“Did Suzy mention other places she’d worked?”
Consuela Baca got out a raspy fragment of laughter before being seized by a coughing fit. Another belated mouth-cover. “Sorry, sorry, don’t want to infect you. No, she didn’t mention because I didn’t ask. It’s not like we demand résumés. They prance in with no appointment, get naked, strut their stuff. They’re up to our standards, we give them tryouts. They show up on time and stay sober, we give them time slots. Even the long-timers don’t last. Suzy was a short-timer. Weeks, not months.”
“How come?”
“Beats me,” said Baca. “One day she just didn’t show up. No big deal, there’s never a shortage of product.”
Milo slipped the photo back in his pocket. “What can you tell us about her?”
“Only my impression,” said Consuela Baca. “Quiet girl, not much of a personality—oh, yeah, she claimed to be a student.”
“Where?”
“She never said. And she could’ve been lying. That’s what the girls do. They lie.”
I said, “Another industry standard.”
“You’ve got that right. We sell fantasy. Once it crosses over to reality—too many zits on an ass, too strung out to move right—it’s goodbye, Cutie, because you’ve crossed over into honesty and honesty kills business. When the girls are up on stage, they’re dream receptacles, not real people. I’m not going to sit here and tell you they’re actresses—though some of them would like to think so. But we do run a show. Pretending for dollars. Good liars find it easier to pretend. I know my talent pool, guys. If we kept petty cash around, it wouldn’t last a nanosecond.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Oh, do I,” said Baca. “It’s like juvenile hall. Someone willing to do the job isn’t going to be a goody-two-shoes church virgin. Not that we haven’t had some of those trying to break loose from Daddy and Mommy.”
I said, “Free spirits.”
“Girls gone wild or trying to.” Tiny smile. “Like I used to be.”
“Suzy didn’t come across like that?”
“Hmm—you know, in her own way, maybe she did. Not a firecracker, a smolderer. That can be just as sexy.”
She sniffled and dabbed, used her eyes to redirect us to her photos.
I said, “Those are pretty artistic.”
“Thank you kindly, sir. The guy who took them was an artist. Did his main work for the studios back in the forties, got ripped off like everyone else who worked for the studios, not a penny in royalties. When he retired he freelanced. A customer who’d seen me on stage hooked him up with me. George—George Grumann—was looking for a quote unquote ‘ice goddess.’ He took one look at me and said, ‘The Valkyrie has arrived.’ It was fun.”
She gave herself another long look. “I think they came out quite well.”
“Terrific.”
She nodded, sneezed, coughed. “Sorry, I’m not used to having people over when I’m feeling shitty. I get that itchy throat, I usually take zinc right away and it kind of works. But it also makes me super nauseated and I just got over a stomach flu so I figured I’d muscle this one out.”
She cleared her throat at high volume: grinding gears. “God, I sound like a wild pig.”
I said, “Hope you feel better soon.”
“That’s sweet. Thank you.”
“What did Susan say she was studying in school?”
“She never got that specific. Not to me, anyway. I don’t encourage chitchat. Show up, look hot, do your thing, keep the alcohol flowing and the cocks hard.”
“Was there another girl she might have confided in?”
“Not that I saw,” said Baca. “She wasn’t Miss Congenial, kind of kept to herself. I heard a couple of the other girls call her a snob. Actually, it was along the lines of ‘what a cold bitch.’ ”
“Do you remember who said that?”
“You’re kidding. We’re talking two years ago, maybe more. No one around then is working for me now. Even if they have the attention span, they make bad choices and age fast.”
Sliding a hand down her own sleek thigh, as if soliciting contradiction.
I said, “Did George Grumann ever take pictures of her?”
“Oh, no,” said Baca, smiling. “George has been gone for—I’m not going to tell you how long on the grounds it might incriminate me.” A beat. “He died twenty-two years ago. A year after he took my glams.”
“What else can you tell us about her?”
