Fear City (15 page)

Not expecting any results, he pushed up on the garage window. It moved. No way. He pushed harder and it slid up. Talk about luck. But he supposed if any window was going to be left unlocked, it would be in the garage. Who checked their garage windows?

He levered himself up and slid inside. He closed it behind him and crouched beside the Lexus where he listened to the ticking of its cooling engine for a few seconds while he eyed the glowing edges of the door into the house. His palms were sweating despite the cold. This was a big step. An armed home invasion was nothing to take lightly. If things went south he could be sent away for a long, long time.

But he had to know about Cristin, and that required a one-on-one with the lady of this house.

He pulled the Glock and checked the doorknob. It turned. He took a deep breath and charged through a dark utility room into the kitchen where he waved the pistol in Rebecca Olesen's face and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“DO NOT MOVE, DO NOT SCREAM, DO NOT DO ANYTHING UNLESS I TELL YOU TO!”

She screamed and dropped her wineglass. It shattered on the floor.

“I said QUIET!” He lowered his voice. “I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here for answers. But I
will
hurt you if you try holding back on me.”

“Y-you were at the office yesterday, with that fake delivery.”

“Right.”

“You were looking for someone I'd never heard of.”

“You've never heard of Cristin Ott?”

“No! I swear!”

Jack wished he'd brought the Ruger. Then he could make that nice ratcheting sound as he cocked the hammer. Since that wasn't an option with a Glock, he lowered the barrel and put a slug into the floor. She jumped and screamed.

“Okay! I know her, I know her, I know her!”

“That's better. She worked for you, right?”

She nodded.

“Did you kill her?”

Her eyes bulged. “What? Nobody killed Cristin, especially me! Why would I do that? I love Cristin. Everybody loves Cristin!”

Jack noted her use of the present tense.

“Somebody didn't.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Might as well lay it on her.

“You've heard of the Ditmars Dahlia?”

“What? Of course—” Her jaw dropped. “Oh, no. Oh, NO!”

And then her eyes rolled up and she crumbled. Jack wasn't able to catch her in time. Lucky for her—and Jack as well—she didn't land on the broken wineglass when she hit the floor. The last thing he needed was to have to call in the EMTs.

He put the Glock away—he didn't think he'd need it—and squatted beside her, wondering what to do. She wasn't faking this. She was really out.

Fortunately she didn't stay out long. Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to get up.

“Please tell me you're lying,” she whispered as Jack helped her to her feet.

“I wish I were.”

He guided her to the living room, where she collapsed in a sobbing heap on the couch, moaning an endless stream of, “No-no-no…”

Jack sat in a chair across from her and watched. She wasn't acting. She hadn't known, hadn't even suspected. Finally she pulled herself together and looked at him with teary eyes.

“If you'd told me this yesterday we could have avoided all this drama.”

“I didn't know yesterday. Only found out today.”

He'd found out so much today.

“How?”

“I got a look at her body.”

“But—?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy. Look, I'm asking the questions—”

“I'll tell you everything I know, but I need to understand some things first. How do you know her?”

Christ, she wouldn't stop.

“From high school.”

“It's more than that. You wouldn't sneak into the morgue and then burst in here with a gun just because you happened to know her in high school. Were you her lover?”

Jeez.

“For a while, yes.”

A faint smile. “Only on Sundays, right?”

That jolted him.

“How did you—?”

“Because she refused to work Sundays. Not for religious reasons but because of that old movie.”

“Oh, hell.
Never on Sunday
.”

He'd heard of it but had never seen it. Another clue he'd missed.

“Right. You are a very lucky man to be chosen by her.”

Yeah, he was. Or had been. But …

“I just wish she'd told me…”

“About her profession? How would that have sat with you?”

Jack didn't want to get into any of that.

“Never mind me. Who would do that to Cristin?”

The tears welled up again. “I don't know … I can't imagine.”

“Had to be one of her johns.”

“We call them ‘clients' and we screen them and—”

“Is Senator D'Amato one of your ‘clients'?”

He saw a reflexive retreat in her expression, as if she was ready to say that was confidential, but after an instant's hesitation she shook her head.

“No. Never. Why do you ask?”

If the police were pursuing that sub rosa, he didn't want to queer it.

“I can't say. Anybody famous on her list?”

“Some. No one you'd see in
People
, but their names pop up in the papers now and again.”

“I want to see that list.”

Again that instant of retreat, then a curt nod. “I'll print it out.”

She rose and Jack followed her across the living room to the little office he'd peeked in on earlier.

“I'd figured you'd fight me on this.”

She whirled, her face snarling with fury, and jabbed a finger at him as she spoke through her teeth.

“I want this animal found. And if you find him I want you to bring him to me. I want you to leave him with me. Loss of his hands and acid in his face will be the least of his worries!”

You don't know about the arrows, he thought. You don't want to know.

“You can have what's left of him after I'm through.”

She grinned then. A scary grimace, utterly devoid of humor. “Good.”

She sat down before the computer and lit up the screen.

“You keep it on computer? What happened to the little black book?”

“I have one of those too.”

She typed a string of asterisks into a password box, did some typing, and soon the name
Danaë
appeared at the top of the page over a list of names in alphabetical order.

“Danaë? We're looking for Cristin.”

“Danaë was her working name.”

She hit a couple more keys and the printer began to whir. Less than a minute later she handed him three typed sheets. The first name was Edward Burkes. The second was Roman Trejador. Jack noticed a fair number of lines with both a male and a female name.

“Couples?”

“Danaë was our couples specialist. She was bi, you know.”

He nodded. “She told me.”

She'd told him that during college she'd even made it with Jack's old high school girlfriend.

