Lieutenant Dallas. You were off tonight. Is it your usual night off?”
“Yeah. I make the schedule, two weeks running. I like to be flexible, in case somebody’s got something going, wants to change a shift. We run a good, smooth place, and I’ve got a damn good crew. D.B. was on the stick tonight. He’s the assistant manager. I can’t get ahold of him. I went by there first, by the bar, but it’s sealed up, and there’s cops on the door. They wouldn’t tell me jack even when I said it was my place. I mean—”
“I get it. There was an incident in On the Rocks this evening that resulted in the deaths of eighty-three people.”
“Mother of God.” The bleached burlap face went lightly, sickly green. “Mary, Mother of God. Was there a bomb? Or a—”
“We’re investigating, Mr. Lester.”
“My crew. I got all the names right there. D. B. Graham, on the stick; Evie Hydelburg, that’s our cook; Marylee Birkston, head waitress—”
“I have the names. Ms. Birkston was in surgery the last I checked. Andrew Johnson—”
“Drew. He goes by Drew. He’s a busboy.”
“He’s in a coma. They’re both at Tribeca Health Center.”
Lester waited a beat, then two. “The others? What about the rest? I had nine people on that shift.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lester, those are the only members of your crew who survived.”
“Okay, that’s a mistake.” He lifted his fingers, heels of his hands firmly planted on the table as if he needed the anchor. And his voice was all reason. “That’s a mistake. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Ms. Roarke, but —”
“Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Whatever.” Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, temper fired his eyes, and behind it crawled fear. “Seven of my people didn’t die. That doesn’t happen.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Lester, and I understand this is hard to accept.”
“Well, I don’t accept it.” He surged to his feet. “Get that? It’s not acceptable. I want to speak to your superior.”
Eve rose as well. “I’ve just completed a briefing with my commander, and the task force assigned to this investigation. Which I’m heading. I’m telling you seven of your people are dead. Two are in the hospital, and you don’t hope any harder than I do that they survive.”
“This is bullshit.”
At the knock on the door, she pulled it open a bare inch. It didn’t surprise her to see Roarke.
“I can help here,” he said before she could speak.
She kept her mouth shut, though it took considerable effort, and stepped back. The instant Roarke entered the room, she saw he’d been right.
The heat in Lester’s eyes died instantly, and the fear rolled away into grief. “No. No.”
“Sit down, Devon. Sit down now.”
He obeyed, Eve decided, more because his legs just gave way.
“Just Marylee and Drew? All the others,
“Yes. I need you to help the lieutenant, Devon. She’s going to do her best by them, by all of them. You can help her.”
“D.B. was getting married. He and his woman, they’ve been together three years, and they’re getting married in May. Evie, she just had her first grandkid. Katrina got a callback on an audition. I changed her shift so she’d get off at eight tonight so she could prep for it. She was supposed to go home early tonight.”
Roarke said nothing, just let him talk of each one of the dead, people he couldn’t claim to know, but were his as well. His eyes flicked up to Eve’s, held a moment—full of sorrow—when she set water in front of Lester.
“What happened to them? Please. God, please. You have to tell me what happened.”
“I’m not able to do that yet.” Eve sat again. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“All right. All right.”
“You said you had a good crew, but even so, sometimes there’s friction or upset. Have you had to discipline anyone? Break up any arguments?”
“Look.” He swiped at his eyes with his forearm, struggled out a couple of steadying breaths. “Okay, look, there’s always drama. Somebody has a fight with the wife, the boyfriend, whatever the hell. Or a customer gets bitchy, right? It’s just the way of the business. But my people got along. It’s a good place—good pay, good tips. Somebody needs to switch shifts, we switch. Somebody needs a shift covered, somebody covers.”
“You didn’t go in at all today?”
“No. Slept in, then me and my guy went to this gallery in SoHo. He likes the galleries. Had a late lunch, did some shopping.”
“Did anyone from the bar contact you today?”
“No. And that happens, sure, now and again. But not today. First time my ’link rang, it was Roarke. Quirk and I had a quiet day.”
“Have you had any trouble with anyone? You personally, or at the bar?”
“Nothing, really. I mean, our neighbor gave me some grief a couple weeks ago. We had a party and he said we were too loud. He’s an asshole. Even his wife can’t stand him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Oh man, he’s just an asshole neighbor.”
“I need to take care of the people who died today, Mr. Lester. So I talk to asshole neighbors.”
He gave her the name, the address, then stared down at his hands. “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t give you respect.”
“You lost friends today. Let’s both respect them, and that’s enough.”
“What should I do?” He looked from Eve to Roarke. “I have to tell the rest of the crew. Should I go talk to them in person? I don’t think this is something I can tell the rest of my people over the ’link. And the families. I’ve got to tell … Jesus, Drew still lives at home with his parents. He’s just a kid.”
“We’re notifying the families,” Eve told him. “Leave that to us.”
“You should go home, Devon.” The quiet tone of Roarke’s voice brought Devon’s gaze back to him. “You’ll want to talk to the rest of your people tomorrow. Do you want me to arrange for Bidot to go with you?”
“I’ll take Quirk. They all know him, and they don’t know Bidot so well. If that’s okay.”
“Whatever you think best. If you need anything from me,” Roarke told him, “you can contact me directly. How did you get here?”
“What? Sorry?”
“How did you come to Central?”
“The subway.”
“I’ll have a car take you home. You’ll have a car,” Roarke insisted before Devon could protest. “At the main entrance. And you’ll have one tomorrow to take you where you and Quirk need to go.”
“Thanks.”
“They were my people, too.”
“Yes, sir. I guess they were.”
Eve let Devon out, said nothing as Roarke made arrangements for transportation. She just sat across from him until he was done.
“I don’t have to ask you your take this time,” she said.
“Then I’ll ask you yours.”
“You may not like it.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“He knows everyone there. We both know managing people means those people can piss you off—hit buttons, cause frustration.”
“So you solve that by poisoning them all with the goal of mass murder? That’s bollocks, Eve.”
“I’ve done a run on him. He’s married to Quirk McBane, an art teacher. Looks clean and tidy.”
“And that’s suspect? The clean and tidy among us?”
“He also has a brother. Christopher Lester. The brother’s a chemist, with a lot of letters after his name, who heads up a fancy, private lab. The incident happened on his day off. He knows the ins and outs of the place, and
