The Dark of Day (21 page)

Slater shook his head.

“No, say it.”

Still smiling, Slater looked out over the bay.

C.J. said, “Billy, leave it alone. I'll be right there.”

“No, I want to hear what this asshole has to say to me.”

“I'll be darned,” Slater said, furrowing his brow. “Richard A. Slater. My mother never told me the A was for asshole.”

C.J. stared at him. “Stop it.”

“What I was going to say was . . . butt out. My lawyer and I are having a conversation here.”

“Ms. Dunn sees clients during working hours.”

“Isn't that sort of up to her?”

A glint came into Billy's dark eyes. “C.J., we're leaving. Right now.” She said quietly, “Both of you can go to hell. Mr. Slater, I will see you on Monday, my office. Call my secretary. Billy, please give my regrets to the others. Enjoy your dinner.”

“All right,” Billy said with a shrug. “Sorry you can't make it.”

She hesitated for a moment, thinking he might say something more, but he didn't. With a final hard look at Rick Slater, she turned and walked back toward the hotel, clenching her toes to keep her shoe from falling off.

as soon as Medina was out of sight, Rick secured his holster to his belt, put on his jacket, and headed for the hotel. It wasn't hard to spot the pink-and-orange dress and blond hair. She went straight through the carpeted lobby and out the front door. As she passed, people turned their heads like they recognized her, or maybe because of her looks. If she hadn't been his lawyer, he would have been interested. Or not. The woman was a hundred and ten pounds of attitude.

He stood beside her. She kept her eyes on the cab pulling under the portico. A man got into it. She was next in line, as soon as another one came along.

“I'm sorry about that scene back there,” he said. “I put you in a bad spot with your boyfriend. I guess he's your boyfriend. A man doesn't speak that way to a stranger.”

She signaled the doorman, who nodded and held up a hand to wait.

“I never slept with Alana Martin. She might have said it, but that doesn't make it so.”

“You know what? I don't care. Call me on Monday.” C.J. stepped off the curb as a taxi appeared at the bottom of the driveway. “And when you come, be sure to bring a check.”

Slater took her elbow, swung her around, and smiled at the couple behind her. “Go ahead. She's with me.”

“That was my taxi!”

He quickly moved in front of her. “Where are you going? Home? Let me drive you. The Shelbys are here till at least nine o'clock. I'm parked right over there, got a VIP spot.” He added, “You don't really want to wait till Monday to hear the truth. Do you?”

Her blue eyes fixed on him. He counted off five seconds before she said, “My car is at Billy's house. You can take me there.”

 

 

A short bridge led to Brickell Avenue, and he turned north toward downtown, keeping the SUV under the speed limit. It would be a quick ride over to Star Island, fifteen minutes at most, unless the Saturday-night party crowd heading for South Beach had clogged the causeway. C.J. crossed her arms. The breeze from the air conditioner lifted the hair around her face. He reached over and angled the vent the other way. She was wearing a light, flowery perfume that made him want to lean closer and sniff her neck.

He said, “I've been trying to figure out why Alana lied to her roommate about me. I went over there to pick Alana up for lunch, and she wasn't ready, so I waited. Tisha was home, and we talked a bit. You saw her. She looks like a hooker, right? She was never in the business, according to her, but she said she could show me some fun. She asked if I was a swinger. Multiple partners and all that. I said no. Alana came out, and we left. And then Alana asks me if I was hitting on Tisha. Maybe she told Tisha what she did to get one up on her. You know what I mean?” Rick looked over at C.J.

She gave a little shrug. “I suppose it could have been that way.”

“So are we square?”

“Thanks, but that wasn't really what I wanted to know,” C.J. said. “Did Alana ever mention the name Jason Wright?”

“No, who's he?”

“He works for Milo Cahill. He's an architect, twenty-eight years old. I just talked to him at the hotel. He may or may not be Alana's lover. Jason says he was at Billy's party the night Alana disappeared. He says he left at one o'clock, but he can't prove it. I have the feeling he's hiding something. I've no idea what. The police want to talk to him. It's probably routine, because they're talking to everyone, but Jason is nervous.” After a pause that stretched out a while, C.J. said, “I don't think he knows where she is, but he makes a nice suspect. The media would snap him up in a second. I could spin it that way. But. . . .”

“But what?”

He couldn't see her clearly until the vehicle went under a streetlight. She said, “I don't think he did it. The problem with practicing law is, what's right doesn't always match with what's right for your client.”

“A lawyer with a conscience.”

“Most of us do have one, believe it or not.”

Past the towers of the Met Center, where C.J. Dunn had her office, the street turned north, becoming Biscayne Boulevard. He stopped at a red light, Bayside Marketplace just ahead, tourists crossing the street to browse the souvenir shops or catch dinner at the Hard Rock Café.

C.J. scanned the neighborhood as if she'd never seen it before. “That girl you dropped off after the party. Where was her apartment? Which way did you turn when you came off the causeway? North or south?”

He shook his head. “I don't recall. When you put on as many miles as I do, it all runs together.”

She looked at him as though he'd change his mind and say something more helpful. After a while she let out a sigh. “We may not need her. Someone is getting me the names of the two young men who saw you that night. My investigator will interview them and show them Alana's photo. We're hoping they tell the truth. You could be home free.”

“Excellent,” Rick said.

“There are still a lot of if's,” she amended. The next question surprised him. “Did Alana ever mention being in a porn film?”

“What?”

