Lust, Money & Murder (4 page)

He set the comp card down on the coffee table, then looked into her eyes. “I know I don’t have to tell you how competitive the modeling profession is, Ellen.”

“It’s Elaine.”

“Right. Elaine. To make it in this business, you have to bring out your true self, your uniqueness.” He motioned to her. “You know what I mean?”

Elaine nodded.

“The camera picks up what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, your...
attitude
. That’s really what it’s all about.
Attitude
.” He moved his hands a lot when he talked.

He glanced back down at her stomach. It seemed like every time he looked there his droopy mustache gave a little twitch.

“With my personal coaching,” he went on, “I bring out the model’s uniqueness.” He peered down at her knee, then reached out and put his hand there. Gazing into her eyes again, he said, “Would you like to receive personal coaching, Elaine?”

“Well...” She wanted to brush his hand away. “I’m not sure I—”

“Would you like to go on photo shoots in the Caribbean? In Paris? In LA?”

“I—”

“To own expensive clothes? To have so much money you can buy whatever you want without giving it a second thought?”

His hand slid up her thigh. Elaine looked down at it, unable to move. She abruptly rose.

“I don’t like you touching me,” she blurted. “I’m only sixteen.”

He looked up at her, frowning with disapproval. “You’re acting like you’re twelve. Professional models have to be mature.”

For a second, Elaine felt an impulse to repress what she was feeling and try to act more “mature,” but then she realized it was just more manipulation. Everything was crystal clear to her now.

“This agency is just a scam,” she said. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen those other girls—”

“What other girls?”

“The others...” Elaine realized that she had no concrete evidence of anything this slimy man did. “I want my money back. I spent two thousand dollars here, and I want it back!”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

“Really? Then I think I’ll go to the police and tell them what you just did to me.”

“And what was that?” he said, raising his eyebrow again.

“You...” She realized she had very little to say
. He touched my knee.

“Yes?” he said.

“I’ll—I’ll tell my
father
what you did. He’s six-three and weighs two hundred and fifty pounds. He’s a construction worker.”

Mr. Eskew’s dark complexion lost a little of its color. He watched her for a few seconds.

“There’s no reason to make threats,” he said, cordially. “At Rising Star, we guarantee satisfaction.” He stepped behind his desk and crouched to one of the cabinets. She heard clicking. It sounded like he was opening a safe.

“Two thousand dollars, you said?”

“That’s right.” Elaine was sure this was some kind of trick. She couldn’t believe he would actually refund her money.

He shut the safe and placed two bundles of $100 bills on the desk, then pushed them towards her.

She stared at them.

“Go ahead. Take it.”

She picked them up before he could change his mind, putting both bundles in her purse.

“I hope you see now that we are a reputable agency, and that you will tell others so. Just because your personal expectations weren’t met, it doesn’t mean the same will hold true for other girls.”

* * *

When Elaine reached the lobby, she saw that it was still pouring with rain outside, and then realized that she had left her umbrella in Mr. Eskew’s office. She wasn’t about to go back and get it.

She flew out the door and dashed down to the bus stop. By the time she reached the shelter, she was soaked to the skin. But she was grinning ear to ear.

She had gotten all the money back! Every last dollar!

Her father would be proud of her. He had been right all along. He would have the satisfaction of saying “I told you so,” but at least she got the money back.

As she waited for the bus, she began to worry. Something was bothering her. It felt too easy. She glanced up and down the rainy street. What if Mr. Eskew called some thug to intercept her and steal the money back?

Making sure no one was watching, she took the bundles from her purse and slid them into the front pockets of her jeans.

The bus soon arrived. Elaine took a seat in the back and worried all the way home, glancing out the rear window every so often, afraid someone might be following along in a car.

When she reached her stop, she asked the driver to wait for a second while she stepped out and checked the road behind the bus, but no car was following.

She quickly made her way home. She didn’t live in the kind of neighborhood where it was safe to carry more than $10 around in your purse. But then, nobody expected her to have any money, and everyone on her block was terrified of Patrick Brogan.

Elaine found her father in his usual position, sitting in front of the TV set, a beer in his hand.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” He looked more closely at her. “You’re soaked, Lainie! You better change clothes.”

Elaine pulled the two damp bundles from her pockets and deposited them on the coffee table in front of him.

“What’s this?” he said, sitting up.

“All the money we spent at Rising Star, Dad. Every penny.” She leaned over and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“It’s a scam. All they do is...well, I’d rather not say. The point is, I got the money back.”

Her father looked at the two stacks of bills in amazement.

“I want you to put it in the bank, for college,” she said.

Patrick gazed at his daughter with admiration in his eyes. “You’ve grown up, honey, you know that?”

* * *

In her bedroom, when Elaine took off her wet jeans, she shuddered, remembering Mr. Eskew putting his hand on her leg. Then she noticed that there were two grayish stains on the white material over the pockets, where the two bundles of bills had been.

Even the man’s money is dirty
, she thought, as she put the jeans in the laundry hamper.

She hoped the stains would come out.

