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“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes to try to see through the window, through the rain. “Not usually.”
“When did you see her last?”
“Shit.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Let’s see. Seems I saw her yesterday. Closing time? Yeah, yeah, she closes about six, and I was washing the front windows. You gotta keep on the windows in this city. Dirt just jumps right on them.”
“I bet. She closed about six. Then what?”
“Went off with that guy she lives with. Walking. They don’t got transpo.”
“You haven’t seen her today?”
“Now that you mention it, guess not. She lives up above, you know. Me, I live across town. Keep business and personal life separate, that’s my motto.”
“Any of her people ever come over here?”
“Nah. Some of her customers, sure. And some of mine go over there looking for lucky charms. We bump along okay. She ain’t no problem for me. Even bought the wife a birthday present over there. Pretty little bracelet, colored stones. Kinda stiff in the price, but women like that glitter shit.”
He tossed the rag aside and ignored the request for coffee from down the counter. “Look, she in trouble? She’s okay in my book. Weird maybe, but ain’t no harm in her.”
“What do you know about the girl who used to work there? Young girl, about eighteen. Blonde.”
“The spooky one? Sure, I used to see her come and go. Always looking over her shoulder that one, like somebody was going to jump out and say boo.”
Someone did, Eve thought. “Thanks. If you see Isis come back today, give me a call.” She slipped a card onto the counter along with credits for the coffee.
“No problem. Wouldn’t like to see her get in trouble, though. She’s okay for a whacko. Hey.” He lifted a finger as Eve started to turn. “Speaking of whackos, I saw one a couple of nights ago when I was closing up.”
“What sort of whacko?”
“Just a guy. Well, might have been a woman. Couldn’t tell ’cause they was all wrapped up in this black robe, hood and everything. Just standing there on the curb, staring across the street at her place. Just standing and staring. Gave me the creeps. I walked the other way. Twice as far to the bus stop, but I didn’t like the feel of it. And you know what? I looked back, and there wasn’t no one there. Nothing but a damn cat. Whacko, huh?”
“Yeah,” Eve murmured. “Whacko.”
“I saw a cat,” Peabody began when they headed back to the car, “on the street when Alice was killed.”
“There are lots of cats in the city.”
But Eve remembered the one on the ramp. Sleek and black and mean. “We’ll follow up with Isis later. I want to check with the ME before I feed the statement to the media.” She uncoded the car as Peabody sneezed again. “Maybe he’ll have something for that cold.”
Peabody rubbed her hand under her nose. “I’d just as soon stop by a pharmacy, if you don’t mind. I don’t want Dr. Death treating me until absolutely necessary.”
After she was back in her office and Peabody was off changing into a dry uniform and dosing herself with a small fortune of over-the-counters, Eve studied the autopsy report on Lobar.
She’d had the time of death right in the prelim, and the cause. Then again, she mused, it was tough to miss a mile-wide gash in the throat and a crater in the chest. And, fancy that, there had been traces of a hallucinogen, a stimulant, and a mind hazer—all of the illegals variety—in his bloodstream.
So he’d died sexually fulfilled and zoned. Some, she imagined, would say that wasn’t such a bad deal. But then, most of them hadn’t had a knife raked over their throats.
She lifted the sealed weapon, studied it. No prints, of course, and none expected. No blood on it but for the victim’s. She studied the carved black handle, scanning the symbols and letters that meant nothing to her. It appeared to be old and rare, but she doubted that would help her pin ownership. The blade was under legal limit, required no registration.
Still, she would check antique shops, knife shops, and, she supposed, witch shops. That would only take weeks, she thought in disgust, and was unlikely to lead anywhere.
Since she had twenty minutes before she had to face the media, she turned to her machine and got started. She’d no more than plugged in the description of the weapon when Feeney walked in, shut her door.
“Heard you had a rude awakening this morning.”
“Yeah.” Her stomach clutched, not in memory of what had come into her home, but at knowing she would have to weigh every word with him. “Not the kind of package I like to receive.”
“You need help on it?” He smiled wanly. “I’m looking for busywork.”
