Linger: Dying is a Wild Night (A Linger Thriller Book 1)

by Edward Fallon

  “Is that what you think of me?”

  Rusty sighed. “Come on, Kate, don’t give me that kind of nonsense. You’re better than that. And MacLean isn’t—which is why I gave you the nod. So it’s up to you to be the adult here and make it right. That’s part of the job.”

  She considered this and nodded. “Maybe I have been coming on a little strong.”

  “A little?”

  She gave him a wan smile. “I’m not like you, Rusty. I can’t do things the way you do.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to. But you need to ease up and choose your battles carefully. Half of this job is politics and at this rate you’re gonna render yourself unelectable.”

  She knew he wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t sure she had the kind of self-control he was advocating.

  “For what it’s worth,” Rusty went on, “MacLean admitted he hasn’t made things easy for you, and Linkenfeld gave you his unqualified endorsement. That poor son of a bitch is caught between a rock and a hard place, and just wants to see everyone get along.”

  “Believe it or not, so do I.”

  “I believe it. And I don’t figure this case you’re working is making things any easier for you. You having any luck with it?”

  She considered telling him what Christopher had said, but didn’t think throwing around even more accusations about the people she worked with would be a smart career move. Besides, she wasn’t yet sure that Chris was right, and trying to explain to Rusty what the boy was capable of would be problematic, to say the least.

  “Making the connection between the Branford girl and the Sorianos has thrown this case wide open,” she said. “Turns out she and her parents were working for them as online sex performers.”

  Rusty’s brows went up. “The daughter, too?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “But Linkenfeld told us she’s jailbait.”

  Kate nodded. “And I think that’s the reason they’re all dead.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know what else Linkenfeld told you, but I think our perp had a sexual relationship with her and this whole mess boils down to retaliation for a blackmail scheme. There have to be some incriminating photos or a video stored on a drive or a memory stick and buried in a hole somewhere, and he’s doing his best to make sure it never comes to light.”

  “That’s pretty extreme,” Rusty said.

  “Is it? We live in a world where people get their heads cut off in the name of God, so extreme is a matter of opinion.”

  “I suppose you’re right about that.”

  “You know I am. This guy’s just your run-of-the-mill sociopath who’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect his own status quo.” She thought about this and smiled. “Maybe he doesn’t like change.”

  34

  _____

  KATE RAN A DATABASE SEARCH that failed to bring up any hits on the Soriano brothers’ real estate holdings. She was thinking it was a lost cause, when Curt Clark called her from the crime scene with some good news.

  “These guys were about as organized as a schizophrenic two-year old, but I found a lease agreement buried at the bottom of one of the desk drawers. A suite of fifteen offices in the Walker building downtown.”

  “Are their names on it?”

  “No, it’s signed by a Winifred Stratton of Stratton Employment Services.”

  “Probably a cover company, to get past any occupancy restrictions. I doubt the owners of the building would be thrilled to know what goes on there.”

  “What does go on there? What’s this all about, anyway?”

  “I’ll fill you in later, but let’s just say they’re making money the old-fashioned way with a twenty-first century twist. What’s the address?”

  Curt gave it to her and when they hung up, she immediately called Linkenfeld. He answered after several rings and she thought she detected some hesitation in his voice.

  The sounds in the background explained why.

  “So where are you?” she asked. “Across the street?”

  “Yeah, I never got lunch, so I figured I’d grab an early dinner.”

  “Well, get it to go. I need you to meet me at the Walker building in thirty.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “I’ll explain when you get there,” she said. “Oh, and bring Bob with you, too.”

  He hesitated. “Bob?”

  “Come on, Jake, I know he’s with you. Just tell him that if he doesn’t bust my balls, I won’t bust his.”

  More hesitation. “Are you sure? Because I gotta be honest with you, I don’t like being stuck in the middle of this shit.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, then hung up.

  ∙ ∙ ∙

  The Walker building was located in Santa Flora’s garment district, which was currently undergoing gentrification. It was one of the oldest buildings in the city, a forty story highrise that had been built during a time when the idea of Internet chat sex was relegated to sci-fi smut novels.

  After she briefed Linkenfeld and MacLean, Kate rode with them up to the fourteenth floor, the mood in the elevator tense but tolerable. She had taken Rusty’s advice to heart and suspected MacLean had gotten the same speech.

  “So what’s the game plan?” Linkenfeld asked.

  “Depends on what we find. If this place is what I think it is, we need to talk to any of the girls who may have known Bree. If she was hooking on the side, maybe one of them will be able to ID some of her regular customers. There was probably some sharing going on.”

  “Variety is the spice of life,” MacLean said.

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to reveal a colorless reception room with a desk at the center and a couple of sofas shoved up against a wall. A sign behind the desk read CAM EQUIPMENT: YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT, and to the left and right were hallways dotted with office doors, most of which were closed. The lights were all on, so somebody must have been home.

  Kate exchanged glances with Linkenfeld and MacLean.

