I ignored her jibe and tossed my badge onto her desk. She picked it up, briefly studied it, then handed it back. "Why do you wish to see the tapes?"
"Because Wolfgang Schmidt is dead. He was murdered last night after he left here."
"That is sad news indeed." It was hard to tell whether she actually meant it or not, because there was little emotion in either her voice or her expression. "You may view the tapes in the room opposite. I shall port them over to the screen there."
"Just the ones for the times he was here, not the entire night."
Another cool smile touched her lips. "Of course."
I spun and walked over to the other room. The lights came on as we entered, revealing another sparse room. At least there were two chairs here—one behind the desk and the other in front. I sat behind the desk, found the ported tapes on the screen, and hit PLAY. The quality wasn't top notch, but I guess it didn't have to be if the only reason she had the cameras was to source out trouble before it really started.
There was no sound, but the woman spotlighted on the stage seemed to hold the audience under the same sort of spell as tonight's woman. She had pale skin, black hair with an oddly jagged red streak in it, and coal-black eyes. She wasn't playing the pan flute, however, but some sort of short-necked lute. I hit FAST FORWARD and rolled through about an hour's worth of film before I spotted Wolfgang. He came in just after midnight, sat at one of the tables close to the stage, and watched the woman with the same sort of rapt attention as everyone else.
When the woman finished her set, she came down and sat with him. They chatted for another half hour or so; then the woman retreated—but not for long. She and Wolfgang left together.
We had a suspect.
I froze the screen on the woman's image, sent both Hunter and myself a copy of it, then switched off the computer and went back to see bitch-face.
"You were successful?" she said, without looking up.
"Who was the entertainer you had on last night? Wolfgang left with her."
"Her name was Di Shard. She wasn't one of our regulars, just someone brought in at the last minute."
"Have you got her contact details?"
"Yes." She reached into her desk and handed me a business card. Classique Entertainers, it said. Specialist in art, chamber, and classical musicians. She added, "Anything else?"