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.”
Deep in the pocket of her jacket, Kerri’s cell vibrated. She stepped over to the break area to take the call.
A glance at the screen and recognition flared. Her daughter’s school. Her brain instantly cued a shot of adrenaline and a burst of apprehension. “Devlin,” she said rather than hello.
“Ms. Devlin, this is Joslin Farrington.”
The assistant to the head of the school. Kerri held her breath. “Has something happened to Tori?”
Haunting memories from last year—Amelia’s murder—ripped through Kerri.
“No.” The single syllable