by Copper Smith
“What do you mean?”
“All these questions. You don’t think… Tolliver had something to do with the murder, do you?”
“I’m still figuring this out.” Another several seconds of staring into Andy’s eyes gave him nothing. Intense questioning probably wouldn’t get him there either. So he softened. “Andy, where do you find these girls?”
His friend grinned like a toddler with a hand in the cookie jar. “Look, it’s not like I do it all the time…”
He patted Andy on the knee. “Nobody’s judging you. I’m just curious. Do you talk to Big Trick?”
“No way. All due respect, he talks too much. I’d be scared he’d let it slip. Your best bet is going to Ginger. She’s a free agent, works without a pimp. A little pricey, but you’ll like her And if you don’t, she steer you toward somebody you will.”
Legato tried to chuckle the accusation away. “I’m afraid she won’t. I’m not a potential customer. Just curious.”
Andy smirked, not buying it. He sent a slow-motion jab to his buddy’s chest. “Hey, long as you’re not judging, neither am I.”
After a handshake, Legato started to the door, but felt he was leaving with business unfinished. Andy’s excuse could have turned out to be an invitation to more of chasing his own tail. Bouncing between Tolliver, Andy and Ginger seemed like a dead end. Needing something more solid, he stopped and turned. “You know what? I have the day off from Bootsie’s and it may be a while before we can hang. Need any help packing?”
“Not really, but I guess you can stick around if you want.”
He went to a small room down the hallway. “Cool, let me see if there’s anything in here that needs to go in a box.”
“Actually, I got most of the stuff in my bedroom – !”
But it was too late. Legato was already digging through mounds of stuff, not sure what he might find. Tossing aside boxes full of CDs, clothes, shoes and books, he tried to stall Andy by yelling, “So, you got a new gig lined up in San Diego, big guy?”
“Yeah, friend of mine says he can hook me up at this security firm.”
“Nice!” Legato answered, finding a box of stroke magazines.
“In fact, let me show you a pamphlet. The place is pretty classy.”
With Andy’s footsteps lumbering closer, he flipped through the magazines quickly, then found a few underlined website addresses on the back pages. A few names caught his attention. EscortHookUps.com, OnlineGFE.com, HottEscortsInMPLs.com.
He scanned another magazine for more sites, but was startled by a chuckle from the doorway. “Dude, you can keep that one if you like it.”
“I’m good,” Legato said. “Just checking it out. Didn’t know they made old school porn magazines anymore in the age of the internet.”
They shared another chuckle, then another hour of chuckles before Legato found an excuse to get home and logged onto the sites he’d found.
***
His hope was that he’d find something to lead him to the back door antics at Bootsie’s, which in turn might take him to Cassandra’s role there – and possibly Tolliver’s also.
After hours of aimless search, he caught a whiff of promise at OnlineGFE.com.
Signing up under the screen name of shadowLeg, he found a forum that discussed the ‘extra’ services available at local strip clubs. On a forum dated a month before Cassandra’s murder, somebody named BootyHound77, said:
The action at Bootsies is always Great. A couple of the girls can be a pain in the ass, too pricey, etc. But most of them are awesome. I still haven’t gotten my hands on that Cassandra chick though. She claims to be legit, but I’m sure she could had for the right price.
But somebody under the screen name of Nightcrawler said, stay away from Cassandra. She’s mine and only mine.
Legato scrolled down the screen as the argument intensified. Insults went back and forth between screen names. Then as the date of Cassandra’s murder drew near, Nightcrawler seemed to fade into the internet’s shadows. Like there was nothing left for mere words to achieve. Unable to lift his gaze from the screen, Legato wondered what Nightcrawler’s next move was. Then five heavy thumps nearly knocked his door of its hinges. “Police, open up!”
Jumping to his feet, Legato composed himself and answered the yell. “Yeah, just a second!”
But the cop just repeated. “Police, open up!”
