Loyalty

by Ingrid Thoft

  Bev waited at the elevator bank of Lawrence’s building, a building that was only a block away from the skyscraper that housed Connor’s new attorney. They all huddled together, didn’t they? Like a pack of wolves. Bev got on and pressed the button for the twenty-third floor. She took a deep breath and watched the numbers tick up in the digital display.

  The doors spread open to a carpeted hallway dominated by a crystal chandelier and a large flower arrangement on a marble console table. Bev checked in and followed the receptionist up a flight of stairs next to a span of two-story windows overlooking the harbor. She was led into a conference room a few doors down that shared the same magnificent view as the staircase.

  “I’ll let Mr. Serensen know that you’re all here,” the young woman said, and left. There were four people waiting, and they only reinforced Bev’s notion that the Boston Police Department was a collection of odd ducks. Of the three men, two were white and in their forties or fifties. They wore suits that looked poorly cut, the fabrics boasting a slight sheen. The older man sat, and the younger leaned against the windows. The third man was extremely handsome; Hispanic, Bev guessed. He wore jeans and a dress shirt with a tie and blazer. Next to him, a woman talked on a cell phone.

  Bev sat down at the end of the large, polished table and studied the woman. Her hair was curly and unruly, springing from her scalp like dozens of little Slinkys. She was wearing a bright red pantsuit that did nothing for her complexion. It wasn’t a good red; more like ketchup that had sat on a plate too long and congealed. Under the suit, her blouse was a patterned affair of red, yellow, and purple, and she had large bracelets of the same colors stacked on her wrist. The woman was an eyesore.

  “Great. You’re all here,” Lawrence said as he breezed into the room, his assistant in his wake. “Anybody want anything else to eat or drink?”

  There was a tray on the sideboard that held coffee, tea, and water. Two large platters held fruit and a variety of pastries and baked goods. The older cop walked over and grabbed a Danish and a cup of coffee, which he brought back to the table. The woman put her phone in her voluminous bag and straightened up in her chair.

  “Bev? Can I get you anything?” Lawrence asked.

  Bev cringed. If she’d told him once, she’d told him a hundred times: She was to be called Mrs. Duprey. He was young enough to be her child, for goodness’ sakes, and that kind of familiarity only invited more of the same from others.

  “No, Mr. Serensen. I’m just fine.”

  The assistant fluttered off and pulled the door closed behind her. Lawrence took a seat next to Bev. He opened an expensive leather folio and clicked a pen to expose the ballpoint.

  “We’re here because the police would like to ask you a few questions about Jennifer Billingsworth, aka Brianna,” Lawrence said to Bev.

  “I’m Lieutenant Pitney,” the woman said. “This is Detective Menendez”—she gestured to the Hispanic man—“and Detectives Stevens and Rawlins.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Bev said.

  “Can you tell us about the nature of your relationship with Ms. Billingsworth?” the lieutenant asked.

  Bev looked at Lawrence, who nodded slightly. “She’s my employee.”

  “And what does she do for you?”

  “Mrs. Duprey is the owner of a service that provides companionship,” Lawrence interjected, “which I might remind you is completely legal in the city of Boston.”

  “Right. Companionship,” Pitney said, and the other cops chuckled.

  Bev was silent. There was plenty she wanted to say, but she was well schooled in the practice of keeping one’s mouth shut in the presence of the police.

  “So Ms. Billingsworth works as a companion?” Detective Menendez asked.

  “Yes,” Bev answered.

  “When was the last time you spoke with her?” Pitney said.

  “She called me on Thursday. We had a lunch date for the next day, but she never showed. I haven’t spoken with her since that phone call.”

  “Do you have any idea why she missed your lunch?” Pitney asked. She wrote something in the small notebook in front of her.

  “I haven’t the faintest.”

  “Did you make any attempts to contact her?”

  “Of course. I spoke with her roommate and left a number of messages on her cell phone, but she hasn’t responded.” Bev glanced at Lawrence. He was clicking his pen. The sound was irritating.

  “Are you concerned by her absence?” Pitney asked.

  Bev considered the question. “It’s unlike her. Brianna is very responsible.”

  “Did she have a date the night before your lunch or the night of your lunch?” the handsome detective asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Could she be doing business on the side?”

  Bev smiled. “I doubt it. My business caters to successful men who meet very particular criteria. We’re very selective. Why would she subject herself to company of a lesser caliber?”

  Pitney reached down into her bag and pulled out a manila folder. She opened it and pushed a photo down the table. It slid across the polished surface. Lawrence took it, and Bev glanced at it before looking away in horror.

  “Is that Brianna, Mrs. Duprey?” Pitney asked.

  Bev closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes. That’s Brianna. What happened to her?”

  “She was murdered,” Menendez said.

  Lawrence tipped the photo in Bev’s direction to offer her another look, but she shook her head. He pushed it back down the table toward Pitney.

  “Look,” Lawrence said. “Brianna worked for Mrs. Duprey, but she didn’t even know she was dead. Is there anything else?”

  “Was that typical?” Pitney asked. “Having lunch with your employees?” She slipped the photo back into the folder.

