Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(50)

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.”

“I’m sure the victim thought the same. You were there with a small party?”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t any trouble.”

“Who were you with?”

“My fiancée, Cheyenne Case; my best friend, Nick Patelli—we work together—and his date, Sylvie MacGruder.”

“Just the four of you?”

“Yeah. Double date. We had drinks at Du Vin, then Sylvie wanted to try this new place. I must make her pay.” He smiled wanly when Peabody came back with a glass holding ice and ginger ale. “Thanks, really.”

Closing his eyes, he sipped slowly. “Easy, stomach. Everything was fine when we left. I guess it was about six-thirty or six-forty. You don’t need reservations for Jamaica Joy. I can currently attest to why.”

“Did you notice anyone who left when you did?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. I was pushing for Italian, and we were sort of joking around because I pretty much always push for Italian.”

“A man, right behind you,” Eve prompted.

“Like I said, I wasn’t … Yeah, yeah, now that you mention it. I guess there was this guy who stepped out when we did, and we were talking. I guess blocking his way. He might’ve had to wait a minute before we started moving again.”

“Any sort of description?”

“I really didn’t see him. More sensed him, the way you do, and honestly wouldn’t have remembered if you hadn’t pushed on it. Maybe I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye for a second. Not really his face, just the presence. He killed somebody? In the bar?”

“We’re hoping to identify him, speak with him.”

“But nothing happened when we were in there, and he left when we did, so…”

“A woman was attacked downstairs minutes before you and your party and this individual left.”

“Holy shit. Shit.” He bolted straight again, one hand going to his stomach. “Cheyenne and Sylvie were down there like ten or fifteen minutes before we left. God.”

“We’ll want to speak with them, and with Mr. Patelli.”

“Sure. Do you want me to tag them up?”

“We’ll contact them. If you speak to them in the meantime, and if you, or they, have anything to add, you can contact me at Central. Peabody, leave a card.”

“Mr. Ongar, is there anything more we can do for you?” Peabody set the card on the coffee table.

“No, but thanks. Chey’s only going in to work for a couple hours. She’ll be back soon. You can let yourselves out, okay, because I’m just going to lie down here for a minute.”