“Some of the more open married couples like to invite in a third to spice up their relationship. Danaë was happy to oblige—for an extra fee, of course.”

“Oh, Christ. Couples … I never guessed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spotted her one day and, on a lark, I followed her around. I saw her get into a limo with a middle-aged couple and figured, there she goes, planning another event.”

“It's a great cover. Danaë built up quite a couples following.”

“Let's call her Cristin.”

“We try to stick to working names at the office, so it's automatic. But yes, sure.”

He wanted to punch himself.

“Never on Sunday … only on Sunday … never available weeknights … event planning … why didn't I see it?”

“Don't be too hard on yourself. Looking from the outside, it might seem obvious. But from the inside, this was a girl you knew from high school. Escort simply wasn't on your radar.”

“You've got that right. Any Arabs on this list?”

“No. We have a few Arab clients but they're not Cristin's.”

“Who was the last guy to…?” Words failed for a second. “Employ her?”

She didn't have to look at the list. “Wednesday night. Roman Trejador, one of her regulars.”

Number two on the list.

“Could he—?”

She shook her head. “No. He's been her client for years. Calls for her almost weekly. She likes him. Good tipper. Besides, she called me when she got home to let me know she was in.”

“Really? Do they all do that?”

“Many of my girls do. They know I care and that I worry.”

How weird. A maternal madam.

“So someone grabbed her between calling you Wednesday night and noon on Thursday.”

“Noon? How do you—?”

“We were scheduled for lunch and she never showed, never called. That wasn't like her.”

“I know. I was worried sick about her when she didn't answer her phone yesterday. I was trying to confirm a date for her that night. The client called later to say she never showed.”

He glanced at the top name on the list. “That would be this Edward Burkes.”

“Another regular.” She sobbed. “Poor Cristin. I can't imagine anyone doing that to her.”

“And no Arabs?”

“That's the second time you've asked that. Why? Do you know something?”

“I wish I did.”

She rose and slipped past him. “I need that wine.”

Jack knew exactly how she felt.

She ignored the broken glass and spilled wine and removed two more glasses from a cabinet.

“You want some?”

“Got any beer?”

“Afraid not.”

“Then wine is fine.”

Not really. He wasn't a wine fan but any port in a storm. And this was one major shit storm.

But how weird was this scene? A little while ago he'd been shouting and pointing a gun in her face. Now she was pouring him wine. Surreal.

“How did Cristin get involved with you?” he said.

“Referral. A lot of my girls do modeling too, and they often meet FIT students. She and Cristin wound up in a threesome and my girl was impressed by her enthusiasm. She suggested Cristin give us a call. She came in for an interview, said she'd try it, and was an instant success.”

She handed Jack a glass. He took a sip. Kind of puckering but it didn't totally suck.

“What qualifies as ‘success' in your, um, industry?”

“Callbacks. One date with Danaë—as she'd decided to call herself—and they all wanted another. Well, almost all.”

That surprised Jack.

“Who wouldn't?”

She shrugged. “Cristin was uninhibited but not kinky. No B-and-D, no S-and-M, no rough stuff, no anal, no bareback. If you were into that, then Danaë was not your gal.”

Jack found himself nodding. Even with him, Cristin had always insisted on a condom.

She was staring at him. “How did you become involved with her?”

“We bumped into each other a couple of years ago. She'd been my girlfriend's best friend back in high school. We had dinner, then went back to her place. After a tequila or two she said, ‘Now let's fuck.'”

Rebecca laughed. “That sounds like her.” She sipped. “I take it you broke up?”

Jack nodded. “A few months back.”

“Why?”

“She was afraid I was getting too attached.”

“Were you?”

“Probably. Hard not to.”

Rebecca's face scrinched up and tears began to slide down her cheeks.

“I know,” she said through a sob.

And then it all became clear.

“You and Cristin?”

Another sob and a nod. “For a very short time.”

Jack sipped in silence, at a loss for words.

When she pulled herself together with a deep shudder, Jack said, “I hate to ask you this, but could Cristin have known something she shouldn't have known?”

“What do you mean?”

“According to the medical examiner, she wasn't tortured just for fun—it was an interrogation.”

“Oh, God. I don't know. She never mentioned anything to me. What could she know?”

“Maybe someone said something he shouldn't have during sex. I don't see her as the blackmailing type but—”

“No! Never!”

“Okay, then. But think on it. What could she have known that someone would torture her for?” Jack couldn't get the
DAMATO
image out of his mind. “If you come up with something—anything—write it down. I'll call you every day to check.”

He gulped his wine.

“Gotta go.” He folded the list and shoved it into his back pocket. “I'll leave by the front. You should lock your garage window.”

She frowned. “Really? I don't recall ever
un
locking it.”

“That's how I got in.”

“Are you going to tell the police who the Dahlia is?”

“Already have.”

Her eyes widened. “When?”

“Around noon. I don't think it's hit the news yet.”

“The police will be tracing her every move. I've got some housecleaning to do.”

“Your computer?”

“Paper records too. It's a cold night. Good time for a fire.”

He left her, exited through the front door, and cut across the lawn. He'd just reached the hedgerow where Ralph waited when two dark forms darted from the shadows and grabbed him by the arms.

“Hey!”

After the initial shock wore off, he struggled and kicked at the two silent men but could not free his arms.

“Bugger! He's just a kid,” one of them said with a British accent.

“Well, we're taking him anyway.”

They were strong as hell and, despite his struggles, easily dragged him to the black van parked across the street. The side door opened and he was pushed inside and pinned to the floor while his wallet and his Glock were removed from his pockets. After his wrists and ankles were bound with plastic zip ties, he was hauled to a sitting position. A shadowy figure swiveled in a chair to face him.