He scrambled for his shoes, put them on then opened the door. Phillipson was there, smug as usual and quiet, letting the other cop do the talking. “Jake Legato?”
“Yeah, can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Bettencourt. This is Detective Phillipson. We’re just wondering if you could come with us to the station and answer some questions for us.”
Legato took his time before answering, knowing how much it always pissed them off when potential suspects did that. It meant they were weighing their options, which meant they knew they had options. And good luck getting information out of people who knew they didn’t have to say a goddamn thing.
“There’s another victim, Legato,” Phillipson said. “I think you can help us.”
Neither detective gave anything away. Legato could have been a suspect, a person of interest or just a former cop able to lend a hand.
“Let me get my coat.” He closed his laptop, but not before the detectives caught a glimpse of OnlineGFE.com.
“Nice,” Phillipson grunted.
Together they went to the station. Phillipson casually mentioned he was under arrest. But he sent a half-smile through the rear-view mirror that suggested his status would quickly change with cooperation.
After that no words were exchanged save for silence-killing chit-chit, like three guys on their way to their jobs at the factory. And Legato had no idea what was planned for him.
***
Once booked, fingerprinted and photographed, Legato went with Phillipson into the interrogation room. The detective started in slowly, observing every rule of the interrogation handbook. Start slow, idle chit-chat, don’t frighten him. “Everything going okay for you at the club? Enjoying the new job?”
“It’s lovely.” Legato groaned. He’d had enough games from Tolliver and Andy already.
A fake chuckle from Phillipson. “Yeah, I could see a gig like that not being much fun. Dealing with drunks, loud music. And it’s never good music. I mean, seriously, like a chick can’t get naked to Radiohead?”
Legato stayed silent. Learning what Phillipson knew about the second murder might help him figure things out, but first he’d have to endure the bullshit.
“But no, it’s always got to be that loud-bass, bangity-bang shit. Hip-hop, trance, trap, whatever they call it these days. I don’t know, it all makes me feel a hundred and fifty years old.”
Again Legato said nothing.
Phillipson took a sip of his coffee, leaned back. “Damn shame what happened to those girls, though.” He shook his head, then repeated, “Damn shame.”
Now Legato braced for the next two steps: find an opening and turn on the heat. And it didn’t take long for Phillipson to get there. “Just curious. What do you think happened? Any guesses?”
“You’re the cop,” Legato answered.
Phillipson shrugged. “True. But you’re right in the middle of it.” He pulled a stick of gum from his pocket, casually put it in his mouth. “Seems hard to believe you wouldn’t have a clue what happened – and you’re an ex-detective? Interesting. An ex-detective working right in that neighborhood with no idea what’s going on?”
Looking away to escape Phillipson’s glare, Legato felt his resolve crumbling.
The detective leaned forward. “Maybe you just need your memory jogged. So I’ll help you out a little.” He reached into a bag, tossed a photo on the table. A woman with her throat slashed stared back at legato, eyes wide like an accusation. “This is Krissy – real name, Cassandra. Neck slashed, chest carved out. Whoever did this was no rookie. Somebody who’s spent a great deal
of their life on the wrong side of the law. An angry pimp maybe? Keeping his hoes in line, teaching them what happens when they won’t follow instructions? Or maybe a former crooked cop having some difficulty adjusting to civilian life.” He slowly pulled back and tossed a second photo to the table. “Any thoughts on victim number two?”
“I didn’t know there was a victim number two until you guys told me at the door.”
“Well, now that you know, take a good look.”
With a sigh, Legato looked down and saw a second dead body. Same expression, similar knife wounds.
“Say hello to Gayle Shiffman, known to fans as Keely Ann, found in an alley, same neighborhood, neck and chest slashed.”
“How do you know it’s connected to the first?”
“She’s a stripper just like Cassandra. Similar style murder. Plus there’s a note, just like the first one.”
“A note? Let me see it. In fact, let me see both.”