She shrugged. “Her street presence was drab. She’d show up for work in clothes designed to limpy-poo a cock. First time, I said to myself, this one has the bone structure and the bod but no clue, it’s not going to work out. But when she auditioned, she was tarted up the wazoo. Full-on makeup, smoky eyes, inch-long lashes, collection of not-bad wigs, fuck-me shoes, red micro-dress you could use for a handkerchief. When she got up on stage her dancing was different but actually pretty hot.”
“Different how?”
She loosened her hair, freed a cascade of ice. “What I just told you, smoldering not burning.”
“On the subtle side,” I said. “Wouldn’t think that would work.”
Consuela Elena Baca sighed. “You’re big boys so I’ll explain it in big-boy terms. It’s like with fucking, guys. You know how some women scream and thrash and make all those good noises, and others lie back with their eyes closed and this satisfied smile on their faces but they’re both sexy? Suzy was the second type. She’d get up and do this little side-to-side shuffle, even look a little bored. She’d start off staring at the floor then slowly she’d raise her eyes and make contact with losers in the front row. Suddenly everyone’s looking at her. Same thing with the pole. She’d take her sweet time getting with it and when she did, no acrobatics. More like she’s hugging it romantically. Stroking it.”
Licking her lips, she demonstrated. “Slo-ow. Not much in the way of calorie expenditure but there was something about her the clients dug. Maybe it was the holding back. Like in their monkey brains, pleasing her was some fantasy goal. That can be real sexy.”
Recrossing her legs, she offered a view of the other thigh. Shifted a bit more. No underwear. “Whatever it was, it worked. She did okay on tips and the booze flowed.”
Milo said, “She auditioned in a red dress.”
“All she ever wore was red,” said Baca. “It went great with her coloring, no argument from me. The bar bill’s rocking, you’re rocking.”
“Any idea where she got her clothes?”
She laughed. “These questions. We’re not talking designer stuff, guys. Probably Frederick’s, Trashy, Next to Naked, Stage Hollywood, one of those. Or a vintage place that specializes in body-conscious. This town, there’s no shortage of fuck-me rags.”
Milo scrawled rapidly. “We’re pretty ignorant about that stuff. Any other names you could give us?”
She rattled off several more shops. “You’re writing it down? You’re actually planning to visit each one of them?”
“All in the name of public service.”
“Well, enjoy your work.” She patted her nose. Cricked her neck and gave a low moan. “God, my joints—I need to rest, guys.”
I said. “Sure—just a couple more questions? Did Suzy have any regulars?”
“She didn’t stay long enough to build up a stable. We’re talking two nights a week for what, six, seven weeks?”
“Any idea what she did the other nights?”
“Maybe crammed for exams?” She laughed. “Sorry, I’m not trying to make light of it, but she came and went. So what other clubs did you talk to?”
Milo said, “The Aura.”
“That shit-pit? Hasn’t been operative for years.”
“It’s a party venue now.”
“Really,” she said. “Did Suzy
work there before us or after?”
“After.”
“That’s kind of nuts,” said Consuela Baca. “If she needed money, why wouldn’t she come back to us rather than waste time at a crap-dump like that? The location’s a loser and the owner, some Mideast type—hey, he’s someone you might want to look at.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s shifty. Tried to buy The Shop a few years ago. His offer was ridiculous and it wasn’t even real money, just some complicated real estate swap. Suzy did The Aura, huh? She must’ve slid way down. Was she an addict?”
Milo said, “No evidence of that, so far.”
“But maybe?” said Baca. “That could explain it. Guys like the Mideaster will sell anything.”
I said, “Who owns The Shop?”
“You don’t know?” said Consuela Baca. “I do. Family tradition, my grandpa and my great-uncle ran clubs in Caracas then came to L.A. and opened The Shop in the fifties. When they passed, my dad took over. When he passed, my mom wanted nothing to do with it. She thinks she’s a lady who lunches. Daddy knew that and left it to me and I took over and made it more profitable than ever. He knew I could handle it because he saw how I handled Vegas.”
