Page 18 of To Die For

“That would require a call to the East Coast, Detective Braddock. And at this time of night, no one would answer.”

Braddock looked put off. “And here I was thinking you feds, with all those budget dollars, were a twenty-four-seven op.”

“Popular myth.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Devine stared at Rollins’s torn shirt. “Looks to be two knife strikes to the gut? Painful way to die. Might mean something.”

“Maybe only that it’s quieter than a gunshot in a crowded bar.”

“Right. Well, you have my contact info.”

“You make that call back East tomorrowmorning. I’ll expect to hear from you right after. And I don’t care how early it is here. With my line of work, I don’t really expect to sleep much anymore.”

“See what I can do, Detective.”

Braddock shook his head. “I don’t know how you feds live with yourselves, screwing over local law enforcement.”

Devine didn’t know if the man was being serious or sarcastic, or somehow both.

He left Braddock hovering over the bloodied body of the late Perry Rollins. But he didn’t leave the premises. Devine followed the spatter trail down the hall and to its point of origin in the men’s john. The other people working away had evidently seen him talking to Braddock and thus didn’t challenge his movements into the heart of their investigation.

Inside the restroom two young female techs were dusting, photographing, measuring, and scouring for microscopic detritus with the aid of sophisticated instruments and no doubt years of training and on-site experience.

“Stabbed in here, I take it?” he said. When they looked up at him suspiciously, he flashed his creds.

“I’m working with Braddock on this,” he white-lied.

“Inside the last stall,” said one of the women, jerking her head that way.

“Looked to be knife strikes to his gut,” noted Devine.

“Fairly long blade,” said the other woman. “Puncturing but not severing the aorta most likely; otherwise he never would have made it out of the bathroom. Still, the bleed out would have been relatively fast. Post will confirm.”

“Anyone see anything?”

“Still processing and getting witness statements. At least those who weren’t drunk.”

Devine leaned out the door and eyed the camera bolted to a corner of the ceiling just down the hall.

“That security camera capture anything useful?”

“Processing,” said the first tech again. She gave him a wary look, which he returned with a lopsided smile, and then, thinking he had probably overstayed his welcome, he walked out the rear door.Devine stood there breathing in the smell of the ocean and feeling light drizzle falling from the thickened clouds.

He looked down the alleyway and wondered if it was possible that Big Hair or Baldy could have done the deed before meeting with Devine. Timing-wise it would have been tight. Maybe too tight. And neither man had any blood on him. And they couldn’t have done itafterthey left Devine. He’d gone straight back to the bar, while they had headed off in the opposite direction.

He walked to his hotel; luckily the rain didn’t really start pounding until he had a roof over his head. He stripped off his coat and spent five minutes at the bathroom sink trying to grind Rollins’s blood off his jacket sleeve, but he was only partially successful. He hung it up to dry, undressed, and slipped into bed. Sleep usually came easy for him, but not tonight. Too much had happened in too short a period of time to give his mind the time and space it needed to fully shut down.

He finally rose and went over to the window and looked out onto the damp and windswept streets. Devine checked his watch. In eight-and-a-half hours he would be picking up Betsy Odom and delivering the twelve-year-old, maybe to the devil. And that devil might have had a man with damaging information on him gutted in a men’s room.

That thought did not make Devine’s sleep come any easier.

CHAPTER

9

FORGOING HIS NORMAL MORNING WORKOUT,a weary and jet-lagged Devine slept in, rose, showered and dressed, and snagged a coffee and bagel from the little hotel market off the lobby.

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