"The patrons helped to set up?" Parker interrupted.
"The patrons who are also friends, yes," Kit explained, glad that Marek had hold of her. "Angie went around, as usual, opening windows to swap last night's air for today's. It was about fifteen minutes later that she got around to opening up The Red and..."
"Red? What's wine got to do with this?" Parker asked.
"Nothing," Chucky, Kit said, and didn't. "The Red is the dance room," she pointed. "Angie opened the doors and voila: very dead man in very big tray. She called the cops, then me."
"Why you?" Parker asked with a bemused wiggle of chin and brow.
"Me friend. Me private eye."
Parker's chest spasmed with a short soundless laugh. "And are you a dyke too?"
Before Kit could move an inch, Marek slid his arm down over her shoulder and pulled her snugly back against his body. "Yeah she is, Chuck," he said, "but only on the full moon. And, mate, you should see her lesbian fur and fangs."
Kit held her breath, while Mr Oblivious said, "Marek, please don't call me Chuck."
"Sorry Charlie, I forgot how much you hate it," Marek shrugged. "But do me a favour too, would you? Don't use the word dyke again. Or lesbian, for that matter."
"What?"
"Unless it is relevant to the investigation, the sexuality of anyone you come across in this establishment, or in connection with this case, is none of your business."
"What?" Parker repeated, casting his arms out to emphasise his astonishment. "You don't think these women are relevant?"
"Oh sure, the women may well be," Marek agreed, "but at this stage of the proceedings, I doubt the lesbians are."
"O'Malley!" bellowed one of the lesbians over in the booth.
"Yes, Rabbit?" Kit called back, as everyone turned in her direction.
"If we can't have beer, can Angie make more coffee, please? We're havin withdrawals."
Marek beckoned Angie back to the bar. "We could all do with a very strong brew," he said.
Kit watched Parker watch the approach of the statuesque Angie Nichols. Interestingly, Chucky seemed to get smaller the closer she came, despite doing the small-man back-stretch to compensate. Like it would make a difference!
Parker looked Angie over - up to her head and down to her feet - taking in her large-boned but trim and taut frame, and her hair which this week was silver and purple. His expression registered that she was, so far and without doubt, the likeliest suspect in the murder about which he knew nothing yet, apart from the fact there'd been one and it was strange.
Angie gazed down at Parker with complete disinterest. "Espresso or cappuccino?"
"Flat white," he replied. "Then perhaps you'd like to give me your version of events."
"My version? You mean you want to know what happened."
"Yes," Parker said impatiently.
"Why? Who are you?" Angie asked, though it was obvious to Kit that she already knew.
"Senior Sergeant Parker. I'm in charge of the investigation."
"Oh, right," Angie drawled, as she slipped behind the bar again. "God, you took your time. I'd have thought the investigation was nearly over. Everyone else has been here for hours."
"Ruth wants you, I think," Marek stated before anyone else could get a smart word in.
"Who?" Parker asked impatiently. "Oh, Dr Hudson," he amended.
"Sorry to interrupt you Senior Sergeant," the forensic pathologist smiled, "but I'm about to leave. There's nothing more I can do until the body is delivered for autopsy. I've slotted it in for six this evening. Cathy and your new bloke will do the honours with me."
"That's fine, Doc," Parker nodded. "Anything you can tell me now?"
"Only the obvious."
"Which is?" Parker looked expectant.
"He bled to death Chu... Charlie." Kit raised an eyebrow.
"Really, O'Malley? Well, if you don't mind, I'll wait for the expert's opinion."
"He bled to death," Ruth repeated straight-faced. "I'd say the vic was tied face-down-"
"Face down?"
"Yes. It wouldn't work otherwise, Senior Sergeant."
"What wouldn't work?" Parker asked.
Ruth smiled as she accepted the coffee that Angie offered. "Ordinarily," she said, "even with the major arteries severed, as they were in this case, a person would die before complete exsanguination. So, in order to deplete the body of most of its circulation volume before death occurred and stopped the heart pumping, a body - just like this one was - would have to be unconscious or restrained face down when his jugular and both femoral arteries were cut. The tray caught the flow but moments before death he was rolled onto his back."
"How do you figure that?" Parker asked.
"There is a degree of lividity, but not much, in the gluteus max and in the heels which are hanging lower than the rest of the body," Ruth explained. "That tells me the heart was still beating, but not for long, when he was posed like ET phoning home."
"That's not ET, it's Disco Man," Marek offered.
"God, here we go again," Angie moaned.
Parker looked from Ruth to Marek and then puzzled. "It's a signature," he said.
"Of what?" Ruth asked.
"Hel-lo!" Parker crowed. "Am I the only one on-line here?"
"More than likely," Kit muttered.
Parker waved towards The Red. "This is obviously a secret ritual-killing of some poor bastard by a bunch of raving bloody lezzos," he pronounced, giving Kit a cursory sneer before looking pointedly at his number one suspect - the rather surprised Angie Nichols.
Kit prepared a clench-fisted launch from her bar stool, until she realised that Marek's hold on her was only half-hearted. She settled down before he decided to let her go through with it.
"That's a moderately idiotic assumption," Ruth commented.
"You reckon?" Parker said.
"Oh Chuck, you ignorant little hetero," Kit sighed, in a tone so calm it was scary.
Marek released her completely and shoved his hands in his pockets; while Angie's low-voiced "Katy" was a definite warning - but for whom?
Kit smiled... like a Taipan. "I'm only going to explain this to you once, Senior Sergeant," she said. "By their very nature lesbian rituals don't actually involve men in any way, shape or form; nor in any condition - dressed, undressed, dead or alive. That's the best thing about them, our rituals I mean, they are exclusive to and for women. They are the ultimate women's business - but there's nothing secret about that."
"Well, I'd like to point out," Angie smiled, "that it's also not much of a secret if one of the alleged raving lezzos calls the cops."
"On top of which," Marek said, "apart from being quite prematurely dead, Disco Man is not some 'poor bastard'. That there is Gerry Anders, head thug of the Riley clan and youngest nephew of Queen Marj herself. And he may be late but I doubt he'll be much lamented."
"No way!" Parker exclaimed, scurrying back to take a decent look at his homicide victim.
"You knew who he was?" Kit said. "Why did you ask us...? Oh, okay; dumb question."