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“You got a name?”

“Mandy. So the—”

“Yeah, I got that part. Open up, Mandy, I need to ask you some questions about your former boss.”

“She’s dead. Been dead. Those’re the only answers I got.” But she opened the door. Her hair was short and spiked. Easier, Eve imagined, for her to don one of the many wigs street LCs liked to play with. She was probably no more than thirty, but looked ten years older if you went by the face.

Whatever profit Mandy made obviously went into her body, which was lush and curved, with huge, uptilted breasts that strained against the thin material of a dingy pink robe.

It was, Eve decided, the right investment for a woman in her field. Johns rarely looked at the face.

Eve stepped inside and noted that the living area had been converted so that it accommodated both ends of the business. A curtain was drawn down the center, cutting the room in two. In one half were two beds on casters with rates and services clearly posted on a board between them.

The other half held a computer, a tele-link system, and a single chair.

“Did you take over Spindler’s business?”

“Four of us got together to do it. We figured, hell, somebody’s got to run the stables, and if it’s us, we can cut back on street time.” She smiled a little. “Be like, executives. Trolling for johns in the winter’s murder.”

“I just bet. Were you around the night Spindler was killed?”

“I figure I was around—in and out, you know, depending. I remember business was pretty good.” She took the single chair, stretched out her legs. “Wasn’t so freaking cold.”

“You got your book handy?”

Mandy’s eyes went sulky. “You got no need to poke into my books. I’m being straight.”

“Then tell me what you know, where you were. You remember,” Eve said before Mandy could deny it. “Even in this kind of flop, you don’t get your boss carved open on a nightly basis.”

“Sure I remember.” She jerked a shoulder. “I was catching a break when Lida found her and went nutso. Jesus, she screamed like a virgin, you know? Came screaming and crying and beating on my door. Said how the old bitch was dead and there was blood, so I told her to shut the fuck up and call the cops if she wanted to. I went back to bed.”

“You didn’t come in and check it out for yourself?”

“What for? If she was dead, fine and dandy. If she wasn’t, who cares?”

“How long did you work for her?”

“Six years.” Mandy yawned hugely. “Now I work for me.”

“You didn’t like her.”

“I hated her guts. Look, like I said to the other cop, to know her was to hate her. I didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, and I wouldn’t have cared if I did.”

“What cop did you talk to?”

“One of her kind.” She jerked up her chin in Peabody’s direction. “Then one of your kind. They didn’t make a big deal out of it. Why should you?”

“You don’t know my kind, Mandy. But I know yours.” She stepped closer, leaned down. “Woman runs a stable, she keeps some cash around. She deals in cash, and she doesn’t run out at night to make a deposit until the shift’s over. She was dead before that, and I don’t see anything on the report about any cash being found in this place.”

Mandy crossed her legs. “So, one of the cops helped himself. So the fuck what?”

“I think a cop’s going to be smart enough not to take the whole stash. I don’t think there was anything to take once they got here. Now, you either play straight with me, or I’ll take you and your book into interview and sweat it out of you. I don’t give a damn if you took her stash, but I can care about what happened in here that night.”

She waited a beat to make sure Mandy caught the full drift. “To review: Your pal came screaming to your door and told you what was up in here. Now, we both know you didn’t turn around and go back to bed. So let’s try that part again.”

Mandy studied Eve’s face, measured. A woman in her profession who intended to survive until retirement learned to read faces and attitudes. This cop, she decided, would push until she got her answers. “Somebody was going to take the money, so I did. Lida and I split it. Who cares?”

“You went in and looked