Kerri turned her attention back to McGill. “Lucky?”
“Lucky Vandiver. He’s in college and works here part time.” She rolled her eyes. “His family is like megarich, but his daddy insists he work a real job while he’s in college. I think his daddy and Leo are friends. The way I heard it, Leo hired Lucky to do the cleanup every night. He sweeps, mops, cleans the bathrooms. All the dreaded shit no one else wants to do. Lucky says his daddy likes torturing him, but—between you and me—he’s just a selfish, rich brat. Whatever his father hopes to gain by forcing him to work here, I think he’s wasting his time.”
Nothing wrong with teaching a kid to work, but Kerri could see how Lucky might not appreciate the lesson, particularly if he was on the spoiled side. “When did Lucky leave?”
“The same time as me. He always tries to talk me into letting him come over to my place for a drink.” She shook her head. “I made that mistake a couple of times. He’s a good time—if you know what I mean—but he likes the powder, and I am not into that stuff.”
“Powder?” Kerri knew what she meant, but she needed the woman to say it.
“Cocaine. He’s one of those social users. His parents would kill him if they knew.” She shrugged. “I swear, the guy’s an idiot. He’s got it all, and he does everything possible to screw it up.”
“Did Mr. Kurtz know about his drug use?”
Her eyes widened as she moved her head adamantly side to side. “No way. He would have fired him. He’s big-time anti–illegal drugs. Tobacco and alcohol are . . . were the only drugs he believed in.”
“Do you recall if the clothes Mr. Kurtz has on are the same ones he was wearing when you left last night?”
Her breath caught. “I didn’t think about it until you asked, but yes, definitely. He always wears blue on Sundays. For the customers, he said.” She smiled sadly. “His philosophy was that Sunday is the worst day of the week because you spend it dreading Monday.”
Kerri had spent her fair share of Sundays dreading Mondays. “You’re certain the navy trousers and light-blue shirt are the ones he wore yesterday?”
McGill nodded, then abruptly stopped. “He never got to go home. Someone must have come in last night after I left and done this. Maybe someone with the other guy.” McGill clasped a hand over her mouth and said, “Oh my God,” through her fingers. “If I’d been later leaving, I could be dead too. Maybe that other guy was just a late customer.”
Kerri didn’t bother explaining who the other victim was. No leaks. It was better that McGill didn’t know his identity. For now, anyway. His face would be plastered on the news soon enough. The next question was an awkward but necessary one. After all, the woman had used her cell phone to call 911, which meant she’d had it in her hand. “One more question, Ms. McGill. This one’s a bit sensitive, and I need your honest answer.”
She stared wide eyed at Kerri.
“Did you take any photos of the bodies?”
McGill’s weepy expression shifted to horror. “Oh my God, no! Who would do that?” She shuddered visibly. “I can’t even imagine.”
“You’d be surprised.” Kerri saw it all the time.
McGill pushed the cell phone lying on the counter toward Kerri. “Have a look for yourself.”
Since she’d offered, Kerri checked her call log, text log, and then her photos, recent as well as deleted. No pics of the victims. Just to be certain, one by one she tapped the woman’s three social media apps and viewed the last posts on each. Nothing since nine o’clock last night.
Kerri placed the phone on the counter and slid it back to its owner. “Thank you.”
“If we’re done,” McGill said, “I really, really need a drink.”
“Just a couple more steps.” Kerri pulled a clean page from her notepad. She placed the page and a pen on the counter. “I’d like you to make a list of the other employees and their phone numbers if you have them. Put a star next to the names of folks who have worked here the longest or were closest to Mr. Kurtz.”
McGill nodded and picked up the pen.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Kerri assured her as she slid off the stool.
She made a pass through the public space. The bar was vintage, like an old speakeasy from a century ago, with lots of wood, glass, and leather. The mirrored shelving behind the bar was loaded with classy-looking, high-end bottles of whiskeys and other liquors. Beyond the bar was a small kitchen. A side hall led to the restrooms. The room hosted intimate groupings of tables scattered about. Display cases of cigars, pipes, and tobacco blends. The entire atmosphere was very European, from the wood floors to the coffered ceiling. A large fireplace stood at the far end of the space. This was no typical smoke shop. This was a gathering place for the wealthy and famous of Birmingham to indulge in their habits.
Not the sort of place a double homicide of this nature was expected to happen unless there was a robbery, or the owner was involved in some illegal activity. Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking. There were all sorts of possibilities.
But what the hell did the new hotshot DDA have to do with it?
Kerri made her way into the stockroom. The evidence techs were already doing their thing. Falco and the ME hovered near the bodies. Other than the two vics, this back portion of the building held what one would expect. Supplies for the store as well as a walk-in humidor. The first she’d seen. There was an employee area near the rear exit. The lockers McGill mentioned and a long coatrack that extended from the lockers to the door of the restroom for employees. A narrow row of well-stocked shelving separated the area from the rest of the space. A round table with chairs—two of which had been used to secure the victims—stood in one corner. The employee break area, she supposed.
Moore glanced up from his examination of Leo Kurtz. “Detective, long time no see.”
Kerri smiled. “I took a vacation with my daughter during her spring break. The first one I’ve taken in far too long.”
“She called me every day,” Falco added.
Moore laughed. “A truly dedicated detective can never fully let go of work.”
Kerri couldn’t deny that allegation. She’d always found putting work on the back burner more than a little difficult. Moving on to business, she asked, “You have an estimate on time of death?”
Moore’s assistant came through the rear exit with a gurney. Falco had obviously shared the need to be discreet. Hopefully the assistant had moved the vehicle fondly referred to as the meat wagon around back as well. The fewer people who noticed that detail, the better.
“For now, I’m going to say between ten last night and two this morning. I’ll have something more definitive after I’ve done a thorough exam.”
“We’re in the ballpark,” Kerri agreed. “The employee who found the bodies this morning worked until ten thirty last night.”
Moore nodded. “Falco says we’ll need something on these two rather quickly.” He looked to Walsh. “I suppose he’s the reason.”
“He is,” Kerri confirmed.
“The chief will probably be giving you a call,” Falco warned.
Moore chuckled. “I’m confident he will.”