Shaken (31 page)

“A Chevy Nova,” Herb said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Nice. Roomy, too.”

“I figure I’ll keep it another year, then trade up to something nicer. Where we headed?”

“River North. Rush and Ohio.”

I pulled out of the police parking lot and melded into traffic. For August, it was cooler than normal. There was still the muggy humidity from being close to Lake Michigan, but it wasn’t devastating my hair and makeup like it normally did this time of year.

“So what other thoughts did you have, looking at the files?” Herb said.

“All three of the victims went on dates with two of the same men. Both older. Both rich, without records.”

“Would you consider them suspects?”

“No.” I smiled at Herb. “But I like to keep an open mind.”

“Any link among the women?”

“They were all escorts. Two were white, one was of Asian descent. All three were very pretty. Two were college-educated, and the third was working on her bachelor’s degree, part-time. And all three earned more per year than I do. Plus there was something else I found interesting.”

“What’s that?”

I turned onto Michigan, hitting the gas. The car was a bit sluggish—one of the reasons I was going to replace it soon. “The girl who didn’t work for Shell worked for a company called Elite Escorts. It’s a small operation, just a dozen girls. Like Shell’s. I called a few other services last night, and most of them are big. Fifty, a hundred girls. The Dodd Agency—the one Shell said has been aggressively pursuing his girls—is one of the biggies.”

“Why would they be involved? They’re a big fish. Shell is a small fry.”

“Don’t you know your Darwin?” I asked. “The big fish eat the small ones. That’s how they get big.”

Michigan Avenue was stop-and-go, crammed with people in cars and on foot. This area was quintessential Chicago to me. Shops and hotels. Further ahead, the Art Institute, Grant Park, the Buckingham Fountain, the Field Museum, Shedd Aquarium, Adler Planetarium. Soldier Field, where the Bears played. The Magnificent Mile, with beaches and one of the most memorable city skylines in the world. My kind of town, and the reason I would never ever move to the suburbs.

There wasn’t a single place to park on Michigan, even illegally, so we looped up to Grand, turned right, and got onto Rush.

“Turn in the alley, here. Shell said we can park around back.”

Herb directed me into a little three-car lot behind the buildings, two spots already taken with a Cadillac and a black Honda.

I pulled in and stepped out into the alley, smoothed my pants, adjusted my shoulder pads, and picked up Shell’s box of lights and his backdrop. Herb took the box from me.

“Yuck,” he said, making a face. The garbage smell was bad enough to melt my eyeballs. I held a hand over my nose and mouth, and we hurried out onto Rush Street.

Together we walked past Pizzeria Uno—where deep-dish pizza was invented back in the 1950s—up to a small boutique-style building shared by an art gallery and Classy Companions, Shell’s agency. After climbing the concrete steps and entering the enclosed porch through a door on spring hinges, we were slapped by a blast of frigid air. The buzzers along the security door had options for the two businesses, and several tenants living above them.

“Other people live in the building,” I said to Herb, thinking I hadn’t seen anything about tenants in the reports. Statistics showed that over ninety percent of murders were committed by someone who knew the victim.

“Women. All of Shell’s ladies,” Herb said, pressing the buzzer. “This is where you’ll be staying for the duration of the case.”

After a moment, the speaker above the buzzers said, “Classy Companions.” It was a female voice, deep and husky.

“Detective Herb Benedict, and Officer Jacqueline Streng,” Herb answered.

The door buzzed, and we went in. The hallway divided the bottom floor into two halves. On one side was the gallery, on the other, the agency. The door to Classy Companions was heavy wood, the company name stenciled on at eye-level. Herb pointed over our heads and I looked up, seeing the security camera.

“Is that new?” I asked.

“Shell put it in after the first murder.”

“You’ve reviewed all the tapes?”

“Yeah. There will be a VCR in your room for you to review them as well.”

Herb knocked, and again we needed to be buzzed in. The lobby was plush, all pastels and soft lighting. The carpet was so thick my heels sank into it. I saw a few sofas and loveseats, a waiting area boasting a coffee table piled with magazines, assorted floor plants, and a stunning fresh flower arrangement on the front desk that reminded me of the flowers Alan had given me last night when he proposed—flowers I’d forgotten to put in a vase.

