the game, it’s more important to look invisible, or at least innocent, rather than frosty.”
“Right.” He’d have looked frosty anyway, she decided. “I’m going to check with the sweepers—they should be about done. When the last kid’s out, I need to do a run-through.”
As the sweepers packed up, she got a report.
No sign of the syringe inside the club, in the recycler, in the alley. They’d analyze the puke and work on the scuff mark. The Queen of Hair and Fiber would take the bits of fabric retrieved from the window frame.
No other evidence collected.
When she came back, McNab and Peabody sat at a table drinking fizzies. Roarke, with his sparkling water, joined them.
She walked back to the kitchen.
“I could use those lights, the music, too.”
She went out to the table.
“They’re going to cue up a recording of the song they were playing when Jenna said she got jabbed. And set up the lights, so I can see how it looked. You can both write your reports in the morning. Peabody, yours after we talk to Morris. Morgue, eight sharp.”
“Nothing like starting the day at the morgue.”
“How it goes,” McNab said. “When somebody kills you to death, a murder cop gets no rest.”
“Ha,” Eve said, and walked out on the dance floor.
Lightning white-and-blue streams crisscrossed the stage. In the club, the lights dimmed to blue as the music blasted out with a manic guitar riff.
She’d seen Avenue A play, so envisioned the setup. Drums back some and centered, the three guitars in front. One left, one right, another center.
Keyboard thing a bit to the side, and the one playing that switched off now and then, grabbed some other instrument.
All but the drummer moved around the stage a lot, she recalled, switching places, dancing around, playing to each other, playing to the crowd.
On the dance floor, under those blue lights, movement. Feet, hips, arms. Bodies brushing, bumping.
That smell of candy and sweat and teenage lust notes.
He’s watching her while she dances with her friends, surrounded by other bodies in motion.
Did he know her? Maybe, maybe not.
A pretty girl in a tiny skirt, bare midriff, hair flying, eyes bright.
Why her when there were so many others?
He knew her, or … he had to pick one, and she drew the short straw.
The lights shift from blue to red.
Onstage, Jake looks out at the dancers. All those young faces, those young bodies, caught up in the music. She looks at him, and he smiles.
And oh, her heart jumps. Her skin goes electric.
She squeals out the thrill, babbles to her friends, can barely find her breath.
He saw her!
Then, a quick, sharp pain in her arm.
Seeing it, feeling it, Eve closed her hand over her own.
Somebody jabbed me.
And looks left.
He sees her. Is he pleased with her angry look? He’s already slipped the syringe back in his pocket, but doesn’t he take that one moment to look at her, maybe to meet her angry eyes before he melts away?
He doesn’t run, running draws attention, but walks—as Eve does now—off the floor, brushing and bumping others as he does. It’s crowded, it’s loud, the lights are dim and red.
Skirt the tables, keep going.
Straight to the men’s room. Already scoped it out, planned the way out to avoid the security cams. Cops would look hard at anyone leaving in this time frame.
Music pumps against the walls.
If somebody’s there, use the urinal, use a stall, just wait. If not, move fast now.
