"Robb, J D - In Death 12 - Judgment In Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

face. The dark glasses he wore against the glare of the sun only added to the
look of slick elegance.
And when he slipped them off as she stepped out, the brilliant blue of
his eyes met hers. He tucked the glasses in his pocket, lifted an eyebrow.
"Good morning, Lieutenant."
"I had a bad feeling when I walked in here. It's just your kind of place,
isn't it? Why do you have to own every damn thing?"
"It was a boyhood dream." His voice cruised over Ireland, picked up the
music of it. He glanced past her to the police seal. "It appears we've both been
inconvenienced."
"Did you have to tell the sweeper I was your wife?"
"You are my wife," he said easily and shifted his gaze back to her face.
"A fact which pleases me daily." He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her
wedding ring before she could tug it free again.
"No touching," she hissed at him, which made him smile.
"That's not what you said a few hours ago. In fact -- "
"Shut up, Roarke." She glanced around, though none of the cops working
the scene was outside or close enough to hear. "This is a police investigation."
"So I'm told."
"And who told you?"
"The head of the maintenance team who found the body. He did call the
police first," he pointed out. "But it's natural he'd report the incident to me.
What happened?"
There was no point in griping because his business had tangled around
hers. Again. She tried to console herself that he could and would help her cut
through some of the muck of paperwork.
"Do you have a bartender by the name of Kohli? Taj Kohli?"
"I have no idea. But I can find out." He took a slim memo book out of his
breast pocket, keyed in a request for data. "Is he dead?"
"As dead gets."
"Yes, he was mine," Roarke confirmed, and the Irish in his voice had
taken on a cold note. "For the past three months. Part time. Four nights a week.
He had a family."
"Yes, I know." Such things mattered to him, and it always touched her
heart. "He was a cop," Eve said. This time his brows lifted. "Didn't have that
data in your little scan, did you?"
"No. It seems my personnel director was careless. That will be fixed. Am
I allowed inside?"
"Yeah, in a minute. How long have you owned the place?"
"Four years, more or less."
"How many employees, full- and part-time?"
"I'll get you all the data, Lieutenant, and answer all pertinent
questions." Annoyance gleamed in his eyes as he reached for the door himself.
"But now, I'd like to see my place."
He pushed inside, scanned the destruction, then focused in on the thick
black bag being loaded on what the death attendants called a stroller.
"How was he killed?"
"Thoroughly," Eve said, then sighed when Roarke simply turned and stared
at her. "It was ugly, okay? Metal bat." She watched Roarke look toward the bar
and the spray of blood sparkling on glass like an incomprehensible painting.