Page 5 of Craving Vengeance
“Jesus Christ. What the hell? Two in one day and on Valentine’s Day of all days,” Walker said as he eyed the dead man.
They stepped closer to inspect the body, peeking around Debra, the medical examiner. She glanced up at them, “Cause of death isn’t blatantly evident.”
“What?” Spinelli questioned as the acidic stench of vomit stung his nostrils and caused his eyes to water.
Debra looked up at him again. “He wasn’t shot or stabbed, no sign of struggle. Judging from the vomit and strong smell of almonds, I’m guessing he was poisoned. Did you get any reports back from Bethany on the first cupid yet?”
“No, nothing yet. I’ll talk with her when I get back,” Spinelli replied as he shot her a frown. “You smell almonds?”
Debra arched a brow. “You don’t?”
“Christ, how can you not smell that?” Walker questioned.
Spinelli shifted his gaze to the vomit splatter on the floor. “To me, it smells acidic, almost tinny.”
Debra shifted her gaze between the detectives and shrugged. “For some reason, the almond smell associated with poisoning isn’t always evident to everyone. I don’t know why, it just isn’t. No big deal.”
Spinelli and Walker went back into the bar to question the cleaning woman. She was still talking with the uniformed officer when they approached her. She looked a bit calmer than when they first saw her.
“Ms. Boyd.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Spinelli,” he gestured toward Walker. “This is Detective Walker. Can you tell us what happened?”
Ms. Boyd blew out a heavy sigh. “I clean the bar five days a week. I came in through the back door as I always do, and the door to the office was open. It’s never open, so I peeked inside and found Tony, the bartender, sprawled out on the desk. At first, I thought maybe he’d just passed out or something, but when I stepped closer, I realized his wide-eyed stare at the ceiling was that of a dead man.”
“So, you didn’t see anyone else here this morning?” Walker asked.
Ms. Boyd shook her head. “Nope, just Tony.” She shifted her gaze between them. “So, you think someone murdered him?” she asked as her voice cracked.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. How well did you know Mr....”
“Rosso,” Ms. Boyd finished for Walker. “I didn’t really know him that well. I’d see him sometimes when he opened the bar as I was finishing the clean-up. We’d chat for a moment before I left. He was such a nice young man. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him.”
They asked Ms. Boyd a few more questions, but she wasn’t much help.
“Ah, Christ, not on my desk. On all my papers,” a gruff, smoker’s voice bellowed from down the hall. Spinelli looked in that direction to find a large older gentleman standing in the hall staring through the office doorway.
“Sonny,” Ms. Boyd yelled as she waved him over, “these detectives need to talk to you.”
Sonny’s head snapped in their direction. His jowls jiggled. He nodded and headed toward them.
“That’s Sonny Tomes. He owns the bar.”
Sonny waddled toward them. The cigar pinched between his teeth smelled sweet. Smoke trailed behind him. He pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Hi, I’m Sonny. What in the hell happened here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I take it Tony worked last night,” Spinelli inquired.
“Yeah, he was scheduled to close.”
“Was anyone working with him?”
“No, it was a weeknight. During the weeknights, he closes on his own. Once we’re through the happy hour rush, I go home.”
“So you worked with him until what time?”
“I tended bar until about 7:00. Then I worked on paperwork in the office until I left at about 8:00.”
