Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(16)

“Understood. I’m going to swing by the lab, see what I can shake loose, then go see Shelby Carstein.”

“If I’m not needed in EDD,” Roarke said, “I’m with you, Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant. Sorry.” Trueheart jogged back in. “We had some people come in. Two of them stated they’d been in the bar, left a coworker there. Another states he’s the bar manager.”

“Where are they?”

“The sergeant on the desk put the two in the lounge, the manager in Interview A. He didn’t think you’d want them together.”

“He’d be right. I’ll take the two, then the one.”

“I’ll start on the notifications, Dallas,” Peabody offered. “From the bottom up. If this takes you longer, I’ll keep going until you’re loose or they’re done.”

“All right.” With her eyes on the board she spoke to Roarke. “You can come to the lounge, but don’t go in with me. Sit nearby. You’ve got good eyes, good instincts. Get a read on the two I’m going to talk to, then you can do the same from Observation on your manager. How well do you know him?”

“Not well at all, in the big picture,” Roarke admitted. “I spoke to him extensively during the transition. We did the usual background check, security check, and so on. I also spoke, extensively, with key staff to get a read on him as well as them. He cleared, and very well. Since then I haven’t had any personal dealings or contact with him. I haven’t needed to. He’d report directly to the coordinator assigned to that property.”

“I might want to talk to the coordinator, depending.”

“I’ll arrange it if you need it.”

“Go in first. Get some coffee and—”

“Not in there, I won’t.” He managed a ghost of a smile. “But I know how to cover.”

“Right. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She gave Roarke three minutes, then walked to the lounge.

A handful of cops risked the coffee or one of the offerings from Vending. Roarke sat with a cowardly tube of water and his PPC at a table near two civilians.

Both looked tired, fretful. The woman’s springy blond hair cascaded down around her shoulders. Her feet snugged into skids to go with the casual pants, the light sweater. The man wore dark pants, a blue shirt, and old boots.

She judged them in their thirties, the man in the early part, the woman headed toward the forty mark.

They weren’t wearing suits or carrying briefcases, but Eve made them from the security disc. The visit saved the investigation the trouble of digging for two more IDs.

“I’m Lieutenant Dallas.” She sat down with them, watching them both straighten in the hard plastic chairs.

“Nancy Weaver, and my associate Lewis Callaway. I contacted Lew when I heard the reports on deaths at On the Rocks. We were there, after work. We were right there, with Joe—Joseph Cattery—and Stevenson Vann. I was able to reach Lew and Steve—Steve left before I did. He had to catch a shuttle to Baltimore for an early-morning meeting. But I haven’t been able to reach Joe. Lew said Joe was still at the bar when he left.”

Eve let the woman ramble. She did so concisely, like someone used to giving presentations and data, but there were hitches and quavers in her voice.

Deliberately now she shifted her focus to the man. He had a smooth-shaven face and short, straight brown hair. “You work together.”

“Yes. Marketing and Promotion, Stevenson and Reede. We’d just finished a major campaign. We went in to brainstorm a little on the presentation, and to blow off some steam. Steve couldn’t stay long as he was taking point on the meeting in Baltimore.”

“What time did you get there?”

“About quarter to five? I don’t know exactly.” He glanced toward Nancy for confirmation.

“We left the office about twenty to five, and it’s no more than a five-minute walk. More like three. Steve left after about fifteen minutes. I left around twenty after five, I think. I had an eight o’clock date, and I wanted to get home, change, regroup.”

“Joe and I had one more round,” Callaway added. “His wife and kids are out of town, so I kept him company for a bit. He talked about going on, grabbing some dinner, but to tell you the truth, I wanted to get home myself.”

He lifted his hands off the table, let them fall again.

“We’ve been putting a lot of extra hours into this campaign. I was tired. In fact, I was half asleep on the couch when Nance contacted me. I figure Joe probably turned off his ’link, maybe went to a club. You know?”

“Come on, Lew.”

“His wife’s away, and you know how tight a rein she keeps on him.” He said it with a hint of a smile, a kind of understood wink. “He probably just wanted to bust loose a little. But Nance is worried, and by the time she finished, she had me worried.”

“All the reports are so vague, and that makes them more frightening,” Weaver insisted. “We were there. Right there at the bar. One of the reports said there might be seventy people dead.”

“Take it easy.” Callaway put a hand over hers, briefly. “You know how the media exaggerates.”

“People are dead.” Her face, soft around the edges, went hard. “That’s no exaggeration. How could that happen? It’s a good place. It’s not a dive or a joint. Hell, I’ve taken my mother there. Nobody will tell us anything,” she continued. “They’ve all told us we had to wait here, for you. I know who you are. I watch the media reports like a kid eats candy. You’re a homicide lieutenant. Were people murdered?”