“Congrats,” said Milo.
“I accept your admiration. I deserve it.”
* * *
—
We left her coughing and slapping her chest.
As I drove back to the station, Milo stared up at the roof liner and blew out puffs of air. “The Valkyrie. Lots of words but bottom line, no info. I keep reminding myself about the tortoise and the hare.”
I said, “Also, tortoises live longer.”
“Probably ’cause they’re too bored to die. Susan Smith. About as generic as it comes.”
“You up for some positive psychology?”
“Don’t know if I can handle it—what?”
“The Valkyrie wasn’t totally useless, she firmed up the victim profile. Quiet girl, sticks to herself, plays herself down but transforms on stage. Wearing red. The Fendi might mean she came to the wedding to party. She was in work mode.”
“What was the job?”
“A variant of what she did on stage. Using her looks to get money from an older man. Not a romantic thing with Denny, blackmail.”
“Denny doesn’t have enough dough to motivate blackmail.”
“That’s why he had to turn her down. But what if she didn’t know that because he’d been leading her on? One of those gawker-turns-into-a-sugar-daddy things. Then his money dried up but her aspirations didn’t. If she’d been leaning on him for a while, that would explain his being prepared with a hypo and a garrote.”
“Dirty Denny,” he said. “I can see him rubbing his crotch in the front row.”
“Want me to turn around so you can show Baca his photo?”
He thought about that. “Nah, too risky. She didn’t impress me as Ms. Discreet. For all we know, we just sat there and got played and sneezed on.”
I said, “Pass the zinc.”
* * *
—
Back at his office, he tried Corinne Rapfogel’s cell.
She said, “Twice in one day, Lieutenant? A girl could start to feel important.”
“You are important,” he said. “It was your big day that got ruined.”
“No, it was Baby’s day. My heart’s really hurting for her. Are you calling because you just learned something?”
“Is your husband within earshot?”
“No, he’s out. He’s involved? Oh, God, I knew it! Bastard!”
“No, no, Corinne, but I did take you seriously and intend to dig around. I’m calling because I’m wondering if you’d consent to give me access to your phone records. Any cell or landline accounts at your business and your home. Unless there’s an account that’s solely Denny’s. I’d need his permission for that.”
“Records? What exactly are you after?”
“I’d like to find out who Denny communicates with.”
“Well, I’m way ahead of you on that,” said Corinne Rapfogel. “After you were here, I decided to take a look at exactly that. There’s nothing weird on either the business landline or my line but guess what wasn’t in the file?”
“His personal line.”
“How’s that for a clue, Lieutenant? We keep all our bills for a hundred and twenty days in an expense file. For tax deductions, we take off all our phones. Denny’s bills are always in there. But now they’re not. That’s pretty suspicious, no? What’s he trying to hide?”
“Good question,” said Milo. “Problem is I can’t access his line without his consent.”
“Why don’t you get a warrant?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Not like on TV, huh?”
“I wish, Corinne. You checked out the bills because—”
“Did I actually suspect him of…you know? No, that was too horrible to think about. But you start wondering and stuff floats into your head. I’ve been totally traumatized. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, my mind’s wandering all over the place but it always comes back to a bimbo crashing the wedding. Then I start thinking about all the other stress he’s put me through with his pathetic little weenie. Then I flash back to something that happened when we were in Hawaii. Five years ago. What was supposed to be a romantic vacation, trying to supposedly heal our marriage. Everything was going fine. Until the second day when I caught him talking to some slut in a thong bikini out by the pool. It’s not like I was snooping. I was trying to be hopeful.”
Milo said, “Giving him a chance.”
“Exactly. Again,” said Corinne Rapfogel. “If I was Catholic, they’d make me a saint. Anyway, what happened was he got up early to take a swim. Our room had a view and I stepped out on the balcony to enjoy it. And there they were.”
