Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(28)

“No. Jesus!” Lace grabbed Gregor’s hand. “No, I never saw him do that. Ever. Win, Jesus!”

“You don’t look so shocked, Mr. Gregor.”

Shaking his head at Eve, he blew out a breath. “I never saw it, but … You know, the guy looked good, dressed good, but he wasn’t like a vid star, right? I used to wonder how the hell he scored every single time he came in. He’d pick one out, move in, and later Tee or one of the servers, somebody, would mention maybe how he walked out with another one. I never thought … but now.”

“You can’t just say something like that about somebody,” DeCarlo objected. “That’s what cops do, they say shit about people.”

“We have statements from multiple women McEnroy drugged and raped. This was one of his hunting areas.”

DeCarlo’s angry scowl crumpled. “We’re supposed to watch out for anything like that. We’re supposed to make sure nobody tries to pull any shit with anybody.”

“He was good at it,” Eve told her. “Kept the dose light here, or whatever club or venue he picked. Just enough.”

“I didn’t see it,” DeCarlo murmured. “I never figured him for … He had that accent, that way. All charm, you know? I figured him for a player, sure, but not for this. Snow!” She pushed away from the table when the manager came back with Peabody. “She’s saying that son of a bitch roofied women right under my goddamn nose.”

“What?” He put a long, thin hand on DeCarlo’s shoulder as he shot those laser eyes at Eve. “Do you have evidence of this?”

“We do, yes, but we’re not saying Ms. DeCarlo or any of your staff was or is complicit. At this time we believe Mr. McEnroy perpetrated these acts alone.”

“Win, be a friend and get Tee a soother from my office. Sit now.” He eased DeCarlo back into the chair. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t see it. I got eyes, goddamn it. I know what to look for. I didn’t see it.”

“He used the privacy booth,” Eve explained. “He was good at it, and he was careful. He frequented a number of clubs, restaurants, following the same pattern. As far as we know, no one saw it. What they saw, if they noticed, was a woman, maybe a little drunk, leaving of her own volition with a man.”

“I can look back now, look back knowing, and see it,” DeCarlo muttered. “The son of a fucking bitch.”

“Me, too.” Mi lifted his shoulders. “When you know, you can see it. And when you know, you can see … last night, it was the other way around.”

“You mean she slipped him something?” DeCarlo’s scowl came back. “Good for her then. Goddamn it.”

“The individual who slipped him something followed up by murdering him,” Eve pointed out. “And it’s our job, my partner’s and mine, to find her and see that she faces justice.”

DeCarlo let out another snort. “There’s why I don’t like cops.”

When they walked back outside, Eve glanced up at the door cam. “Can we use the feed?”

“We’ve got her at the door, but she’s not stupid,” Peabody replied. “We don’t get a look, not a good one, of her face. A lot of hair, the killer body. We’re going to be able to peg height and weight, and—I assume—Yancy will have something to work with between the feed and working with the door guy.”

“Set it up, and get me the best image of her, copy to my units. We’re going to hit a couple more clubs, see if we can shake something, and the restaurant where he dosed Alden.”

She checked the time. “Then you’re off. If EDD has any more, shoot it to me.”

Once she cut Peabody loose, Eve hunted up parking near the pub Roarke had chosen. She settled on a second level, jogged down to the street to join the throng of pedestrians on the half-block walk.

She found the pub had a trio of skinny tables outside—and that Roarke had reserved one. A little cool yet for it, she thought, but the table heater took care of that. As she was early, she ordered black coffee and settled down to review her notes, write fresh ones.

“Still hard at work.” Roarke slipped in across from her.

“A lot of leads means a lot to tie together. Why don’t you own This Place?”

“Happens I do.”

“No, not this place, the club called This Place.”

He smiled at her. “Would you like to?”

“Not especially. It just struck me it’s got some of your style and class. I hit two others you do own—also classy.”

He smiled at her, but she saw the way he studied her face. “It’s just been a long one,” she said.

“And more to come. We’ll have a pint and some food.”

“I’m good with coffee.”

“Which is what you’ve downed, no doubt, most of the day. A half pint for you, which won’t hurt you a bit. I’ll suggest you follow it with the fish and chips, which is exceptional here.”

A beer might smooth out some of the edges, she thought. And fish and chips never hurt. “Okay, that’ll work.”

While he ordered, she put away her notes. And when he simply took her hand, the wall she’d held in place all day crumbled.

“It was like his hobby, that’s how I see it. I know it was a sickness. Nobody takes so many risks—personally, professionally—needs so much control over women, gains such satisfaction out of using them the way he used them without a sickness. But he treated it like … like a hobby, a serious one. The way some people treat, I don’t know, golf, or crafting, or whatever. I’d bet my ass if he was alive, if I’d caught him, had him in the box, that’s just how it would come out he saw it.”