“You noticed her tits and her hair.”
“Her tits because I have a dick. Her hair because it’s what I do and am. Sylvio, hair designer to those who rock. You could use some work. Some Brimstone lowlights to add some fire.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
17
It took her longer than she liked to pick her way through the memories and observations of the group in the privacy room. Since the one woman slept through it, Eve arranged for her transportation home, and earmarked her for later, if necessary.
At least by the time she came back down the screen closed off the body, and at least half the number of patrons had been moved out.
Eve went first to Glaze’s booth. “I’m going to ask you to wait awhile longer.”
“Not a problem, as long as you need. But could you let the others go on home?”
Before she could answer, the man to his left shook his head. “We stick, brother. We all stick.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Eve turned away, started for the screen. Roarke intercepted her.
“I’ve got her coming and going. You might want to have a look.” He offered her a handheld. “I copied the feed, just her bit. First, the arrival, front door cam. Second, exit out of the back.”
Eve studied the feed. The hat, the goggles—the same as she’d worn at the vid palace. Dark, knee-length coat with some sort of glittery braiding on the cuffs, the hem, the shoulders. Thick-heeled ankle boots—gold chains with dangling skulls draped from the top. Skin pants with a star pattern.
A shoulder bag—larger than the useless one Janis used. Big enough for a vial of poison, she assumed, and the cash needed, with room enough to stow the goggles, the gloves, the scarf, and the hat.
She noted the time stamp, calculated Strongbow had entered the club about the time Eve herself had spoken with the victim. Maybe slightly prior.
She switched to the exit. “Got the purse,” she noted. “Wearing it cross-body. I can see the strap across her back. Carrying a coat, but not the one she wore in.”
“No,” Roarke agreed. “It looks like a fur of some sort, and there’s a hood. It’s dangling down there.”
“Yeah, I see. It’s going to be mink. Damn it, she snatched the coat off the vic’s booth. Had the presence of mind not to run out into the cold and wind without a coat. That’s thinking on your fucking feet.”
She handed him back the device. “Start contacting cab companies. Ten-block radius to this location. A pickup matching her description.”
“They might not cooperate, as I haven’t a badge number.”
“You’ll find a way.” No question of that, Eve thought. “She probably didn’t cab it. Subway maybe. Or grabbed a bus. Cab’s are tough on the budget, but we’ll start there.”
She scanned for Peabody, spotted McNab. “McNab!”
“Yo.”
“Transit Authority. Start with lines going to Brooklyn. Have them scan for a woman wearing a hooded mink jacket. Add her description, though if she has brains—and she does—she’ll have ditched the dreads. I want subways, and buses.”
“You got it.”
She damn well hoped so.
“Have Peabody search the club for a dark coat with glitter braiding. Probably homemade. She’ll know.”
Eve stepped behind the screen. “Okay, Loxie, you idiot, let’s do what we can.”
She removed the leather coat, tossed it on the padded booth. And did what she could.
When Peabody stepped behind the screen, Eve closed her field kit. Straightened from her crouch.
“Rounding it, TOD’s eighteen minutes before I got here.”