  “I’m sorry?” Bev asked.

  “You said that Brianna called you and set up a lunch date. Do you do that often with your escorts?”

  Bev stared at her. “Occasionally I share a meal with one or more of my employees. Don’t you have lunch with your ‘escorts’ on occasion?” Bev asked, looking at the men.

  Pitney smirked. “So it was just routine business? Brianna didn’t call you for any particular reason?”

  “None that she shared with me. I assumed she just wanted to check in with me.” Bev touched her necklace. “I know you have tremendous disdain for my business, Lieutenant, but working for me is considered a plum assignment. Most of my employees strive to maintain a positive working relationship.”

  Click. Click. Click. Bev glared at Lawrence. That infernal pen clicking was intolerable.

  “Actually, it’s the illegality of it that I have a problem with. You act like you’re hosting quilting bees when what you’re really doing is breaking the law and exploiting young women.”

  Bev scoffed. “Exploitation? Please. What would you have them do? Work at minimum wage jobs that don’t even cover the rent? It’s always the people who have better opportunities who disparage the choices of women who struggle to make ends meet. How nice of you to be outraged on their behalf.”

  Pitney’s eyes widened. “Wow. The compartments in your head must be more fortified than Fort Knox.” She leaned forward. “Have you actually convinced yourself that your girls enjoy their work? They’re being humiliated and degraded so you can make money. Does it ever occur to you, when one of your girls has finished giving a blow job to some man old enough to be her grandfather, that she actually is someone’s granddaughter?”

  “Ladies.” Lawrence held his hands up to stop the verbal collision, and Detective Menendez put his hand on the back of Lieutenant Pitney’s chair.

  “It’s fine, Mr. Serensen,” Bev said, and put her perfectly manicured hand on the sleeve of his dark suit. “I’m used to this. It’s unattractive women who have the most difficulty
with my work.” The male cops glanced at one another. “I just chalk it up to jealousy.” Bev smoothed her skirt with her hand and smiled at Pitney.

  Pitney pushed back her chair and grabbed her bag. “You can expect warrants for your office and books.”

  “On what grounds?” Lawrence asked.

  “Our victim was an escort with Mrs. Duprey’s business, which means there’s a roster of men who are potential suspects. I need their names.”

  Bev leaned over and whispered in Lawrence’s ear. He scribbled something on his pad. “Mrs. Duprey is happy to provide a list of Brianna’s contacts.”

  Pitney smiled. “But she’s so busy being a beacon of feminism and leadership, I can’t imagine she has the time to provide me with information.”

  “My client makes a good faith offer and you reject it? That doesn’t look good.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” Pitney said, and walked out with the others trailing behind.

  Lawrence flipped his folio shut and slipped the pen into his breast pocket. “Are your books in order?” he asked Bev once he’d glanced at the door to make sure they were alone.

  “Of course, Mr. Serensen. I will be happy to send the relevant set of books to you.” Bev stood and walked to the door. “I trust you can contain this? I don’t want my other endeavors to be jeopardized.”

  “That’s what you pay me for,” Lawrence said. “Can I walk you out?”

  “No, thank you. I know the way.”

  Bev walked down the stairs and asked the receptionist for directions to the ladies’ room. The space was as elegant as the rest of the office suite: marble, oversize wooden stall doors, and brass fixtures. Bev went into the handicapped stall, hung her purse on the hook, and stared into the mirror. She stood there for a moment, then reached into her bag for her lipstick and applied a fresh coat.

  Everything was fine.

  Fina eventually paid her tab and drove home. She walked through the parking garage with her gun firmly in hand and made it upstairs to Nanny’s without any problems. The doctor had given her a bottle of pain pills, which she dipped into and promptly fell asleep on the couch in front of a Red Sox game. The phone woke her up a couple of hours later.

  “I’ve got someone for you to meet,” Dante yelled. Fina could hear loud music in the background.

  “Who?”

  “Someone who’s gonna answer your questions about Brianna.”

  “Fine, but it’s going to have to wait for the morning. Tell her—it’s a her, I’m guessing—to meet me at the Elm Street Café at nine A.M.”

  “Why don’t you just come down to the club right now?”

  “I can’t. Tell her to meet me tomorrow.” Fina hung up. She turned off the TV and stumbled into the bedroom. When taking off her clothes proved too difficult, she collapsed onto the bed fully clothed and was out in a matter of minutes.

  “I didn’t expect to hear from you,” Pitney said the next day as she sat down at a café table.

  “Well, it occurred to me that despite our differences, I could be helpful.” Bev picked up her teacup and sipped from it. The tea shop was around the corner from her Back Bay office, and Bev found the ambience soothing. Students rarely patronized the place, and the unemployed didn’t lay claim to the limited tables with their laptops and bottomless cups of coffee.

  “I can’t imagine your lawyer approves,” Pitney said as she waved over the waitress. She ordered a black coffee and a cranberry scone.

  “Don’t worry about Mr. Serensen. I can take care of him.”

  Pitney shrugged. “What’s so important?”

  “I’m genuinely upset about Brianna’s death. She was a promising young woman. Did you know she was studying sociology?”