The woman behind the desk was old, in her forties, graying and plump. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she already had a smile on, anticipating our approach.

“Hello, Detective.” When she looked at me, her wattage went down a notch, but most of the smile stayed. “And you must be Jacqueline. That’s the same outfit as in your pictures.”

I forced a polite grin. “Nice to meet you, Mrs….?”

“Mizz,” she corrected, “Elizabeth White. Everyone here calls me Mizz Lizzy.” She picked up a pink phone on her desk and hit a button. “Mr. Compton? Detective Benedict and the woman are here.”

Mizz Lizzy didn’t try to engage us in further conversation, instead burying her nose in a Rolodex. I’d been around enough catty women to apply the adjective to her. She either didn’t like cops, or didn’t like me.

After a minute of Herb and I staring at each other, Shell entered. He was wearing a different tailored suit than the night before, and he looked terrific, approaching with a big grin, taking the lighting box from Herb and the backdrop from me.

“Good morning, Herb, Jacqueline. Did Mizz Lizzy offer you coffee?”

“I’d love a cup,” I said. I really wasn’t a big coffee drinker, but I liked the idea of the older woman serving me.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

“Black.”

“Anything for you, Detective?”

“Black coffee sounds great,” Herb replied.

Mizz Lizzy swiveled out from behind her desk and waddled off into another room. Shell set down the equipment and beamed at me. “You look terrific. I hope you’re up for a long day, because we’ve already booked you twice. You have a lunch date with Felix Sarcotti, and dinner and the theater tonight with Jeroen ten Berge.”

I recognized the two names from the victims’ files. Both men had dated all three of the deceased.

“That was fast,” I said. “They saw my picture already?”

“They’re both longtime clients, and insist on seeing any new girl as soon as she comes in. I messengered your photos to them this morning, and they’re both eager to meet you. But we have much to do before lunch. We need to get started right away. Mizz Lizzy!” Shell called into the other room. “Bring the coffee up to Sandy’s room, if you would!”

Shell put his hands lightly on my arms, his face bright and enthusiastic. “You’re going to like Sandy, I think. She’s really fascinating. She’s also had a…shall we say…
checkered past
.”

“A police record?” I asked.

“No. She was never actually charged with a crime.”

I looked at Herb, confused. His eyes bored into mine. “Sandy Sechrest, twenty-five years old. Four years ago she killed a man.”

Chapter 11

“I
t was deemed self-defense,” Herb said. “Charges weren’t filed.”

We were discussing one of Shell’s escorts, Sandy Sechrest, while climbing the carpeted stairs to the apartments where the women lived. As with the front door and the lobby, the stairwell had a locked security door.

“What were the particulars?” I asked.

“Live-in boyfriend,” Herb said. “History of violence. Roughed her up, threatening to kill her. She stabbed him in the throat with a steak knife. Witnesses heard the incident through the apartment walls, and she had defensive wounds on her body indicative of abuse.”

“This was just after Sandy joined the agency,” Shell said. “That’s when I decided the girls would be safest if they all lived under one roof. The security here is good. All of the doors are reinforced. The girls have to sign their visitors in. In each room there’s also a panic button, directly linked to the building’s burglar alarm system. No numbers on the apartments, so even if a stalker managed to get up here, he wouldn’t know who lived where. I take the girls’ safety very seriously.”

The second floor hallway was tastefully furnished, the same as downstairs. The sconces on the stucco walls provided plenty of light, and the doors to the apartments all had deadbolts.

“Why no security cameras up here?” I asked.

“There’s a fine line between safety and privacy,” Shell said, knocking on the first door on the left. “Cameras would be a bit too intrusive.”

The door opened, and a gorgeous brunette answered. Besides her classic Lauren Bacall looks, she also had bigger shoulder pads and hair than I did. I bit back the tinge of envy I was feeling.

“Sandy, you know Detective Benedict. I’d like you to meet our new girl, Jacqueline Streng.”

Sandy smiled, but it was without warmth, and she didn’t offer her hand. “Nice to meet you Jacqueline. I’m sure you’ll fit in perfectly here.” Her gaze flitted to Shell. “Shelly, my brunch date is picking me up at eleven, but won’t be able to take me home. Can I cab it?”

“I’d prefer you call me for a ride.”

