Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(9)

“Patrons don’t like being on camera in a high-end pub. And we find murder a very rare activity here.”

His voice was clipped, cool. She couldn’t blame him for it.

“Also understood. I need to finish getting statements. The morgue team’s on its way, and so are the sweepers. You’re going to need to hold on awhile longer.”

She let in the morgue team herself, and the sweepers. Directed both groups. By the time they were at their work only a handful of people remained in the chairs and booths, all staff.

She sat down with Cesca.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you before,” Cesca began.

“Why should you? You didn’t have Ms. Mars’s table, but did you know her?”

“She comes in a couple times a week. Sometimes more. She likes that booth—she likes Kyle. He’s usually her server.”

“Did you see her go downstairs?”

“No. I did notice Kyle turning the booth—clearing the glasses. We were pretty busy. We usually are between five-thirty and seven-thirty—the after-work crowd. You and Dr. DeWinter didn’t want much, but a lot of my tables did, so I was, you know, hopping.”

“I noticed. Did you see Ms. Mars come in, from downstairs? Before she collapsed?”

“I heard the crash—you know the glass breaking when she … and I looked over, like you do, and I saw her, and somebody screamed, and you were running over. I didn’t really see … It didn’t register, I guess. The blood, until she fell and you grabbed her. I felt a little bit sick for a minute. I’ve never seen blood like that. Then lots of people were screaming or yelling, and my head was all…” She circled her fingers in the air around her wedge of purple hair. “So I put my head between my knees until I didn’t feel so dizzy. You said to stand by the door and all that. It helped. Having something to do.”

“You did fine. Have you seen Ms. Mars in here with the man she was with tonight?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t look familiar. And he was really frosty, so it feels like I’d remember. But you get busy, and when it’s not your table…”

“Okay. Your contact info’s on record here, isn’t it?”

“Sure. They have to have all that for payroll, and in case they need you to come in off schedule.”

“Then you can go on home. Somebody’ll be in touch about when you can come back to work.”

“Can I stay until Sherry can go? She’s one of the cooks. We’re roommates. I don’t want to go home alone. I just really feel, you know, a little whacked.”

“Sure. Do you want transportation home?”

“We only live four blocks away. But I’ll just wait for her.”

“No problem. Do you want some water? A soda?”

Cesca’s eyes filled. “I’m supposed to wait on you.”

“You held up, Cesca. You did fine.”

“I wouldn’t mind a Coke.” She wiped at her eyes.

“Okay.”

Eve moved off, signaled to Roarke. “See the girl with purple hair? She’s Cesca, one of your waitstaff. She’s solid. And she could use a Coke.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Eve moved on to Kyle. She recognized him, had watched him stop by Mars’s booth. Now she sat next to him as he gnawed on a thumbnail.

“I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Yeah, you said. I know. I’m Kyle. I’m Kyle Spinder.”

His eyes, full of nerves, angled away, closed, when the morgue team rolled out the gurney with its black body bag.

“Oh man, oh God, oh man.”

“Breathe slow, in and out.”

“I never saw anybody dead before. I never did. Except on screen, in vids and games and shit. Stuff, sorry.”

“Okay. You waited on Ms. Mars and Mr. Bellami tonight.”

“Kir Royale—that’s her drink. He stuck with mineral water, twist of lime. She ordered the caviar—toast points. He didn’t have any.”

“Have they been in together before tonight?”

“I never waited on him. Never saw him. She comes in a lot, meets people. She’s always nice to me, sometimes slips me some cash. She never pays—the tab, I mean. She meets people who pay the tab, but she’d slip me some cash sometimes.”

“What were they talking about?”

Now he looked pained. “I’m not supposed to talk about what customers talk about.”

“This time it’s different. This time it’s a murder investigation.”

Those nervous eyes popped wide. “Are you sure? Maybe she had an accident. Maybe.”

“It’s my job to be sure. Now, what were they talking about?”

“His play, I think. I sort of tune it out because, honest, you’re not supposed to talk about what you hear. But they were talking some about this play he’s producing—I think. And some girls, maybe something about illegals. His wife? Maybe? They would stop talking about it when I went up to them, so I didn’t hear all that much. They kept it down—she usually keeps it down. So did he—sometimes the other person doesn’t keep it down as much, but he did.”

“How would you describe them together? Friendly?”