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When she’d done all she could on scene, she walked to where Roarke stood beside Nadine. “Don’t ask me now,” she said before Nadine could speak. “I’ll give you what I can when I can.”
Something in Eve’s expression had Nadine harnessing her natural instincts and nodding. “Okay. By ten, Dallas. I need something by ten, something more than the official line.”
“When I can,” Eve snapped back. “He sent you the transmission at oh-six hundred.”
“My usual wake-up call, yeah. I did my civic duty, Dallas. Feeney’s got everything.”
“So he told me. I can’t give you more now, Nadine.” Eve combed a hand through her hair.
Something’s here, Nadine thought. Something bad. “What is it?” In a gesture of friendship, she touched Eve’s tensed shoulder. “Off record, Dallas. What is it.”
But Eve only shook her head. “Not now. I have to notify next of kin. I don’t want her name out until I do. You can get the official line from Feeney. He’ll be on scene for a while yet. I have to go. Roarke?”
“What is it you won’t tell her?” he asked as they walked through the crowds and noise to her car. “What’s different about this one?”
“Degrees of separation, I guess. I know her brother. So do you.” She looked back at the scene before climbing behind the wheel. “You said you wanted to do what you could, so I’m using you. I want Peabody with Feeney, talking to the staff here, interviewing people at her residence. I’m going to need some help with the next of kin.”
“Who is it?”
He’d kept himself close to his baby sister, Eve noted. Not in the same building, not even in the same block, but close. And had kept her distant from his business. The simple geography spoke to her.
Give her some room, let her spread her wings, but don’t let her fly too far. And don’t let the dregs that frequented the club smear her.
His building had good security. He’d be careful about such matters. Her badge got her through it, and up to the fifth floor where she took a long breath before pressing the buzzer.
Minutes passed before she saw the light blink on the scanner, and knew he was checking his security panel, seeing her standing there.
It blinked green, and he opened the door.
“Hey there, white girl. Why you gotta roust me during my sleeping time?”
He was huge, a huge black man naked but for a purple loincloth and many tattoos.
“I need to talk to you. Crack, we need to come in.”
Puzzlement ran over his face, but he grinned. “Now, you ain’t hassling me ’bout some trouble down to the D&D. No more going on there than the usual.”
“It’s not about the club.” The Down and Dirty was his baby, a sex and music club in the bowels of the city where the drinks were the next thing to lethal.
She’d had what had passed for her bridal shower there.
“Shit. Gonna need coffee if I gonna be talking to some skinny-assed cop this time of day. Roarke, can’t you keep this white girl busy enough so she leave me be?”
She stepped inside. The place didn’t surprise her, nothing about Crack did. It was spacious and tidy, tastefully decorated in what she supposed was African art, the masks, the bright colors, the lush fabrics.
As a testament to his preference for the night, the wide windows were covered with long thick drapes that blocked out the morning in shades of crimson and sapphire.
“Guess you be wanting coffee, too,” he began, but Eve laid a hand on his arm before he could move toward what she assumed was the kitchen.
“Not now. We need to sit down. I want you to sit down.”
The first hints of irritation snapped into his voice. “What the hell’s this about that I can’t have me a hit of coffee when you get me out of bed before the crack of noon?”
“It’s bad. It’s bad, Crack. Let’s sit down.”
“Somebody hit my place? Sumbitch, somebody mess with the D&D? I locked up myself a couple hours ago. What the hell?”
“No. It’s about your sister. It’s about Alicia.”
