Secrets in Death (In Death 45)

Acknowledged.

“This is where I lean,” Eve told him as they watched a group of five depart. “This is just two minutes and change before Mars bumped the waiter on her way back into the bar. Under three before TOD. I’ll get better numbers from Morris tomorrow, but the doctor who assisted, and DeWinter, say with a wound like that she could have lived for maybe four to twelve minutes without treatment. I’m thinking closer to the four from the amount of blood she lost on the way up. So, less than three minutes before TOD he walks out. Give the killer three minutes to slice, to react, to exit the bathroom, get upstairs, walk out.”

“I expect you timed that yourself.”

“At a couple speeds,” she confirmed. “Plenty of time. More than enough time. This group strikes me more than the others we have because it’s off-balance: three males, two females. The best way to get out without raising much notice on a search like this? A group.”

Roarke studied the recording again. “That may be, but people do socialize in uneven numbers, and it would count as a lucky break for a group to leave just as he—as I assume you’re thinking the third male—wanted that cover.”

“We’ll find out. I’m looking at this one, too. He’d have cut it closer. Eighteen seconds before I hit record. Left alone. Then there are two females who left seventy-three seconds before record. I want to talk to Morris, and we’ll definitely talk to all of these once we ID them through bar tabs, but look at the group again. The five.”

Roarke leaned a hip on her command center, watched again.

“Female far right,” Eve said. “Her head’s turned just a little toward male second right, and his toward hers. Female center, male far left, inside shoulders close. They’re holding hands. Center female’s leaning forward a bit, her body’s turned, again a bit, toward her right, like she’s engaged with what the two on her right are doing or saying, while the male on her left … there! His head goes back, his shoulders shake a little. Like he’s laughing at something.”

“All right, yes, I see that now. And also see the third man is just a step behind them and, from this rear view at least, doesn’t appear engaged with what the other four are saying.”

“Could be he’s just the odd man out, ready to call it a night, thinking of something else. Could be a lot of things, but he’s the only one of the males wearing a hat—ski cap pulled over his hair. His shoulders are hunched, he’s wearing gloves. Yeah, yeah, it’s cold, but you can’t get hair color, you can’t get skin color. And he tacks left with them, still a couple steps behind, until they’re out of cam range. They don’t glance back at him.”

She ordered a replay, froze it. “Still … could be a female,” she mused. “This reads male from the camera angle, from the build, the type of coat, but it could be a female.”

“Dark topcoat, dark ski cap, what looks like suit pants—dark again, and good dress shoes or half boots—more masculine in style.”

“Could be female,” Eve repeated. “Reads male, but that could be deliberate. I’m going to dig into the bar tabs. You can play with the vic’s financials.”

“Wishes come true. Let’s top that off with pie. You’re in my way,” Roarke said to the cat, who turned his head, blinked his bicolored eyes, and seemed disinclined to move.

To solve the issue, Roarke hefted him, carted him to the sleep chair. Galahad rolled over, stretched, then curled up to take a nap.

By the time Roarke had stripped off his tie and suit jacket, Eve had two slices of warm apple pie, topped with vanilla ice cream, on the counter.

“I love this thing.” She took mugs of black coffee out of her command center’s mini AutoChef. “Frigging love this thing. Computer, list receipts provided by Du Vin from eighteen hundred to eighteen-forty-three. Not going to pay the tab too long before the attack, can’t have paid it after she came in bleeding, but we’ll keep the window a bit wider.

“Oh God!”

Roarke glanced over quickly, saw her eyes closed in bliss even as she forked up more pie. “This is pie. Seriously, you need to get him to make another one before he goes on vacation. We absolutely need a backup on this. He’s got three days—well, no, two, because today’s over, essentially.”

She ate another bite, slowly now, reminding herself to savor it. “Two days, right?”

“Yes, they leave in three days, which leaves them two.”

“They? Who are they?”

“Summerset and Ivanna.”

“What? What? She’s going? They’re going on vacation together?”

“At least the Australian portion.” He sampled the pie and had to agree. There should be more.

“But … they’ll have sex.” She could actually feel the blood drain out of her head. “You know they’ll have sex. With each other. Why did you have to tell me? Why did you have to put that in my head when I’m having pie?”

“You asked about the timing, I confirmed. I didn’t say anything about sex.”

“You knew he was taking a woman he has a history with, and you didn’t think they’d have sex?”

She slapped fingers to her eye as it began to twitch.

For a moment, Roarke said nothing, then sighed. “I acknowledged the probability in some vague and distant corner of my intellect, but I didn’t actively visualize it until bloody well now, so thanks for that.”