Her voice caught. “Total bimbo, not much older than Baby. They’re standing real close to each other. Then their hips touch. Then he says something and all of a sudden she backs off and pushes him on his chest and stomps away. That’s when she turned and I saw her piggy face. Fat porker way too flabbed out to wear that thong, she’s literally falling out everywhere. I’m thinking he planned to bring her here on the Q.T.? To fuck her while I took naps or shopped?”
She growled.
Milo said, “You knew her.”
“Stupid little cunt,” said Corinne Rapfogel. “She put in an application with us to be a P.A. or an au pair, wanted to work with someone like Meryl Streep. As if. Denny interviewed her, said she was great, then I talked to her and saw she was a moron with no prior experience. Still, I scheduled a second interview but she never showed up. Now I get it: Why would she bother when he’s probably paying her for other work.”
“He’s been known to do that?”
“Years ago. When Baby was a baby. I had postpartum, that was his excuse. I thought he’d changed. Stupid me.”
“Oh, my,” said Milo, giving me a thumbs-up.
Corinne said, “You’re shocked because you’re a decent moral person, Lieutenant. So what does he do when the slut piggies off? Takes a swim. Enjoys himself, he doesn’t have normal feelings. He gets back to the room and I unload on him. He swears up and down it was just a coincidence, he had no idea she was in Hawaii, the only reason she got pissed was because she asked if she could apply again and he told her no.”
Bitter laughter. “Can I sell you a bridge? But I let it go. I wanted it to be true. What can I say, stupidity on my part. Then we started getting sued and everything started coming out. That’s his pattern: He takes advantage of stupid bimbos. Maybe your victim was one of those and he killed her to get rid of her.”
“You see Denny as capable of murder.”
A beat. “I don’t know what I see, Lieutenant. Part of me wants to hate on him but part of me is terrified. Marrie
d to someone who’d do that? Baby having to live with that? One thing Denny’s actually not bad at is being a father. Baby adores him.”
She began to cry. “Excuse me. Hold on.” Dead air for several seconds. “Sorry, it’s just overwhelming. Why can’t you get a warrant on him? Isn’t what I just told you enough?”
“Unfortunately not, Corinne.”
“Well, that sucks. The system really needs to change.”
Milo said, “If Denny did spend significant money on other women, could he hide that from you?”
“I can’t inspect every restaurant bill or every time he dips into the petty cash. Which wasn’t that petty, we used to keep five to ten grand around for incidentals. Back when we were raking it in—at the peak we were netting over four hundred K a year. Now it’s down to nearly nothing. Could he support a bimbo full-time? Probably not, but he could give her toys. And with a skank whore, we’re not talking suites at the Peninsula.”
“Do you remember the name of the woman in Hawaii?”
“Marissa something.”
“No last name?”
“Oh, God, this was years ago. Please don’t go looking for her, it’s not like she’s the only one. He has no idea I’ve talked to a lawyer. I need time to get my financial ducks in a row, can’t afford to tip my hand.”
“Got it,” said Milo. “But if her last name does come up and you’re comfortable—”
“What would you tell her?”
“That someone ruined your daughter’s wedding by murdering a young woman and we’re looking at all former employees and anyone else associated with your business.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m not going to remember, though. And you have to promise me you won’t rat me out to him.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“I was a Girl Scout,” she said. “Back in the Ice Age.”
“Let me ask you something, Corinne. Was there a point during the wedding when you and Denny weren’t together for an extended time?”
I scribbled a note and handed it to him. He read, nodded, as Corinne answered.
“You mean could he have done it without my noticing? Sure. There were all kinds of points. At the church we were together from the procession until we left for the reception but once the party got going, it was chaos. I went circulating by myself to be friendly because he’d already been drinking and brushed me off when I suggested we do it together. For most of the time, everyone was on the dance floor or up at the bar. I can’t tell you the longest period we were apart but I’m sure not going to give him an alibi.”
The Wedding Guest Page 11