Page 134 of Passions in Death
Those basset hound eyes gave her a long look. “You know enough to do this.”
“Yeah, and I did, but the angle’s a little tricky.”
He enhanced, zoomed, sharpened.
“Like that?”
“Yeah, slo-mo it back to right before she swings, then advance slow-mo to this point again. See? See how he puts his arm around the blonde’s shoulders?”
“Looks like she was going to move in, maybe try to stop the brunette.”
“And he stopped her. And then how he looks sort of shocked, but—”
“More like he’s holding in a laugh.”
“Yes!” Vindication had Eve mentally pumping her fist. “Yes, yes, then the brunette swings, connects, and what do you see?”
“Fucker’s smirking.”
“He’s smirking. Now, if you’re at a memorial for the fiancée of one of your oldest, closest friends, do you smirk when she gets clocked?”
“Hell no.” Feeney zoomed out again, then ran it back. “See the guy on the right? He’s pissed and moving in. If he’d gotten there before the brunette took that swing, she wouldn’t’ve taken it.”
“I need a copy of the zoom and enhance, then if you can do the same with his face. The smirking fucker.”
Feeney nodded, worked his magic. “This the one who killed the fiancée?”
“I can’t prove it, yet, but I’m damn sure of it.”
“Good-looking face. All-American boy. When it smirks like that, it’s punchable.”
As Eve studied the enhanced close-up, Detective Callendar strolled in. “Hey, Cap— Sorry, Dallas, didn’t see you. I’ll swing back.”
In her orange bibs and a tee that looked as if someone had tossed green paint on a white canvas, she started to step back.
“Hey, I know that dooser. Where do I know that dooser?”
Eve remembered the word—dick/loser—and sent Callendar a sharp look.
“You know him? Greg Barney?”
“Not the name, but that face. That asshole smirk. Check it!” she said, and lifted a hand. “Fancy men’s shop guy, downtown shop.”
“How do you know him?”
“Not know-know, but he’s the one who gave me that same snarky look when I went in there.”
She dug into one of the many pockets of her bags, pulled out a pack of gum. She offered it to Eve, who shook her head, then to Feeney, who took one before Callendar took one herself.
“My brother’s twenty-first birthday, back several months, and what does he want but this fancy shirt from this fancy designer. Seems this place was having a sale, so I poke in. And this guy, he’s watching me like I’m going to grab shit up and run for it.”
She shrugged, tossed her short, streaky dark hair. “So okay, I don’t look like most people who shop there. Then when I find the stupid shirt—it’s just a freaking tee, but it’s got the fancy guy’s label on it, which means they can charge easy ten times as much—and I hold it up to check it out, he comes marching over. Tells me how they prefer people don’t handle the merchandise. I say how I’m thinking of buying it and is it on sale?”
Snapping her gum, she slid her hands into hip pockets. “He gives me that look right there. Like I’m a bug and he’s the boot that’s going to really love squashing me. He says how that designer never goes on sale, and how I should try the L&W for a more affordable knock-off. He pissed me off so much I bought that damn shirt, full price. But my brother freaking loves it, and it was his twenty-first.”
Callendar smirked back at the smirk. “Is he a vic or a suspect?”
“Suspect.”
