"Come on, let's see what they remember." Brock unfolded from the Crown Vic they drove while on duty. He glanced over at the small coffee shop. "What's the time stamp on this one?"
"Ahh… 8:30 a.m."
He flicked his cell phone, waking the home screen, so he could check the time. The morning crew might still be there. They waited for traffic and then crossed the street. The little bell on the door tinkled above them when they opened the door.
Jordan always made first contact with witnesses, so he drifted to the left to look at the pastries as his partner engaged the young woman behind the counter. He listened to the entire conversation, and tried his damnedest not to glower or hover—Jordan’s descriptions, not his.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember the order, but we are always slammed that time of day."
"That's okay, Autumn. Maybe a photo of the guy would help?" Jordan smiled at the young woman, and he could have sworn the girl sighed. His partner produced a photo they'd cropped from an on-line magazine. The picture featured Samuel with a relaxed happy smile.
"Oh, that's Sam. He's in here a couple times a week with Ava. They are regulars. Always together, you don't see one without the other. I must have missed them yesterday, but it was a zoo in here."
"Do you know where Ava or Sam live?"
"Ummm… no. But Ava works over at that store..." The girl held up a finger and turned toward the kitchen and yelled, "What store does Ava work at?"
A disembodied female yell came back through the open door. "Ava who?"
"Ava, tall, long brown hair, killer clothes… ah, extra-large, non-fat, steamed with cinnamon, no sugar, one Splenda."
The disembodied voice answered, "Oh, yeah. The Black Crane, I think."
Autumn turned around and giggled. He rolled his eyes, but Jordan smiled down at the girl. "That's right, she works at the Black Crane. Very expensive stuff in there."
Jordan glanced at him. "Are you going to get some of those pastries or just drool?"
"You paying?"
"What day is it?" Jordan glanced at his watch.
"Wednesday, you pay."
The girl behind the counter laughed. "Umm… it's Thursday."
Damn, was it Thursday already? He’d lost a day somewhere. "Thursday." He acknowledged the correct date and smiled at her. Her eyes rounded, and she blushed from the chest up.
"Thursday. You buy." Jordan slapped him on the back and pointed to a decadent looking cinnamon roll. "Mine."
"Two of those, please, and two of your largest black coffees but leave room for cream and sugar.” He’d already found the condiment bar where they could doctor their coffee.
They parked in the parking lot in front of the Black Crane, a high-end retail shop housed in a converted warehouse in the newly gentrified area of the Inner Harbor. He’d driven through this area a couple months ago, six months at the most, and the store hadn’t been in operation then, so it had just recently opened its doors. He didn’t get over this way much. Most of his days were spent in the bowels of the Southern District. He sniggered to himself watching the well-dressed patrons teeter in on extremely high heels. The one man he saw enter the store wore a suit that probably cost more than his truck. Strike probably. Insert definitely. His truck was older than dirt, but it ran well.
He shoved the last of his cinnamon roll into his mouth and chased it down with a big swig of coffee. Crumpling the bag and using it as a napkin to remove the remnants of cream cheese frosting from his fingers, he pointed at a fancy European vehicle that drove into the lot. “That damn thing cost more than we both make in a year.”
Jordan made a polite noise of acknowledgement. He swallowed his food before he spoke, “There is a lot of new money coming into Hope City.”
“So it would seem. Shall we go see Miss Ava?”
Jordan grabbed a napkin from the glove box and wiped his fingers, drank the last of his coffee and opened his car door.
Something wasn't lining up in his head. He waited for Jordan to look at him before he said, “Seems a little strange, doesn’t it?” Jordan waited for him to come around the vehicle before they started across the parking lot.
"What's that?"
“What is a multimillionaire doing with someone who works at a clothing store? Hell, what is a multimillionaire doing with someone who works, period? And let’s take this one step further. What is a married multimillionaire doing with a young woman who works at a clothing store?” Brock opened the door and let Jordan go in first.
The air inside the store held a distinct citrus note. The lemony aroma drifted on the same air as the soft classical music playing through the sound system. He snorted when he saw a waiter wearing a tux with tails carrying a silver tray with champagne and glasses piled on top. "Holy fuck. I thought this was a clothing store.”
Jordan gave him a look that told him to shut the fuck up. He laughed anyway.
“It is. Only the clothes here aren’t on racks.” Jordan motioned to the far corner. A stream of reed-thin women paraded past a conversation group. An old, plump, woman at the center of the couch raised a single finger. The model stopped, turned, struck a pose, and then turned again before she exited. “I think she just purchased that outfit.” Jordan grabbed his bicep and dragged him away… probably so he didn't say something they'd both regret.
“Dude, I don’t think they sell Levi’s in here.” He trailed his partner as he semi-stared at a god-awful, puffy, silver contraption one woman was wearing.
Jordan laughed at him when he almost tripped over a low couch. "I can’t take you anywhere."
"Obviously not," he mumbled and gave up trying to determine what the woman was wearing. Instead, he focused on where they were going. The rich wood tones and jewel color fabrics reminded him of a throne room. Not that he’d ever seen a throne room, but he’d bet royalty would be comfortable in this store.
They approached a low counter where a gentleman in a suit sat, studiously ignoring them. He glanced at Jordan as he reached in his jacket, whipped out his credentials, and shoved a face full of his badge at the man. “We’ll talk to your manager, now.”
The man withdrew several inches, raised his nose, and scrunched his face, as if he smelled a horrible stench, then his eyes dropped to his identification. He pushed his chair away and stood, pulling delicately on his jacket before he flicked away some invisible lint. “I am the manager.”
He glanced at Jordan who shrugged. That was his go-ahead to take over the interview move. Fine by him. “You have an employee by the name of Ava. We need to speak to her.”
The man’s eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Ava? She’s with a customer at this time. Can you come back?”
He leveled an ice-cold stare at the smaller man. “Now, or I’ll put you in cuffs and take you downtown for interfering with a murder investigation.” Not that he would ever do that, but the threat was worth the response. The little man almost shit his britches.
The man reached down to the lapel of his jacket and pushed a button on the small mic affixed to it. “Miss Dall, you are required at my location immediately. Miss Simms, please take over for Miss Dall.” The man flicked his eyes toward him. “She’ll be on her way momentarily. May I show you to a secluded area?”