Body Work by Sara Paretsky

just have been the bright lights on the stage. “Your cousin needs to get a handle on her imagination. I don’t comp drinks here. I know she’s young, but this is a bad economy. I can take my pick of waitstaff—I don’t need Petra Warshawski.”
    She turned back to Finchley, leaning so close that the white feathers of her corsage almost tickled his nose. “Detective, I’m sorry Vic is trying to involve you in her cousin’s problems when everyone knows it was that disturbed guy who must have shot poor Nadia.”
    “Chad, you mean. Yes, we’ve heard about him. We’ll keep our eyes open. A last name would help.”
    Olympia gave her best imitation of a silly, ignorant female, spreading her hands with a little hiccup of a laugh. “We don’t seem to go in for last names here. I only learned poor Nadia’s from you tonight. I don’t know Roger’s—or Rodney’s, if Vic insists—and I don’t know Chad’s, either.”
    While Officer Milkova took Olympia back to her office, the Finch looked at me. “You may be telling the truth, Vic. Guy may be Rodney, not Roger. He may have wandering hands, and she may comp his drinks. But I don’t have the resources to check all that out unless it turns out that Nadia Guaman was shot with a nine-millimeter HK . . . She’s very good, Ms. Olympia Koilada.”
    “I guess. Depending on what good means to you.” Smooth as silk lingerie—good like that, I guess. “There’s some relationship between Olympia and Rodney, more than customer and patron. I don’t know if he’s selling drugs here, or is blackmailing her, but it’s important to her that he be kept happy.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind, Vic,” Finchley said, his voice tight. “Right now, the most likely person of interest is this guy Chad. Once we’ve found him, we’ll see if we need to look for Rodney, if your guy’s name is Rodney.”
    I got to my feet. “Good night, Terry. Let me know how it all turns out.”
    “You have to sign a statement, Warshawski, like everyone else.”
    “When you have something for me to sign, you know where to find me.”
    I climbed off the shallow stage and started toward the exit, but before I could get out the front door Olympia hustled me into a cubbyhole behind the bar that served as her office. There was just room for her computer table and a stool. She stood so close to me that I could smell the mix of sweat, cigarettes, and Opium in her body stocking.
    “Why can’t you mind your own business? The cops are on the trail of this guy Chad. Why did you have to drag one of my best customers out for them to sniff at?”
    “Because he’s a violent guy. Sports a weapon, isn’t afraid to show it in an effort to intimidate. Not that I really care, but what hold does he have on you?”
    “You’re the one who’s a problem in my club. Ever since you started coming here, I’ve had nothing but trouble.”
    “Save your femmy ignorance for Rodney. It won’t work on Terry Finchley, and it definitely won’t work on me. You’re the one who said controversy was great for your business. For all I know, you’re the person who put glass in the Artist’s paintbrush.”
    “How dare you make an accusation like that against me in my own club!”
    I leaned against the thin plywood wall. “Olympia,” I said. “I’m so tired I’m about to fall over. I don’t care what you’re hiding or doing as long as it’s not something criminal that might hurt my cousin. But don’t try to jack me around. I don’t have the patience or the time for it.”
    I pried open the door, but Olympia grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry. I’m beside myself, I—Nadia getting shot like that—it’s so horrible.”
    “Okay. Try to think clearly. Tell me what’s really on your mind. Why are you protecting Rodney but sacrificing Chad, who also seems to be a good customer, one who pays for his own drinks?”
    “If I thought Rodney had killed Nadia—”
    “So you agree that’s his first name. What about his last