His name was Roy Chancey, and he was just as pissed to be hauled out of bed as he was with the break-in. "Probably kids. Mostly is." He scratched the paunch of his belly, yawned, and gave her a good whiff of breath that had yet to be refreshed. "No, it wasn't kids. Give me your whereabouts between seven and nine this morning." "In my Christing bed, where d'ya think? Don't close 'til three. Time I get locked up and hit the sheets, it's damn near four. I sleep days. Nothing out there but sun and traffic days anyway." "You live upstairs." " 'S'right. Got a dance studio second floor, apartments on three and four." "Alone? You live alone, Chancey?" " 'S'right. Look, why'd I wanna break into my own place?" "Good question. Do you know this woman?" She showed him Trudy's ID photo. She gave him credit for taking a good look. Cops and bartenders, Eve thought. They knew how to make people. "Nope. She the one got pulled in here?" "Nope.