She nodded. “I still have to get ready.”

“We won’t keep you, Sandy.”

Sandy closed the door, and I heard the deadbolt snick into place.

“How many girls live here?” I asked.

“Eight. You’ll make nine.”

“Are they all that beautiful?” I asked.

Shell’s eyes twinkled. “They are. That’s why you’re going to fit in perfectly here.”

I was flattered by Shell’s compliment, but it made me think of Alan. He hadn’t said I was beautiful when he proposed to me last night. But was that a good thing or a bad thing? Did I want to be with a man who valued my looks more than my personality or intelligence? And if so, why did it make me feel so good to have someone comment on my appearance? Was I that shallow and vain?

The stairwell door swung open, and Mizz Lizzy appeared, carrying a silver tray with two cups of coffee. Without a word she handed one to me, and to Herb. I lifted the delicate, bone china cup and took a sip. Delicious.

“Thank you,” I said.

Mizz Lizzy ignored me. “Anything else, Shell?”

“We’re fine for the moment.”

She curtseyed—something I hadn’t seen done in person in quite a while—and then walked off. Shell led us to the next apartment. A blonde answered. A blonde with a perfect face and boobs that made Loni Anderson look like a man.

“Gloria, I don’t believe you’ve met Detective Benedict. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

“I love your mustache, Detective.” She batted her eyelashes, which were so long they had to be fake. “I love the feel of a man’s facial hair on my thighs.”

“You and me both,” Herb said.

“And this is our new girl, Jacqueline Streng.”

“Do you go by Jack?” Gloria asked. “My sister’s name is Jacqueline, and we all call her Jack.”

I shook my head. “No. I prefer Jacqueline.”

“Too bad.” Gloria pouted, as if I’d scolded her. “Are you into girls?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Bi?”

“Uh, no. I have a boyfriend.”

“I’ve got plenty of boyfriends,” Gloria giggled. And jiggled. “But girls are nice, too.”

“Even though I don’t have a mustache?” I said.

Gloria gave me a gentle poke in the shoulder. “I like you. You’re funny.” She stuck out her lower lip at Shell. “Shelly, I thought you were supposed to come by this morning. Where were you?”

Shell turned to us. “Can you excuse me just a second?”

Without waiting for our response, he stepped inside Gloria’s apartment.

“She looks like a
Playboy
model,” I said.

Herb leaned back, talking to me softly out of the side of his mouth. “She’s cute. But is she the district quick-draw champion?”

I suppressed a smile, but inside I was beaming. Being praised for my shooting skills felt a lot better than being called beautiful.

“Speaking of,” Herb said. “Are you carrying right now?”

“Beretta, in my purse.”

“Nine millimeter?”

“Three-eighty.”

“Does it ever jam on you?” he asked.

“All semi-autos occasionally jam. But nothing I can’t clear in a second or two.”

“In the field, a second or two can be an eternity. I’ve got a .38 Colt, a Detective Special, I can loan you for this job.”

“That only holds six rounds,” I said. My Beretta held eight.

“But those six are guaranteed to fire.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stick with the semi.”

Herb nodded. Though I had no romantic interest in Herb at all, I found myself glancing at his left hand. As I’d guessed, there was a wedding band. The good men were always already spoken for.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Herb?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve my mustache.”

“It doesn’t. Do you like being married?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “Best thing I ever did in my life. You thinking about it?”

“My boyfriend proposed to me yesterday night.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this.

“Congratulations. What did you say?”

“I said I needed time. I have career goals, and I don’t know if they’ll fit with marriage.”

“If he loves you,” Herb said, “he’ll respect your goals.”

That’s what I’d been thinking. But it was nice to hear it said aloud. “Did your wife, when you proposed, say she needed time?” I asked.

“She said yes before I even finished asking.” He winked at me. “I think it was the mustache.”

Maybe that’s why I didn’t say yes to Alan right away. He didn’t have a mustache.

Gloria’s door opened, and Shell popped out into the hallway. He had some lipstick on his neck that I was pretty sure wasn’t there before.

“Ready to meet the rest of the girls?” he asked.

I nodded. But part of me wondered if maybe I was crazy for pursuing this whole cop thing. Maybe I’d be happier getting married and having kids.