Annoyed with having to follow orders, Phillpson took out two slips of paper, handing them both over.
Legato looked at the first one, neatly typed, carefully trimmed at the edges. He read it.
Nice life you’ve made for yourself, Cassandra. Beautiful girl from a family that raised you well. You came from money, from educated people who taught you better. And this is what happens? Shaking your ass for a crowd of horny drunks at Bootsie’s?
But that’s just your way, isn’t it? You do what you want. Always too wrapped up in your own needs to notice the hearts you break along the way. But that independent streak is going to cost you. Sooner than you think.
You’re a smart girl, but there’s a lot they didn’t teach you in that upper crust prep school you went to. But don’t worry. I’ll teach you.
I’ll teach you what happens when you break the wrong heart, Cassandra. I’ll teach you why it’s not a good idea to brush aside somebody who cares, somebody who’ll give everything for you. Kiss the world goodnight, sweetheart. Tonight your time is up.
Guess who
He then read the second one.
Keely Ann, get ready. It’s going to be an interesting night for you. I’ve been watching you. And following you. And you’re such a sweet girl, so pretty and pure, underneath all the filth surrounding you. But you’re going to have to die.
This time it isn’t my fault. Blame the Siren. I can hear her voice so shrill in the in the night, so demanding. I can’t ignore her calls. She needs you to be dead. And I need to make sure the Siren is satisfied. I am sorry.
Guess who
Legato pulled himself away from both notes, away from the haunting pictures of both victims.
“What do you think, Stallion?”
“I think you’re talking to the wrong person.”
“Any guesses on who I should be talking to?”
“I can think of a few.”
Legato could see the detective’s eyes light up behind his ice cool mask. “Talk to me.”
“The bartender at Bootsie’s may know a little something about that world.”
“Big Trick? Not much help. He was working both nights and seems to come up empty when we ask about the girls.”
“There’s Andy, ex-bouncer at Bootsie’s and there’s Tolliver, her fiancé.”
Phillipson shook his head. “Nice try. But nope and nope. We talked to both of them and don’t find anything close to a smoking gun.”
“Andy’s got kind of a… history with hookers.”
“Andy also has an eyewitness for where he was all day today. At home getting help packing from Cicely, his boss. Oh, and your name came up once or twice with them. Care to guess the topic?”
“Don’t have a clue.”
“They were very interested in your curiosity about the goings-on in the back room of Bootsie’s. In fact, lots of people are.”
“It’s a habit. I’m an ex-cop.”
“Really? What about the website we saw you checking out when we paid you a visit? What was that, independent research? I didn’t see much before you slammed it shut, but I saw the words escort and strippers there.”
“I can explain.”
“So can I. And my explanation would make more sense to a jury.” He leaned back and said, “You ‘re a crooked cop, decided stealing money from the evidence room would be a better way to make a living than chasing perps. So you went after a different line of work, found a strip club/whorehouse desperate enough to take you and you leaped at the opportunity. Now you’re a kid in a candy story. But the lollipops were just too tempting for you. Couldn’t keep your mitts to yourself, could you, Stallion? You carved those girls up, didn’t you?”
Their eyes locked for a tense second. Then Legato asked, “Are you finished?”
“You got more for me?”
“Here’s what I got for you, Phillipson. You’re reaching and you know it.”
Phillipson laughed.
But Legato went on. “You’re trying to squeeze something out of me with a bogus threat. But you know if you had anything on me, I’d be sitting in a cell right now.”
More laughing from Phillipson, plus applause.
“I’ve played the game myself. Get a suspect without much on him, keep squeezing and squeezing until he squeals. But you don’t have time to play these games, Phillipson. This guy’s no rookie, you said it yourself. He’s not going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to his door. If you don’t get help soon, he won’t be gotten. You keep playing games with me and you’ll come up empty. You know as well as I do that in a case like this – no obvious suspect, no obvious motive – if you don’t get somebody in the first two days, this case is going cold as a polar bear’s ass.”