“Alana was in a movie shot in the Bahamas, but she would never give details. I wonder what kind of movie it was.”

His conversations with Alana Martin went through Rick's mind. He could answer this one truthfully. “She never said anything about porn films. She wanted to get the hell out of Miami and go to Hollywood. That's where her mind was.”

“You don't just go to Hollywood and get a part in a movie unless you're stunningly beautiful, incredibly talented, or you know someone.” C.J. turned toward him, and the safety belt across her chest did interesting things to her cleavage. She saw where his eyes were and shifted in the seat.

Rick looked toward the road. “That's a pretty necklace. Coral?”

“Yes, it was a birthday present.” She added, “From Billy.”

“Great.”

“Did Alana talk about how she planned to get into the movies? Did she have any connections? An assistant producer, a casting agent?”

“Damned if I know.” He checked the rearview and moved into a line of traffic slowing for the entrance ramp to the causeway. “What makes you think she was a porn actress?”

“It's a feeling I get. The trashy lifestyle, the drugs, the people she knew, her disinclination to talk about her past experience in the movie business even though she was eager to get into acting. Alana gave her modeling portfolio to the owner of China Moon, and I have it. Aside from the usual head shots, there were some that could have been lingerie shots for an escort service, except that she looked like a child wearing her older sister's makeup. In one, she has her finger in her mouth, pouting.”

Rick kept his eyes on the road. “She's twenty years old.”

“I said she
looked
like a child. Here's something else. The photographer who did the portfolio is a cameraman for a local TV station. His name is Carlos Moreno. Do you ever watch
The Miami Justice Files
with Libertad Rodriguez? She calls herself ‘Libi' on air. She hates my guts about as much as I hate hers. I'd love to ask Moreno about Alana, but I doubt he would talk to me.” C.J. held up her hands. “But I can't even ask him. Lawyers don't interview witnesses. I shouldn't have been talking to Tisha Dulaney,
but you know, I just couldn't help myself. I'm going to ask my investigator to check out Moreno.”

“What's the point of that? What are you trying to prove?”

“I want a credible reason why Alana Martin disappeared. Do you know anything about the porn business? I don't mean pornography, I mean the people behind it, the investors, and the cash they produce.”

“Not really. I know it's worth a lot of money.”

“Enough to kill for,” she said.

“Speaking of money. I caught some heat from Paul Shelby about your expenses.”

“Don't worry. He said he would pay for it.”

The road went past Jungle Island, big sign out front decorated with parrots and monkeys. South Beach lay about a mile ahead, traffic already getting heavy. Rick asked, “Is that what you and Shelby were talking about up there on the terrace?”

“Basically. He wanted to know about your case, and I said I couldn't discuss it with him.”

“You looked angry.”

“I wasn't angry.”

“Your body language said you were. You didn't want to be there.”

“I was in a hurry,” she replied.

“Well, try not to piss him off, okay? I don't want to lose my job. I'm hearing rumblings. His mother doesn't like me.”

“It's the potential for bad publicity she doesn't like. If this all goes away, she'll leave you alone.”

“If,” he said. C.J.'s profile was backlit by the lights of the Port of Miami, a couple of cruise ships at the dock, ready to head out in the morning. Rick moved to the left-turn lane, the bridge to Star Island ahead. “Do you want to hear some more about Alana?”

She turned to look at him. “Tell me.”

“You say she's trashy. That's true to some extent, but you have to understand where she came from. The family lived in Caracas, Venezuela, blue-collar folks. Life is tough down there. Mr. Martinez had actually been born in Miami, so it wasn't too hard to bring the family to the U.S. Alana was the third child of four, the second daughter. Her sister was three years ahead,
got A-plus report cards, went to church, played the piano, everybody loved her. The parents doted on this girl. When Alana was seven, an older cousin started fondling her. It went on for about five years, until he joined the Marines and moved away. Alana tried to tell her mother, but mom didn't believe her and didn't want to hear about it. Said she was dirty. When the sister graduated from high school, mom and dad gave her a car. One night the girls went out riding, and Alana asked if she could drive. First time behind the wheel. She ran through a guard rail into a canal. She got her seat belt loose and tried to save her sister, but the car sank too fast.”

C.J.'s eyes were fixed on him, and her lips were parted, the images working in her mind.

“After that,” Rick said, “Alana tried to take her sister's place with the school and the church, and so on, but of course it didn't work. She moved out, got a job on South Beach. Had some dreams. And a lot of baggage to drag around. One more hard-luck story.”

They had arrived at the gatehouse. The guard leaned out to see what they wanted. Rick told him who he was and said they had come to pick up Ms. Dunn's car from Guillermo Medina's house. Then he waited while the guard took down the number on his license tag. This was a public road, but the residents didn't want the public to know that.

The gate arm went up. Rick said. “Which way, left?”

As if waking, C.J. blinked. “Yes. The street will curve. It's about halfway up the island.”

“Are you okay?”

“I had no idea.”

“You've probably heard worse,” he said.

“All my clients have a story. I'm sure you do too.”

“Not like that.”

“It's why I keep doing my job,” she said. “The stories. They make my clients into human beings. If I succeed, the jurors find out that the person on trial isn't all that different from themselves. There, but for the grace of God. Except child molesters and rapists. They have to prove to me that they're innocent before I'll take their cases. Otherwise, I've done it all. People accused of murder, aggravated battery, theft, conspiracy, political crimes. And pornographers. Some of those too.”