abruptly in front of Matt.
“Excuse me, sir. You gave a statement to Officer Spinelli? He said you were a witness to the shooting?”
I looked up. A familiar pair of detectives was standing on the sidewalk, staring nearly eye to eye with my six foot ex. Like Mike Quinn, Lori Soles and Sue Ellen Bass worked out of the Sixth Precinct on West Tenth.
“We were with the girl,” Matt told the women, “but we didn’t see much.”
Lori Soles finally noticed me far below her and smiled in recognition. “Clare Cosi? Is that you?”
I nodded and rose off the low stoop—all five foot two of me. (I may as well have stayed sitting.)
Detective Soles gazed down at me, her short, tight curls making her look like a giant cherub. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here. Isn’t you coffeehouse just a block away?” She held a small notebook in one hand, gestured to the Village Blend with the other.
I nodded.
Next to Detective Soles, Detective Sue Ellen Bass stepped closer to my ex. I put both women in their thirties, although Sue Ellen appeared older than Lori by at least five years. And where Lori had the long, friendly face of a horsey-set blond, Sue Ellen had a lean, triangular look. It suited her personality, as did her jet-black hair, much longer than Lori’s short, blond curls, though it was hard to tell, since Sue Ellen wore her hair in a slicked-back ponytail. Both women sported nylon jackets over blue turtlenecks and dark slacks, gold detective shields dangling on long cords around their necks.
I’d first met the pair when they were working undercover on a special task force headed by Mike Quinn. At that time, they were trying to bring down a ring of nightclub predators. Glammed to the max, the pair had repeatedly baited likely suspects at several area nightspots. From what I remembered, Detective Soles was happily married. For her, it had been just another assignment. But I got the distinct impression from some private banter between the two women that Sue Ellen hadn’t ruled out meeting future romantic hookups while on her eight-hour tour of club duty.
“So, Cosi, who’s this tall drink of water?” Sue Ellen asked me, jerking her thumb at my ex-husband.
I scratched my head, disconcerted for a moment by her choice of words. “Uh, this is Matteo Allegro. He’s my . . . business partner.” I could have said more, but what was the point?
She gave Matt’s strong form a quick, open appraisal. “Single?”
“Engaged,” I said.
“Is that so?” Sue Ellen replied, still looking him over. “Then he’s technically still available?”
Matt exhaled with what sounded like extreme irritation. “I’m standing right here, ladies, and I’m quite capable of answering my own questions.”
“He does look capable, doesn’t he?” Sue Ellen remarked to me with an arched eyebrow. Then she turned to Matt. “In cases like this, sir, it’s best if we direct initial queries to the professional on the scene. And since we have one here—”
“Professional?” Matt interrupted.
Ignoring Matt, Lori Soles now addressed me, her pen poised over her open notebook. “Tell us, Clare, did you hear the gunshot from inside the Blend?”
“No. We weren’t in the Blend. We were headed there, all three of us. Matt and I were walking with the victim. We’d just left Matt’s bachelor party at the White Horse on Eleventh. We reached this corner, and we were waiting for the traffic light to change. I heard a pop, and the woman fell—”
“One pop?” Sue Ellen Bass asked. “Only one? You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Several halogen lamps were turned on just then, and I lifted my arm to shield my eyes from the glare of tiny suns. More officers had arrived on the scene, some in uniform, others in plain clothes, and they appeared to be using the light to scour the dark ground—for forensic evidence, I assumed.
I also noticed a middle-aged Asian man and a young white woman in dark-blue nylon jackets. Together they crouched next to the dead girl and began to examine her body and head.
“Then what happened, Clare?” Detective Soles prompted.
“It took a few seconds for Matt and me to realize what had happened. Then Matt called 911, and I looked around for any sign of the shooter.”
“And?” she asked almost hopefully. But I had to disappoint her.
“The street was empty, the sidewalks, too. Whoever shot her had already ducked for cover.”
Sue Ellen glanced at the girl’s body for a moment, then back to me. “Did you know