“And your solution is?”
“Let me help you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can travel in that world, Phillipson. You can’t. I can ask questions without looking like a cop. I can find out who carved those bodies up.”
The detective looked away.
“I’m all you got. You can roll the dice on me or you can watch this sick son-of-a-bitch sail away until the next victim shows up.”
Phillipson brought his gaze back to Legato, softened a little. “What would you need?”
Before answering, Legato nodded to the red button next to the door, the one labeled Audio. With a groan, Phillipson killed the audio.
Then Legato said, “Let me hold on to the photos. And the initial reports. I got a feeling about the knife wounds.”
“Are you serious? Has it been that long? You’ve forgotten policy around here?”
“Come on, like you’ve never fudged on that policy. Nobody has to know.”
Phillipson said nothing, but he didn’t even try to fake indifference.
“We can meet tomorrow and you can hand over copies of the photos. Along with the initial reports. Come on, give me what I need and give me two days, you’ll get your murderer.”
Phillipson stared for too long. Then he leaned over. “Tomorrow at nine in the morning, Bryant Park, next to the playground. Anybody asks, we bumped into each other on accident.”
Careful not to smile, Legato nodded.
“And anybody finds the photos or the reports on you, you lifted it from my car. Understood?”
Another nod.
And they were done. No handshake, no high-five. Just Legato being led to the front door and sent away with a grunted thank you.
***
At two minutes to nine, legato found the park empty. Taking a seat on the bench, he waited until he heard footsteps from behind.
Without addressing him, Phillipson took a seat on the bench’s other end. No words exchanged at first. Just two guys pretending to be gazing into the overcast skyline.
It seemed weird to Legato. Some Mission Impossible type shit.
“Just want you to know, Legato, whatever happens here, you’re still a piece of shit. But if this is all I got, it’s all I got.” He pulled a folder from his jacket pocket, sat it in the center of the bench.
Legato reached for it.
“Not yet,” Phillipson said. “Wait till I’m gone.”
“This is crazy.”
“No, this is what happens when you try to steal half a million dollars from the police department. You get a rep that could poison anybody who talks to you.” He sprang to his feet, started away but stopped himself. “I don’t hear from you in two days or if anything turns up on you that could land you in a cell, then to a cell you will go. No excuses.” He stepped into the distance, leaving Legato alone with his troubling thoughts.
Then Legato made the mistake of opening the folder. Out of context the jargon made little sense. He needed somebody to guide him through it, but without a medical examiner near, he’d have to get creative.
Chapter Six
Bootsie’s was packed on Wednesday night. With so many fistfights to separate and drunken trysts to interrupt, Legato had almost enough on his mind to forget his mission. But as closing time approached, the sight of Ginger in the break room – nose buried in a book titled Medical Procedure – brought his troubles rushing back. Standing at the doorway with the folder tucked under his arm, he waited for the right moment to interrupt and ask for a favor. Finally he asked, “You catching up on old times?”
Ginger turned, her face colder than he’d ever seen it. “What?”
“The book. An old textbook from medical school?”
“No. Steamy romance. Nurse and doctor, fall in love, et cetera. Can I help you?”
He took a seat next to her. “How’d you know I needed help?”
“You just have that look. Like a john about to beg for a free handjob.”
Legato laughed, but Ginger didn’t. “What do you need, Legato?”
He tossed the folder in front of her. “I need help from somebody with a background in medicine. Could take a while to read through it. Two hours, maybe three.”
“Sure. Two-fifty an hour. Time’s up when I say it is.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m asking for.”
“I don’t care what you’re asking for. You want a favor on my time, it costs you. My time is valuable – whatever it is you want.”
“I’m a little short on money right now –“
“And I’m a little short on generosity. Goodbye, Legato.”
He stood but stayed watching her for a while, her face beyond cold now, jaw tight. She sniffed.