“You like that stuff? Opera?” she asked when he flashed a grin.
“Hate it. Can you think of anything more tedious than some big-chested woman screaming in German half the night?”
Eve thought it over. “Nope.”
“But there you are. Tastes vary.” His smile faded as he joined her at the little nook under the kitc
hen window. “I heard about Sharon on the news this morning. I’ve been expecting someone to come by. It’s horrible. I can’t believe she’s dead.”
“You knew her well?”
“We’ve been neighbors more than three years—and occasionally we worked together. Now and again, one of our clients would request a trio, and we’d share the business.”
“And when it wasn’t business, did you still share?”
“She was a beautiful woman, and she found me attractive.” He moved his silk-clad shoulders, his eyes shifting to the tinted glass of the window as a tourist tram streamed by. “If one of us was in the mood for a busman’s holiday, the other usually obliged.” He smiled again. “That was rare. Like working in a candy store, after a while you lose your taste for chocolate. She was a friend, lieutenant. And I was very fond of her.”
“Can you tell me where you were the night of her death between midnight and three A.M. ?”
His brows shot up. If it hadn’t just occurred to him that he could be considered a suspect, he was an excellent actor. Then again, Eve thought, people in his line of work had to be.
“I was with a client, here. She stayed overnight.”
“Is that usual?”
“This client prefers that arrangement. Lieutenant, I’ll give you her name if absolutely necessary, but I’d prefer not to. At least until I’ve explained the circumstances to her.”
“It’s murder, Mr. Monroe, so it’s necessary. What time did you bring your client here?”
“About ten. We had dinner at Miranda’s, the sky café above Sixth.”
“Ten.” Eve nodded, and saw the moment he remembered.
“The security camera in the elevator.” His smile was all charm again. “It’s an antiquated law. I suppose you could bust me, but it’s hardly worth your time.”
“Any sexual act in a secured area is a misdemeanor, Mr. Monroe.”
“Charles, please.”
“It’s a nitpick, Charles, but they could suspend your license for six months. Give me her name, and we’ll clear it up as quietly as possible.”
“You’re going to lose me one of my best clients,” he muttered. “Darleen Howe. I’ll get you the address.” He rose to get his electronic datebook, then read off the information.
“Thanks. Did Sharon talk about her clients with you?”
“We were friends,” he said wearily. “Yeah, we talked shop, though it’s not strictly ethical. She had some funny stories. I’m more conventional in style. Sharon was . . . open to the unusual. Sometimes we’d get together for a drink, and she’d talk. No names. She had her own little terms for them. The emperor, the weasel, the milkmaid, that kind of thing.”
“Was there anyone she mentioned who worried her, made her uneasy? Someone who might have been violent?”
“She didn’t mind violence, and no, nobody worried her. One thing about Sharon, she always felt in control. That’s the way she wanted it because she said she’d been under someone else’s control most of her life. She had a lot of bitterness toward her family. She told me once she’d never planned on making a career out of professional sex. She’d only gotten into it to make her family crazy. But then, after she got into it, she decided she liked it.”
He moved his shoulders again, sipped from his glass. “So she stayed in the life, and killed two birds with one fuck. Her phrase.”
He lifted his eyes again. “Looks like one of the fucks killed her.”
“Yeah.” Eve rose, tucked her recorder away. “Don’t take any out-of-town trips, Charles. I’ll be in touch.”
“That’s it?”