“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.”
“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.”