In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

smile.
    "That's not what you said a few hours ago. In fact -- "
    "Shut up, Roarke." She glanced around, though none of the cops working the scene was outside or close enough to hear. "This is a police investigation."
    "So I'm told."
    "And who told you?"
    "The head of the maintenance team who found the body. He did call the police first," he pointed out. "But it's natural he'd report the incident to me. What happened?"
    There was no point in griping because his business had tangled around hers. Again. She tried to console herself that he could and would help her cut through some of the muck of paperwork.
    "Do you have a bartender by the name of Kohli? Taj Kohli?"
    "I have no idea. But I can find out." He took a slim memo book out of his breast pocket, keyed in a request for data. "Is he dead?"
    "As dead gets."
    "Yes, he was mine," Roarke confirmed, and the Irish in his voice had taken on a cold note. "For the past three months. Part time. Four nights a week. He had a family."
    "Yes, I know." Such things mattered to him, and it always touched her heart. "He was a cop," Eve said. This time his brows lifted. "Didn't have that data in your little scan, did you?"
    "No. It seems my personnel director was careless. That will be fixed. Am I allowed inside?"
    "Yeah, in a minute. How long have you owned the place?"
    "Four years, more or less."
    "How many employees, full- and part-time?"
    "I'll get you all the data, Lieutenant, and answer all pertinent questions." Annoyance gleamed in his eyes as he reached for the door himself. "But now, I'd like to see my place."
    He pushed inside, scanned the destruction, then focused in on the thick black bag being loaded on what the death attendants called a stroller.
    "How was he killed?"
    "Thoroughly," Eve said, then sighed when Roarke simply turned and stared at her. "It was ugly, okay? Metal bat." She watched Roarke look toward the bar and the spray of blood sparkling on glass like an incomprehensible painting. "After the first few hits, he wouldn't have felt anything."
    "Ever had a bat laid into you? I have," he said before she could answer. "It's not pleasant. It seems far-fetched to think it's robbery, even one that got well out of hand."
    "Why?"
    "There'd have been enough prime liquor, easily fenced, to keep anyone cozily fixed for some time. Why break the bottles when you could sell them? If you hit a place like this, it's not for the bit of cash that might be copped, but for the inventory and perhaps some of the equipment."
    "Is that the voice of experience?"
    She teased a grin out of him. "Naturally. My experience, that is, as a property owner and a law-abiding citizen."
    "Right."
    "Security discs?"
    "Gone. He got all of them."
    "Then it follows he'd cased the place carefully beforehand."
    "How many cameras?"
    Once again, Roarke took out his pad, checked data. "Eighteen. Nine on this floor, six on two, and the other two on the top level for full scope. Before you ask, closing is at three, which would have staff out by half past. The last show, and we've live ones here, ends at two. The musicians and the entertainers -- "
    "Strippers."
    "As you like," he said mildly. "They clock off at that time. I'll have names and schedules for you within the hour."
    "Appreciate it. Why Purgatory?"
    "The name?" The ghost of a smile flirted with his mouth. "I liked it. The priests will tell you Purgatory's a place for atonement, rehabilitation perhaps. A bit like prison. I've always seen it as a last chance to be human," he decided. "Before you strap on your wings and halo or face the fire."
    "Which would you rather?" she wondered. "The wings or the fire?"
    "That's the point, you see. I prefer being human." As the stroller wheeled by, he ran a hand over her short brown hair. "I'm sorry for this."
    "So am I. Any reason a New York City detective would have been working undercover in Purgatory?"
    "I couldn't say. It's certainly likely that some of the clientele might dabble in areas not strictly approved by the NYPSD, but I've not been informed of anything overt. Some illegals might change hands in privacy rooms or under tables, but there's been no large transactions here. I would have known. The strippers don't turn tricks unless they're licensed, which some are. No one under age is allowed through the doors -- as client or staff. I have my own standards, Lieutenant, such as they are."
    "I'm not coming down on you. I need a picture."
    "You're pissed that I'm here at all."
    She waited a minute, her