McGill fiddled with the wad of napkins. “I parked next to Leo’s car at like nine twenty-seven. I know that because when I saw his car, I was surprised that he was here already. So I looked at the time on my dash to make sure I wasn’t late. I didn’t recognize the car parked next to his. The silver Audi, I mean. Leo drives that old four-wheel-drive Bronco. I think it’s about as old as he is . . .” She blinked once, twice, then swallowed hard. “Was.”

“Did you have to unlock the door to come inside?”

McGill shook her head no. “But I didn’t think anything of it since the boss was here. I came inside. Stuck my purse in the locker I use. There’s a whole row of them by the coatrack at the back door.” She paused, reviewing the next moments before speaking again. “The first thing I saw was the two chairs with hands tied behind them.” She made a face. “I thought, What the hell? I walked over to the chairs and around in front of them, and there was Leo. I didn’t know the other man. It took me a minute to understand they were dead. I was like in shock or something. I kept thinking this can’t be real. No way.” Her hands sliced through the air, punctuating the statement.

“Did you touch either one of them—maybe to see if they were still breathing—or move anything near where they were seated?”

“No.” An adamant shake of her head. “I just stood there trying to get past the shock. I kept telling myself I should scream or do something, but I couldn’t move. Then I used my cell to call 911.”

“Did you work yesterday, Tara?”

She nodded. “I closed with Leo last night. I left about ten thirty.”

“Was there anyone besides you and Mr. Kurtz here at that time?”

“Only Lucky. He closed last night too.”

Falco came inside, the ME, Dr. Jeffrey Moore, and one of his assistants right behind him. Two steps behind the threesome were a pair of evidence techs. About time.

Kerri turned her attention back to McGill. “Lucky?”

“Lucky Vandiver. He’s in college and works here part time.” She rolled her eyes. “His family is like megarich, but his daddy insists he work a real job while he’s in college. I think his daddy and Leo are friends. The way I heard it, Leo hired Lucky to do the cleanup every night. He sweeps, mops, cleans the bathrooms. All the dreaded shit no one else wants to do. Lucky says his daddy likes torturing him, but—between you and me—he’s just a selfish, rich brat. Whatever his father hopes to gain by forcing him to work here, I think he’s wasting his time.”

Nothing wrong with teaching a kid to work, but Kerri could see how Lucky might not appreciate the lesson, particularly if he was on the spoiled side. “When did Lucky leave?”

“The same time as me. He always tries to talk me into letting him come over to my place for a drink.” She shook her head. “I made that mistake a couple of times. He’s a good time—if you know what I mean—but he likes the powder, and I am not into that stuff.”

“Powder?” Kerri knew what she meant, but she needed the woman to say it.

“Cocaine. He’s one of those social users. His parents would kill him if they knew.” She shrugged. “I swear, the guy’s an idiot. He’s got it all, and he does everything possible to screw it up.”

“Did Mr. Kurtz know about his drug use?”

Her eyes widened as she moved her head adamantly side to side. “No way. He would have fired him. He’s big-time anti–illegal drugs. Tobacco and alcohol are . . . were the only drugs he believed in.”

“Do you recall if the clothes Mr. Kurtz has on are the same ones he was wearing when you left last night?”

Her breath caught. “I didn’t think about it until you asked, but yes, definitely. He always wears blue on Sundays. For the customers, he said.” She smiled sadly. “His philosophy was that Sunday is the worst day of the week because you spend it dreading Monday.”

Kerri had spent her fair share of Sundays dreading Mondays. “You’re certain the navy trousers and light-blue shirt are the ones he wore yesterday?”

McGill nodded, then abruptly stopped. “He never got to go home. Someone must have come in last night after I left and done this. Maybe someone with the other guy.” McGill clasped a hand over her mouth and said, “Oh my God,” through her fingers. “If I’d been later leaving, I could be dead too. Maybe that other guy was just a late customer.”

Kerri didn’t bother explaining who the other victim was. No leaks. It was better that McGill didn’t know his identity. For now, anyway. His face would be plastered on the news soon enough. The next question was an awkward but necessary one. After all, the woman had used her cell phone to call 911, which meant she’d had it in her hand. “One more question, Ms. McGill. This one’s a bit sensitive, and I need your honest answer.”

She stared wide eyed at Kerri.

“Did you take any photos of the bodies?”

McGill’s weepy expression shifted to horror. “Oh my God, no! Who would do that?” She shuddered visibly. “I can’t even imagine.”

“You’d be surprised.” Kerri saw it all the time.

McGill pushed the cell phone lying on the counter toward Kerri. “Have a look for yourself.”

Since she’d offered, Kerri checked her call log, text log, and then her photos, recent as well as deleted. No pics of the victims. Just to be certain, one by one she tapped the woman’s three social media apps and viewed the last posts on each. Nothing since nine o’clock last night.

Kerri placed the phone on the counter and slid it back to its owner. “Thank you.”

“If we’re done,” McGill said, “I really, really need a drink.”

“Just a couple more steps.” Kerri pulled a clean page from her notepad. She placed the page and a pen on the counter. “I’d like you to make a list of the other employees and their phone numbers if you have them. Put a star next to the names of folks who have worked here the longest or were closest to Mr. Kurtz.”

McGill nodded and picked up the pen.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Kerri assured her as she slid off the stool.

She made a pass through the public space. The bar was vintage, like an old speakeasy from a century ago, with lots of wood, glass, and leather. The mirrored shelving behind the bar was loaded with classy-looking, high-end bottles of whiskeys and other liquors. Beyond the bar was a small kitchen. A side hall led to the restrooms. The room hosted intimate groupings of tables scattered about. Display cases of cigars, pipes, and tobacco blends. The entire atmosphere was very European, from the wood floors to the coffered ceiling. A large fireplace stood at the far end of the space. This was no typical smoke shop. This was a gathering place for the wealthy and famous of Birmingham to indulge in their habits.