  Pitney looked around the café. “Did you really summon me here to discuss her résumé?”

  “Are you incapable of polite conversation, Lieutenant?”

  “I don’t have time for polite conversation, ma’am. Unlike everyone else who pretends their work requires a sense of urgency, mine actually does. If you have information, give it to me. If you don’t, I’ll take my scone to go.”

  The scone and coffee arrived at that moment. Bev and Pitney waited for the waitress to leave.

  “My information is not directly related to Brianna’s death.” Bev paused. “Well, at least, I don’t think it is, but I’ll let you be the judge.”

  Pitney bit into the scone, and a plump cranberry dropped onto her plate. She picked it up between two hot pink–painted nails and popped it in her mouth.

  Bev rotated her teacup in its saucer. “I want Brianna’s killer to be found, but I’d like to minimize the disruption to my business.”

  “Uh-huh,” Pitney said, and blew on the surface of her coffee.

  “If I provide information, perhaps you would take that into account.”

  Pitney looked at her.

  “I have a client who I think might be of interest to you,” Bev said.

  “Why’s that? I’m typically not very interested in johns.”

  “Well, this one is a suspect in a high-profile murder case.” Bev picked up her tea. She sipped delicately as Pitney leaned forward in her seat.

  “I’m listening.”

  “And you’ll minimize the disruption to my business?”

  “I will do what I can if the information is as good as you seem to think it is.”

  Bev sat up in her seat. “Good. Rand Ludlow is a frequent customer of my escort business. He has a favorite girl who he sees on a somewhat regular basis. Perhaps his wife was displeased with the arrangement.”

  Pitney’s eyes sparkled. “Rand Ludlow used hookers?”

  Bev curled her lip in distaste. “Escorts. He hired escorts.”

  “Let me make sure I understand you: He hired escorts for sex?”

  Bev was silent. Behind the counter, a young man had his hand propped on his chin, his nose in a book.

  Pitney broke into a big smile. “That little bastard.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Bev asked.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to upset your delicate sensibilities.” Pitney tore off a large segment of scone and put it in her mouth. “Aren’t you running the risk of bad publicity by telling me this? If one of your clients is outed, the others are going to run scared.”

  “This isn’t proof of anything, Lieutenant. It’s leverage. I expect you to use it discreetly. Don’t make me regret sharing it with you.”

  Pitney smiled slyly. “Are you threatening me?” she asked over her coffee cup.

  “Of course not, dear,” Bev said. She stood up, ran a hand through her hair, and fingered an earring. “That would be unsavory.”

  Fina showered with her arm sticking out of the curtain. She didn’t wash her hair or shave her legs, and she couldn’t swear that she’d adequately cleaned all the nooks and crannies. Oh well. Maybe Milloy or Cristian would do the honors.

  She got to the café at nine fifteen A.M. and left her car parked in a loading zone around the corner. Inside, she scanned the room; there were a few young women seated alone. One was texting, another was typing on her computer, and the third had a copy of the Herald spread open on the table in front of her. Fina stood by the front door and watched the three women, hoping that one would seek her out. After exchanging a few glances with the texting woman, Fina wound her way through the tables and stopped next to her.

  “Are you Dante’s friend?” Fina asked her.

  “You’re late,” the young woman said, and continued typing on the tiny keyboard.

  “I’m really sorry. I just got this.” Fina held up her cast. “I’m still not used to it. It’s taking me a lot longer to do regular stuff.”

  “Hmph.” The young woman put down her phone and gestured toward the chair across from her. “You’re here now.”

  “Can I get you a refill or somethin
g to eat?” Fina asked, and sat down.

  “No, thanks.”

  Fina motioned for a waitress and ordered a latte and a chocolate croissant. She took an inventory of the young woman seated across from her. She was in her early twenties and black. She wasn’t thin or fat, but somewhere comfortably in the middle. Her curves looked solid, and her skin glowed. She looked healthy and strong, like she could chop wood or change a tire. Her lips shone with gloss, and her face was framed by tight curls.

  “I’m Fina, by the way.” Fina put out her hand, and the woman shook it.

  “Olivia.”

  The waitress set down her latte and croissant. Fina poured a pack of sugar into the mug and stirred it.

  “So, Brianna. What can you tell me about her?” Fina asked.

  “Back up a second.” Olivia held up her hand. “The only reason I agreed to talk to you is because Brianna was my friend. I want to know who did this to her, but I don’t want to get involved.”

  “Understood. I assume you’ve spoken with the police.”

  Olivia drank her coffee. “The police don’t need to hear what I have to say.”

  “Oookay.” Fina took a small sip of her coffee, carefully testing the temperature. “I’m just trying to figure out who Brianna worked for and how it might tie into another case I’m working on. Obviously, I’ll help Brianna’s case if I can.”

  Olivia’s phone dinged, and she glanced at the display. She put it back down on the table and looked at Fina.

  “Our boss was a bitch.”

  “Your boss? So you’re an escort also?”

  Olivia straightened up abruptly. “Hell, no. What do you take me for?”

  “Easy, killer.” Fina grinned. “It’s a reasonable assumption.”