The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [722]
“Run a clean alleyway, too.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. We don’t get many calls here.”
“The woman who found her, what’s her name?”
He had to consult his book. “Leah Rames.”
“Trueheart, stay here, sweepers should be on-scene momentarily.”
Eve walked into the storeroom, took a quick glance at the tidy shelves of supplies, and moved into the kitchen beyond.
Tidy was the watchword here, as well. Something was steaming on the stove, but that stove was huge and scrubbed to a gleam. Counters were simple white, covered with signs of meal prep in progress. Who knew it took so much stuff to make food? There were friggies and cold boxes, some kind of gargantuan oven, and not a civilized AutoChef in sight.
Several people, all wearing long white aprons, were seated on stools around an island counter. Some of them were chopping at things with wicked-looking knives. Others just sat. And all looked at her when she entered.
“Leah Rames?”
A woman, mid-forties, lean, long sandy hair thickly braided, lifted a hand like a schoolgirl. Her face was milk-white.
“I’m Leah. Do you know what happened to that poor woman?”
The gash in the throat should’ve been a clue, but something about the earnest question and the earnest setup of the kitchen sucked up Eve’s sarcasm.
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas, with Homicide. I’m the primary on this matter.”
“You’re Dee’s boss—partner,” Leah corrected with an attempt to smile. “Is she with you?”
“No, she’s on another assignment. You know Detective Peabody?”
“Yes, and her family. My life partner and I lived near the Peabodys until we moved here.” She reached out to lay her hand over the hand of the man who sat beside her.
“We opened our center and restaurant about eight months ago. Peabody and her young man came for dinner once or twice. Can you tell us what happened? We know everyone in this area. We’ve made a point of it. I know there are some rough characters, but I can’t believe anyone who comes here could have done this.”
“You don’t have security on your alley exits.”
“No.” It was the man who spoke now. “We believe in trust. And in giving back.”
“And in community relations,” Leah added. “We give food out in the alley after closing every night. We spread the word that we would provide this service as long as the alley was kept clean, that no one used it to do illegals, to harm anyone else, or littered. The first few weeks it was touch and go, mostly go, but eventually the food, given freely, turned the tide. And now . . .”
“Why did you go out in the alley?”
“I thought I heard something. Like a thud. I was in the storeroom getting some supplies. Sometimes people come, knock on the door early. I opened the door, thinking if they didn’t seem in dire need, I’d tell them to come back at closing. She was right there, right by the door. She was naked, and facedown. I thought, By the goddess, someone’s raped this poor woman. I bent down, I spoke to her. . . . I touched her, her shoulder, I think, I’m not sure. I touched her, and she was so cold. I didn’t think dead, not immediately. I just thought, oh, poor, poor thing, she’s so cold, and I turned her over, calling for Genoa.”
“She called.” The life partner took up the story. “I could tell something was wrong, by the tone, and I stopped what I was doing in here. She started screaming before I got to the storeroom. Several of us rushed out then. I thought she was injured—the woman—and tried to pick her up. Then I saw she was dead. We called for the police. I stayed with her, with the woman, until they came. I thought someone should.”
“Did you see anyone else in the alley? See any vehicle or person leaving the alley?” she asked Leah.
“I saw, just for a second, taillights. They were gone so fast, I just saw the blocks of them.”
“Blocks?”
“Like building blocks. Three red squares, one on top of the other on either side. It was only a glimpse, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have seen even that if I’d looked down instead of over