In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

assumed -- and was given his employment record. I had no reason to question it, and his record was solid. I hired him on a two-week probationary, he did the job, and we went from there."
    "Do you have the contact at Lenux in your files?"
    "Yes." Rue blew out a breath. "I've already tried to call. All I got this time around was that the code had been discontinued."
    "I'd like it anyway. Just to follow up."
    "Of course." Rue reached into her bag, took out a day book. "I don't know why he didn't tell me he was a cop," she said as she keyed in the code number on an e-memo for Eve. "Maybe he thought I wouldn't hire him. But when you figure the owner's a cop -- "
    "I don't own the club."
    "No, well." She shrugged and handed Eve the memo.
    "He was in the club after closing. Is that standard?"
    "No, but it isn't unheard of. Routinely, the head bartender on duty and one of the security team close up together. Taj was serving as head last night, and according to my records, it was Nester Vine's turn to close with him. I haven't been able to reach Nester as yet."
    "Are you in the club every night?"
    "Five nights a week. Sundays and Mondays off. I was there last night until two-thirty. The place was clearing out, and one of the girls was having a bad night. Boyfriend trouble. I took her home, held her hand for awhile, then went home myself."
    "What time was that?"
    "When I went home?" Rue blinked a moment. "About three-thirty, quarter to four, I guess."
    "The name of the woman you were with until that time?"
    "Mitzi." Rue drew in a breath. "Mitzi Treacher. Lieutenant, the last time I saw Taj, he was alive and working the bar."
    "I'm just putting the facts on record, Ms. MacLean. Do you have a take on Detective Kohli's state of mind the last time you saw him?"
    "He seemed fine. We didn't talk much last night. I stopped by the bar for some mineral water a couple of times. How's it going, busy night, that kind of thing. God." She squeezed her eyes shut. "He was a nice man. Quiet, steady. Always called his wife on his early break to see how she was doing."
    "He use the bar phone?"
    "No. We discourage personal calls, barring emergencies, on the business line. He used his palm-link."
    "Did he use it last night?"
    "I don't know. He always did. I can't say I noticed. No, wait." This time she closed her eyes and seemed to drift. "He was eating a sandwich, back in the break room. I remember walking by. The door was open. He was making cooing noises. Talking to the baby," she said, opening her eyes again. "I remember that because it was so sweet and silly, hearing this big bruiser of a guy make baby noises into the 'link. Is it important?"
    "Just trying to get a picture." There hadn't been a palm-link on or near the body, Eve recalled. "Did you notice anyone who came in last night or any other night when he was on? Somebody he knew, hung out at the bar with him?"
    "No. We've got some regulars, of course. People who come in several times a week. Taj got so he'd know their usual drinks. Clients appreciate that."
    "Did he get tight with anyone who worked there?"
    "Not particularly. Like I said, he was a quiet guy. Friendly enough, but he didn't hang with anyone in particular. He did the bartender thing. Watched, listened."
    "Do you keep a metal bat behind the bar?"
    "It's legal," Rue said quickly, then paled. "Is that what -- "
    "Did Taj ever have occasion to use it or threaten to?"
    "He never used it." She rubbed her upper chest with the flat of her hand in long, soothing strokes. "He had it out once or twice, I guess. Tapped it on the bar as a deterrent. That's mostly all you need, especially with a guy his size. The club's upscale. We rarely have any real trouble there. I run a clean place, Lieutenant. Roarke won't tolerate less."
    The preliminary report was straightforward, and for Eve, unsatisfactory. She had the facts. A dead cop, bludgeoned to death with serious overkill and the wild destruction that pointed to an addict popping on Zeus or some lethal combination of illegals. A sloppy attempt to cover with the look of attempted robbery, a missing palm-link, and thirty loose credit chips.
    The victim was apparently moonlighting to supplement his family income, had no blemishes or commendations on his service record, was well liked by his associates, and loved by his family. He had not, at least as far as she had uncovered, lived above his means, engaged in extramarital affairs, or been involved with a hot case that could have led to his