“I wanted to be a cop, so the shape of my jaw didn’t factor in.”
She pulled up, stunned to find a curb spot, in front of a four-unit townhome. Ongar and Case had the east side ground level.
They’d painted their door a glossy blue. Eve rang the buzzer.
“Decent neighborhood,” she observed. “Easy walk to the bar.”
She rang it a second time. “Home sick?”
“His office said.”
No palm plate, she noted, no comm security. Solid locks, a standard cam. She considered buzzing again, but heard the locks clunk.
Ongar pulled the door open to the length of the security chain.
“Can I help you?” His eyes, heavy, blurry, focused on her badge. His face was pale as death. “What’s the— Cheyenne?”
The door slapped shut, swung open seconds later off the chain. “Cheyenne, is she—”
“She’s fine as far as I know. We’re not here about your cohab.”
He sagged a little. “She just left about … God, what time is it? I’m pretty out of it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “What’s this about?”
“Can we come in?”
“Yeah, after you tell me what this is about.”
“It’s about an incident at Du Vin last night.”
“The bar? We were there. There wasn’t any … Can I see your badge again? I’m still foggy. I was down for the count.”
She offered the badge, let him study it.
“Yours?” he asked Peabody and repeated the process.
“Okay, come on in. Jeez, it’s really cold out there. Look, I’m going to just sit down, okay?”
He went into a living area off a short foyer, dropped down onto an oversized couch splashed with sweeping curves of red over cream. “Sorry, sit, okay? What about the bar?”
“I take it you haven’t watched any screen, checked for media reports.”
“I’m lucky I can see you.”
“You look pale, Mr. Ongar,” Peabody said.
“You should’ve seen me about two this morning.” His attempt at a smile came off as a grimace. “We tried a new restaurant last night. Do not order the seafood medley at Jamaica Joy. Trust me. Touch of food poisoning, I guess, and a touch is bad enough.”
“Can I get you something?” Peabody offered. “Some water?”
“No, that’s— Actually, there’s some ginger ale back in the kitchen. It’s helped. If you don’t mind.”
“No problem.”
Peabody left the room while Eve took stock of Ongar. Pale, heavy-eyed, his hair sticking up everywhere. He still wore what she took as pajamas—cotton pants, a long-sleeved tee, heavy socks. And pulled a red throw over him.
“A woman was killed last evening.”
“At the bar?” He started to push himself up, then eased back again. “No sudden moves. It’s not the sort of place you expect trouble.”