Vendetta in Death by J. D. Robb

slipped me two bills. I think she was maybe French. She said, you know, merci when I passed her through.”
    “Had you ever seen her before last night?”
    “I don’t think so, but it’s real hard to say.”
    “Would you work with a police artist?”
    “I guess, but the thing is I see an awful lot of frosty women on any given night. I only remember because of the French thing and the two bills. I took them, but I was going to let her in anyway.”
    A mistake? Eve wondered. Or deliberate?
    “What time did she get here?”
    “I’m going to say around ten-thirty, but I’m not real sure. I know they left before midnight because Blick spells me for my break at midnight and he was about due. I’m going to say when I caught that glimpse of her leaving with him, I thought how she didn’t stay long for two bills, but I guessed she got what she was after.”
    Mi shrugged those wide shoulders, then stopped, drew his brows together in thought. “Oh, and now that I’m thinking about it, I thought how Mr. McEnroy was maybe a little drunk.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, if I see him leave—not always, but if I do—he’s got his arm around the woman he leaves with and she looks to have had a few, you know? This time it struck me as the other way.”
    Eve decided the man on the door noticed more than he realized. “I’mgoing to set you up with a police artist. Peabody, find Snow and see about the security cam on the door between, let’s say, twenty-one-thirty and midnight.”
    Even as Peabody started to rise, Snow came back.
    “I have that information for you. Mr. McEnroy cleared his tab at eleven-fifty-three. He ordered a martini at the bar—your station, Lippy—at nine-twenty-nine, a sparkling water with lime at ten-fifteen, then two more martinis from the auto in the booth at eleven-twenty-six.”
    “Thanks. If you’d show Detective Peabody the door security feed and make a copy for us, we’d appreciate it.”
    “Of course. If you’d come with me, Detective. Are you sure I can’t get you something? Coffee?”
    “Well, I wouldn’t mind a no-fat latte.”
    Eve ignored them, studied Lace. “Did McEnroy ever hit on you?”
    “Not really, no. A little flirt, sure, but nothing real. It’s like Tee said. He liked white girls—redheads, built redheads.”
    “He always went to Lip at the bar when we were on together, even if she had a line going. Sorry, interrupting,” Gregor said.
    “It’s all right. So you interacted with him more than Mr. Gregor.”
    “I’d have to say. And if he went to one of the other bars, he’d go to the female. We talked about it, you know, just joking like. I didn’t see him with anybody last night. I really didn’t see him at all after he came up to the bar for his two drink orders—the martini, then the water. But … I guess you could say that’s his usual routine. Come, and like Tee said, too, sort of troll, walk around, get a drink. Then I’d see him order through the auto later—two drinks, sometimes three, then he’d cash out. I honestly don’t remember serving a Frenchwoman last night.”
    “How about you?” Eve said to Gregor.
    “Nope. I chatted up these two blondes from Sweden, and a couple from Tokyo, but no single French ladies, not last night.”
    “He’d occasionally buy a woman a drink, at the bar?”
    “Sure. Now and then. He tips good, so you remember, even though he doesn’t come in like every week. Sometimes weeks and weeks go by, then he shows. But you remember.”
    “And when he’d buy a woman a drink at the bar, did you ever notice a change in her behavior?”
    “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Did she appear intoxicated after he bought her a drink, or more inclined to go with him?”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” DeCarlo slapped a hand on the table. “You’re trying to say he slipped something into the drink?”
    “I’m not trying to say it, I am saying it.”
    “No. Jesus!” Lace grabbed Gregor’s hand. “No, I never saw him