“But you noticed him?”
“Of course. Creepy little man.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Eliza, I hate to impose, but I could really use a drink.”
“I could use one myself,” she decided and rang for a serving droid.
“Did you notice Quim on opening night?” Eve asked.
“Just that he was doing what he did in his usual silent, scowling way.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“I may have. I don’t recall. I’d like a vodka, rocks,” Carly added when the droid appeared. “A double.”
“You didn’t appear this upset when Draco was killed, and in front of your eyes.”
“I can think of a dozen reasons any number of people would want to kill Richard,” Carly snapped back.
“Including yourself.”
“Yes.” She took the glass from the droid, took one quick sip. “Most definitely including myself. But Quim changes everything. If their deaths are connected, I want to know. Because the idea scares me.”
“Tragedies happen in threes,” Eliza stated, her voice round and full and passionate.
“Oh, thanks, darling. Just what I needed to hear.” Carly lifted her glass, drained the contents.
• • •
“Weird. These people are fucking weird.” Eve got in her vehicle and headed back to Central. “One of their associates gets stuck in the heart basically at their feet, and they’re like—my goodness, would you look at that. A tech is hanged, and they fall apart.”
She flipped on her car link and contacted Feeney.
“No home ‘link calls in or out in a forty-eight-hour period,” he reported. “No calls to anyone on your list, period. He had biweekly contact with a bookie for bets on arena ball, kept it under the legal limit.”
“Tell me something interesting, I’m dozing off here.”
“He put a hold on a royal-class ticket to Tahiti but didn’t book it. One way, heading out a week from Tuesday. Also put a hold on a VIP suite at the Island Pleasure Resort. A full month’s stay. Made some inquiries about real estate, looking into some cliff-side house in the neighborhood of two mil. The guy’s financials add up to about a quarter of that. The ticket and the suite would have gobbled most of that up.”
“So he was looking to come into a nice pile.”
“Or he was a hell of a dreamer. Can’t find anything on his unit to indicate he did previous scans, you know, like a hobby.”
“Blackmailing a murderer might net you a nice pile.”
“Or a noose,” Feeney added.
“Yeah. I’m heading by the morgue to nag Morse.”
“Nobody does it better,” Feeney said before Eve cut him off.
*** CHAPTER NINE ***
“Ah, Lieutenant Dallas.” Chief Medical Examiner Morse’s dark eyes glittered behind his microgoggles. Above the serviceable lenses, his eyebrows arched in two long, slim triangles. At the peak of the left was a small, shiny silver hoop.
He snapped his fingers, held out his sealed hand, palm up. A grumbling assistant flipped a twenty-dollar credit into it. “Dallas, you never disappoint me. You see, Rochinsky, never bet against the house.”
The credit disappeared into one of the pockets of his puke-green protective jumpsuit.
“Win a bet?” Eve asked.