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She imagined the apartment before it had been tossed.
Spare, she thought. Inexpensive furnishings, except for the monster wall screen. A guy thing, she noted. A couple of prints on the walls to spruce it up, average-looking landscapes.
Two sets of sheets, one that had been on the bed, she assumed, before the killer yanked them off to check the mattress. Spare and simple wardrobe in the closet and drawers. A couple of suits—one black, one brown, a half dozen shirts, some socks, some boxers. Three pairs of shoes, four with what he’d worn when he’d had his head bashed in: one black dress, one casual scuff, and gym shoes.
Sweats, shorts, T-shirts, a couple of ties.
The same style in toiletries, nothing fancy. Nothing fancy in the goody section either, she decided. A sexual performance aid in pill form, one box of condoms—three missing.
She sat on the side of the bed. A simple guy who liked to gamble, who went to the gym in the morning, had a brew and watched his majorly big-ass screen in the evenings. Had an LC over occasionally.
A PI who didn’t mind blurring the line for work. She imagined he enjoyed it, the slightly shadowy areas. Dreamed of owning his own little casino/bar somewhere warm and tropical.
A friendly sort. One who inspired grief in his neighbors at his death, genuine tears from an employee.
A. A. Asner. Had Harris picked him because his name came first in the listings? She imagined he’d gotten a lot of clients just that way.
“Should’ve taken a pass on this one,” she murmured.
As Della McGrue lived only three blocks away, Eve tried her next.
The buildings mirrored the same style, but when a puffy-eyed Della let her in, Eve saw her apartment couldn’t be more different from Asner’s.
Color and clutter, the yippy bark of a little fluff-ball dog Della clutched to her ample breasts. A harem’s worth of pillows piled on the red sofa, fat candles, decorative bowls, sparkly glass animals covered tables.
Della stood, her blond hair a luxurious wave framing a face of tipped-up nose, baby-doll lips, and red-rimmed blue eyes. She cooed to the dog to soothe it.
“We’re both so upset,” she told Eve. “Frisky just loved A. Can we sit down? I haven’t felt good since I heard about A. I’m having a soother. Do you want one?”
“No, I’m good. Was your relationship with Mr. Asner professional?”
“Sort of, but not really.” Della cuddled the now quiet but trembling dog in one arm as she drank a pink soother from a tall glass. “If we had sex, I had to charge him. I’ve got to make a living, and A knew that. I always gave him a discount, though. But sometimes we’d just go out to dinner or a vid. Just to spend some time with a friend, without the sex. I liked him a lot.”
“I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
“He was in a risky business, I guess. I mean mostly it was insurance stuff, or divorce stuff. But detective work’s risky. But I never thought anyone would...”
“When did you last see or talk to him?”
“Just yesterday. He got a big payoff from a client, and he was going to buy into a game. He wanted a good-luck bang first. I don’t work that early in the day unless it’s a friend or a regular.”
“Did he tell you about the client?”
“Not really. Except he didn’t like her. He said she had a nasty streak, but her money was good. Oh, and she wasn’t who she said she was. Did she kill him?”
“No, but any information on or about her might help me find who did.”
“He didn’t say much. He was in such a good mood. He brought Frisky her favorite doggie treats, and he brought me chocolates. He was sweet that way.”
“Did he tell you why he was in a good mood?”
“Not really. He just said how he’d made some decisions, and something about how sometimes bad things happen to wake you up, to tell you to play it straight, even if straight put you in a squeeze.”
“Did he talk to you about it, give you any details?”
“No, just that he felt good about it. And, oh, he said he was going to retire. He said that a lot, but it sounded like he meant it this time. He was going to go down to the islands next week, check out some property. He said maybe I could come. Maybe I would’ve. He was fun to be around. Then we went to bed for a while. After, I made him a sandwich, then he—oh, I forgot. Somebody tagged him. He got all professional, so I figured it was a client.”
“Did you hear any of the conversation?”