  “Looks like this is the place,” she said, then called out, “Hello?”

  She was answered by the muffled sound of a toilet flush.

  A moment later a doorway at the end of the left hall swung open and a dark-haired girl of about nineteen emerged wearing a flimsy flower print robe and nothing else. The robe hung open, revealing a cleanly waxed body adorned by a multitude of colorful tattoos.

  The girl saw them, stiffened, and pulled the robe closed. “Can I help you?”

  Kate showed her a badge. “Santa Flora Police Department. We’re looking for a Winifred Stratton.”

  “Who?”

  “Winifred Stratton. She signed the lease on this place.”

  It took some thought, then the girl said,”Oh, right, Freddie. She’s the manager here. But you’ll have to come back tomorrow. She’s gone for the day.”

  “What’s your name?” Linkenfeld asked.

  The girl hesitated.

  “Don’t worry, we’re not here to bust anyone. We just want to know who we’re talking to.”

  “My chat handle is Dark Angel.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” MacLean said.

  Kate shot him a glance and tried with all her might to remember that she had to be the adult here.

  He got the message and she said to the girl, “How about a real name? Or at least something besides your chat handle.”

  She hesitated again. “Melissa.”

  “All right, Melissa. How many girls are working tonight?”

  Melissa glanced at the hallway doors. “We aren’t doing anything illegal.”

  “Why don’t you let us decide that?” MacLean said. “How many?”

  “…Ten, I think. Some of the girls have left already.”

  “Then what do you say you help us out and round ‘em up so we can all have a nice big powwow?”

  “Are you kidding?” she said. “Some of them are doing shows and they’ll kill me if I interrupt.”

  “We’ll
make sure that doesn’t happen,” Kate told her.

  ∙ ∙ ∙

  It took a good fifteen minutes to get all the girls out into the reception area—a mix of races and body types, most of them in their late teens or early twenties. Some took root on the sofas while others chose to stand, none of them happy that they’d been pulled away from their work. Some wore robes, but several were topless and didn’t seem to care that a couple of male detectives were openly gaping at them.

  Kate supposed it came with the territory, but was tempted to ask them to cover up before MacLean and Linkenfeld started offering them tokens.

  When they were settled, she said, “I know you all have a living to make, and I’m sorry to interrupt you, but we’re investigating a crime and want to ask you some questions.”

  “What kind of crime?”

  This came from a girl with spiky black hair and a bustier that looked like something out of a forties glamour magazine.

  Kate looked at her and said, “That isn’t something we can talk about. But it’s our understanding that one of the girls who worked here went by the nickname Barely Legal Barbi. Did any of you know her?”

  A topless blonde snorted derisively. “Which one? We’ve probably had about fifteen Barbies in the last few months.”

  Kate reached into her back pocket and pulled out a letter size envelope. Inside were two identical photographs—image captures of Bree Branford from the XXXurbate website. “Like I said, this one calls herself Barely Legal Barbie.”

  She handed one photo to the blonde and the other to one of the girls who was standing nearby, then told them to take a close look and pass the photos around.

  They did so, grudgingly, and Kate knew that both MacLean and Linkenfeld would be watching the girls’ faces (assuming they could stop staring at their breasts) for any sign of a reaction.

  After a moment, Kate said, “Well? Anyone?”

  A redhead on the sofa raised her hand as if she were in a classroom. “Isn’t this the girl from the TV? The one who was killed with her family?”

  “We can’t discuss the case,” Kate said. “Do you know her?”

  “Just from the news, if this is her.”

  Kate looked at the other girls. “What about the rest of you?”

  They responded with head shakes and nos, then passed back the photos as one of them, a lazy-eyed brunette in lacy red lingerie said, “You have to understand that a lot of girls come and go around here. We see different faces all the time. Some stay for awhile, but most get bored with it and decide they’d rather do something else.”

  Like blackmail? Kate thought.

  “So none of you recognize her?”

  The redhead started to raise her hand again, but Kate waved her off.

  “I know, just from TV.”

  They were all silent and Kate turned to Linkenfeld and MacLean.

  “Well?”

  “The blonde with the rack,” MacLean said. “And the Asian chick.”

  Kate nodded. “That’s my call, too. Jake?”

  Linkenfeld shrugged. “You guys must be better at this than I am. I didn’t get a thing.”

  Kate told the girls they could go back to work, except for the two that she and MacLean had singled out.

  The two girls groaned when Kate held them back and the Asian girl said, “What’s the deal? Why can’t we go, too?”

  MacLean grinned at her. “Because you suck at poker.”

  35

  _____

  HER CHAT NAME WAS AsiaX, but her driver’s license said she was Natalie Chen.

  Kate had insisted on seeing it the moment they stepped into the girl’s faux bedroom, because she didn’t look much older than Bree. But the license was authentic and said she was twenty-two years old, and Kate knew that Asian girls often looked much younger than their actual age.

