Page 19 of Random in Death

And found him sitting behind the bar, a glass of sparkling water at his elbow, working on his PPC.

“No one left by the front or back doors during the time period,” he began. “Factoring fifteen minutes before Jake went out the back, and the uniforms arrived.”

“Forget that. He went out the window in the men’s john. We’ll run it back to when the bar opened, then try to find someone who didn’t leave by either door. I’ll pass it to EDD to try face recognition.”

“As I’m here, I’ll get a start on that. You’re sure about the window?”

“He left scuff marks on the wall, fibers caught in the window frame. He’s going to have a slight build. Height won’t matter, but he’s not a big guy. Couldn’t be to fit through that window.”

“Could be female.”

“I can’t discount that. I need to talk to McNab.”

She crossed the room, tapped his shoulder, then held up a finger to the teenage boy he was interviewing. “Hold a minute.”

“Man, I gotta get home.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She drew McNab a few steps away. “Have you let the interviewees use the johns?”

“Yeah, otherwise we’d have a hell of a mess in here.”

“Alone?”

“No way. We’re sending the girls in threes—three stalls—and the guys in fours—two urinals, two stalls. Each group goes with a uniform. Peabody’s group has a shot, then mine, then hers. Like that.”

“The uniform goes inside with them?”

“Yeah, sure.” When he turned his head, his forest of ear hoops glittered like stars. “Don’t want any shenanigans, right?”

“Exactly right. The suspect left by the window in the men’s john.”

“Well, shit! You can check with the uniforms, Dallas. Officer Grady for the guys, and Officer Loren for the girls. They’re instructed to go inside. They’re not rooks.”

“I’ll check, but the suspect left before we got here.”

“Well, shit twice.”

“Finish the interviews. Somebody might have seen something. He’d have slipped out during the last song before the break.”

“Got it.”

She checked with the two uniforms, and both stated they, as ordered, escorted each group to the assigned restroom, accompanied them inside, then escorted the group back to their interview waiting area.

Then she started a hunt for Harve.

She found him and a woman built like an Amazon in the bar kitchen. The woman, with a soiled apron over a spangly, skintight dress, scrubbed viciously at a prep counter.

The room smelled of grease, onions, and chemical lemons.

Harve stopped his studious mopping of the floor, leaned on the handle. “Get you something, Boss Cop?”

“I’d like you to switch the lights in the bar to whatever you had going during that last song before the band took their break.”

“Sure, sure, I can do that. Glo, this is Boss Cop Dallas.”

“I figured.” When she straightened, Eve judged her at a solid six feet—add another three with the sparkly heels she wore. She had skin like polished oak, eyes like green lasers, and what looked like a mile of corkscrew curls tied up on the top of her head.

“The other cops said the kitchen staff couldn’t clean in here till they processed. Whatever the hell that is that leaves an even bigger mess.”

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