* * *

The following evening, when Elaine and her father were eating dinner, there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” she said, rising from the table. She went to the front door and cracked it open, leaving the chain in place. The first thing she saw was the flashing of blue light on the houses across the street.

“Is this the Brogan residence?” a man in a gray suit asked.

“Yes.”

He flashed some kind of badge with a star on it. “U.S. Secret Service. Open the door, ma’am.”

Stunned, Elaine unchained the door and pulled it back. There were not one, but two men in gray suits.

“Does Patrick Brogan live here?” one said.

“Well...yes.” She swallowed, having a very bad feeling. “Dad,” she called, but he was already stepping up behind her.

“What’s going on?” he said nervously.

“Patrick Brogan?”

“Yes...”

“Did you deposit some cash this morning at the First National Bank branch over on Penn?”

“Well...yeah, I did, but—”

Handcuffs snapped around his wrists. “You’re under arrest for passing counterfeit currency.”

The other man said, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...”

CHAPTER 1.3

Under federal law, Patrick Brogan had committed a Class C felony, punishable by up to 12 years in prison and a fine of as much as $250,000.

Bail was set at $500,000. He was interrogated repeatedly by local police, the Secret Service, and the FBI, but he refused to disclose where the $2,000 in counterfeit money had come from.

A few days later, he was charged with a second crime—theft. His fingerprints had been run through the criminal database and matched a latent print taken at a crime scene two years ago, a construction site where he had worked.

Elaine’s father was looking at a combined sentence of 25 years.

* * *

Elaine was sick with grief. She did not know what to do. Tormented by guilt, she went to the police station and tried to tell them that she had gotten the counterfeit money from the modeling agency, but they brushed her off as a distraught family member trying to protect her father.

He refused any visitors. He wouldn’t speak to an attorney, not even a court-assigned one.

Six days after he was arrested, Elaine was finally allowed to see her father.

She sat down at the visiting window and waited, struggling with her emotions. A guard brought Patrick Brogan in and pointed. “Number Seven.”

Her father walked slowly down the opposite side of the visiting booths, wearing orange prison coveralls.

“Daddy,” she gushed, pressing her hands against the glass.

His lips trembling, he said, “I can’t stand for you to see me like this,” in a strained voice. He wouldn’t even look up at her.

“Please don’t be ashamed,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “Look at me, Daddy.”

He finally raised his eyes. They were shadowed with dark rings, and his skin looked sallow. He had only been in jail a week, and he seemed like he had lost at least twenty pounds.

“Tell them where you got the money,” she begged.

“I’m not dragging you into this, baby.”

“Please, Daddy! They’re going to put you in jail for twenty—”

“It won’t make no difference.” Patrick reached up and pressed his hands to hers against the glass. “What I done was for you, honey. For your future. I don’t ever want you to feel bad about it. Ever.”

The truth was, knowing that her father had been robbing construction sites to put her through Bromley all these years made her feel ill. Somehow she had known the money was coming from shady activity all along, but she had made herself believe his stories about his video arcade businesses he and his friends owned.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You have to keep your mouth shut about that counterfeit money, sweetheart. Don’t never tell a soul. Promise me.”

“But—”

“Promise me, Elaine.”

“I— I promise.”

“Time’s up,” the guard said gruffly, stepping behind him.

Elaine pressed her hands harder against the glass, desperately wishing she could touch him. She had a terrible feeling that this would be the last time she would see her father.

“I love you, Daddy!”

The guard guided him out of sight.

* * *

Elaine had no idea what would happen to her now. She knew her days at Bromley were numbered. She drove her father’s old pickup truck to school by herself every day in a state of utter despair. She avoided Ms. Prentice, as if delaying any contact with the woman would help.

It’s all my fault
, Elaine thought.
If I hadn’t gotten mixed up with that stupid modeling agency, none of this would have happened
. She wanted to destroy Ronald Eskew, but she could not think of a way to do it without defying her father’s wishes.

Three days after she had visited him in jail, a student aid came to her world history class and asked her to come to the office.

Elaine knew what was about to happen. As she walked down the hallway, she wondered how Ms. Prentice would feel knowing that her tuition all these years had come from the sale of stolen property. She shuddered at the thought.

When she entered the office, Ms. Prentice was sitting at her desk. Her eyes were red and puffy. A wadded-up handkerchief was in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” Elaine said, a feeling of dread descending over her.

Ms. Prentice moved from behind her desk, gazing sympathetically at Elaine, sniffling.

“What is it?” Elaine said.

“Your father...” Ms. Prentice held both Elaine’s hands tightly. “He killed himself this morning.”

* * *

Elaine drove the truck home in a robot-like stupor.

The words
He killed himself this morning
kept reverberating in her ears. But they didn’t have any meaning. They were just random noises.

She glanced around the inside of the truck, at the fuzzy dice that hung from the rearview, at his leather work gloves, at the faded picture of herself at age eight in a cowboy suit, clipped to the sun visor.

I knew I would never see him again
, she thought, remembering the feeling she’d had at the jail. She laughed hysterically, her lower lip trembling. Then she began gasping for breath and almost ran off the road.