  She was dressed in only a sheer black bra and panties, and Kate told her to put something on. The girl grabbed a gingham print babydoll dress from a bed littered with vibrators and dildos and slipped into it.

  Kate thought about Linkenfeld and MacLean—who had stayed in the reception area to question the blonde—and had a feeling that neither of them had asked her to cover up.

  She gestured to the camera mounted on a tripod near the foot of Natalie’s bed. “Is that thing live?”

  Natalie eyed her sullenly. “Yes.”

  “Take it offline.”

  “Why? What’re you gonna do?”

  “Ask you some questions. Now turn it off.”

  Natalie scowled, crossed to a laptop on the dresser and hit a key. A red light on the camera switched off. “Happy now?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I don’t know why you have to be such a bitch. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Except lie?”

  “About what?”

  “Come on, Natalie, I saw your face when you looked at that picture. And it wasn’t because you saw her on TV like your redheaded friend. She worked here and you knew her.”

  Natalie said nothing.

  “Look, if you’re afraid of someone and you’d rather do this somewhere else, that’s fine with me. We can talk downtown if you want to.”

  “Downtown?”

  “At the police station.”

  “Why do I have to go there? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yeah, you said that. But if you withhold information, that’s what’s known as obstruction of justice and it can land you in jail. Is that what you want?”

  She looked alarmed. “No.”

  “Then lose the attitude and tell me what you know about the girl in the photograph. Because you know something.”

  “All I know is I’m losing a lot of money right now.”

  “The sooner you say something useful, the sooner I’ll leave and you can go back to work.”

  Natalie studied Kate, weighing her options, then made a gesture with her fingers. “Let me see that picture again.”

  Kate knew it was a stalling tactic, but she pulled out one of the photographs and handed it to her.

  Natalie made a show of studying it. “You know, when I look at this now, I think you may be right. I do remember her. She was a regular here for awhile.”

  “Imagine that,” Kate said.

  “But she only did weekends. I think she went to school during the week.”

  “So you knew she was underage?”

  The eyes widened. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You haven’t said a whole lot, but I have a feeling you knew her better than you’re letting on. You two were friends, weren’t you?”

  “We talked to each other sometimes, but—”

  “But nothing,” Kate said. “You’re no better at hiding it now than you were five minutes ago. Something’s going on inside that head of yours, and I want to know what it is.”

  Kate waited for a response and was surprised when the hardness in Natalie’s eyes abruptly disappeared and they began to fill with tears.

  “Oh, God…” she said. “Oh, God…”

  Kate waited.

  “I warned her like a hundred times. I told her he was a creep.”

  “So you and Barbi were friends.”

  Natalie wiped at her eyes, her lower lip trembling. “Not like BFFs or anything, but we used to talk a lot and we did a couple of group shows together and I swear to God I didn’t know how young she was until a lot later. She didn’t act like a kid…”

  “Who’s the he you warned her about?”

  “Chucho Soriano.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s the creep who owns this place. He and his brother. He used to hang around a lot when Barbi was here and I told her he was trouble and that she should just do her job and stay away from him, but she thought he was cute and wouldn’t listen to me. And he’s the reason she’s dead. I know he is.”

  The news of Soriano’s murder hadn’t reached the airwaves yet, and Natalie was operating on the notion that he was still alive.

  �
�What makes you think that?” Kate asked.

  “Because he’s crazy, that’s why. He told her he loved her, but he made her do all kinds of terrible things.”

  “Like what?”

  “He started pimping her out to her chat buddies even though he knew she was underage, and they were planning something bad. She used to brag about how they were gonna get rich and live in a big house and I figured it was just talk, but then they started messing with the wrong guy and I knew something terrible would happen.”

  “What guy? Who were they messing with?”

  “One of her regulars. She used to do a lot of one-on-one cam chats with him, then Chucho arranged for them to meet and… and…” She started to cry again. “I knew I should’ve told someone, especially when I found out how old she was, but I was afraid Chucho would try to hurt me, and—”

  “What was his name, Natalie? The man he wanted her to meet?”

  She sniffed and wiped her wrist across her nose. “I don’t know. She only told me his chat name.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m not sure. Kogo or Kojo or—”

  “Kojak?”

  “Yeah. I think that was it. I remember she put him on her high tipper list and the guy got mad and wanted her to take it off.”

  “Have you met this man?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve never even seen him. All I know is what Barbi told me.”

  “Not even a picture or a video?”

  “No,” Natalie said.

  “Then I don’t get it. How did you know he was the wrong guy to be messing with?”

  Natalie hesitated, looking as if she’d just made a very bad bet and wanted to take it back.

  “Natalie?”

  “Why should I trust you? Look who you came here with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That guy in the reception room, interviewing Crystal.”

  “Which one? The big guy?”

  She shook her head. “No, the other one.”

  Linkenfeld. She was talking about Linkenfeld.

  “What about him?”

  The girl got quiet again and Kate softened.