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Eve kept her eyes level with his. “I’m sure you do.”
12
Weaver and Callaway had their heads together when Eve walked back in. They each gave a quick, guilty start, then shifted in their chairs.
“Don’t get up.” Eve flicked a hand, then chose a seat at their end of the table. “A couple of questions. Was it Joseph Cattery’s habit to stay later at the bar, alone?”
“I … Not that I know of,” Weaver began, glanced to Callaway.
“We grabbed after-work drinks there now and then,” Callaway stated. “Sometimes he stayed on, sometimes we left together. He was friendly with some of the regulars, so he might stay, hang with someone else.”
“You left last, Mr. Callaway. Was he with anyone else, or talking to anyone else?”
“The bartender. They always got into sports. But I didn’t notice him ‘with’ anyone, if that’s what you mean. We blew off some steam. I left. I was beat. I think I told you yesterday, he wanted another drink, made some noises about going for food, but I just wanted to get home and crash. I wish I’d taken him up on the dinner idea. We wouldn’t be here now.”
“There was nothing odd in his behavior when you left him?”
“No.” He shook his head, picked up a glass of water but didn’t drink. “I’ve thought and thought about those last few minutes, trying to remember all the little details. It was just usual, just another day. It was all small talk and shop talk. He was tired, too, but he just wasn’t ready to go home.”
She reached in her file bag, pulled out Macie Snyder’s photo.
“Did you see this woman at the bar?”
“I don’t …” His brows knitted together. “I’m not sure. She looks familiar.”
“I saw her.” Weaver took the photo. “I’ve seen her in the bar a few times. I’m sure I saw her in there yesterday.”
“Must be why she looks familiar.”
Vann angled his head. “Oh yeah. She was at a table with another woman and a couple of guys. Lots of laughing and flirting going on.”
“Okay. How about this woman?”
She offered the photo of Jeni Curve.
“Jeni,” Nancy said immediately. “She delivers for Café West. She’s up here nearly every day for someone. Was she—”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“God.” Breath hitching, Weaver squeezed her eyes shut. “Dear God.”
“Do both of you know her as well?” Eve asked the men.
“Everybody knows Jeni,” Callaway said. “She’s a sweetheart, always ready to take the extra step, always cheerful. Steve had the flirt on with her.”
“She’s dead,” Vann murmured staring at the photo. “We just got lunch from her a couple days ago. Locked in on the campaign, and she brought in our lunch order. Extra soy fries because she knows I like them. She’s dead.”
He rose, walked over, poured water. “Sorry. It just hits. I got take-out from there one night last week, walked out just as she did—off her shift. I walked her home before I caught a cab. I walked her home, and I thought about talking my way up to her place. I think she’d have been open to it. But I had to work, so I let it go. She’s dead.”
“You were in
terested in her?”
“She’s beautiful and bright. Was. Yeah, I thought about it that night. Long day, take-out food because it’s going to be a long night of work. And here’s this bright, beautiful woman giving me all the right signals. I thought, well, why not. An impulse thing,” he said. “But the campaign.”
“So the two of you never connected that way.”
“No. I figured, plenty of time if the mood strikes again. That’s what you think,” he said as his grieving eyes met Eve’s. “There’s always plenty of time. Time for bright, beautiful women, or for another drink with a friend from work. Plenty of time to get your boys together at the park one Saturday. Goddamn it.”
