Trick Roller

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  “Thanks,” said Dominic, but he wasn’t offended.

  “How do you handle that when you’re out hunting bail jumpers?”

  “I usually try to stay out of sight as much as possible—tail them in a car if I can. Or I go the other way and make direct contact under some sort of pretext that lets me keep an eye on them without raising suspicions.”

  “Hmm.” McBride tapped the fingers of her free hand against her desk, sizing him up. “Well, it shouldn’t be a problem anyway. Justine Aubrey is the lead investigator, and she can follow the target anywhere you’d attract too much attention.”

  Aubrey was a surveillance specialist, as well as one of the most generic-looking human beings Dominic had ever met. He considered himself particularly observant, and even he would be hard-pressed to describe her in any meaningful way.

  “She’s downstairs with Isaiah getting her equipment. You’d better run down and meet her so she can explain the finer points.”

  “Thank you.” Dominic put the file back on the desk and headed for the door.

  “Russo,” McBride said, when he had his hand on the knob. He turned back to see her unscrewing and refilling her vaporizer. “I’ve been impressed with what I’ve seen from you so far, and the bail agencies around here have nothing but good things to say about you. Keep on like this, and there’ll be an investigator position waiting for you once you’re licensed.” She narrowed her eyes. “So don’t fuck this up, you got me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dominic said. As he left the office, he felt the strangest urge to salute, which was something he hadn’t done in years.

  “That’s definitely the same woman,” Martine said.

  Monday morning, she and Levi were standing behind Carmen Rivera’s desk, comparing two pictures pulled up side by side on Carmen’s computer. One was a driver’s license photo from the DMV; the other was a still from the Mirage’s elevator cameras, flagged by Levi as the most likely candidate for Hensley’s nighttime companion. This woman had arrived on Hensley’s floor around ten thirty and left shortly after 1 a.m., at the early edge of the established window for his time of death.

  She was a statuesque beauty, all smooth olive skin and silky black hair, and her features had a distinct Mediterranean cast. In the camera footage, she was conservatively dressed in a plum sheath and low-heeled pumps, a duffel bag slung over one arm.

  “No doubt,” said Carmen, one of their young tech wizards. She had a habit of chewing on her lips when she concentrated, the end result being that they were permanently chapped. Her messy bun listed precariously to one side of her head. “Diana Kostas. No hits on the DNA, but the prints popped right up once the lab got around to them. She got fingerprinted here at the LVMPD for her work permit.”

  Levi frowned. The way escort agencies in Clark County were able to operate legally was to license themselves as “outcall promoters,” referral services for entertainers sent to hotel or motel guest rooms. The outcall entertainers had to register themselves as such and obtain work permits. With careful semantics, all parties involved were able to avoid implicating themselves in actual prostitution.

  Fingerprinting was a standard part of obtaining a permit, so Kostas would have known the LVMPD had easy access to her prints. Why leave them behind in such an obvious place?

  “Any criminal history?” he asked.

  “None.”

  “You have any idea which agencies she might work with?” Martine said to Levi.

  “No, all the phone records were a bust. Hensley must have booked his appointment online.” Turning back to Carmen, Levi said, “Did you find anything there?”

  “Yep.” She clicked her mouse, switching screens to a website with a sultry red-and-black color scheme and the words Sinful Secrets written in flowing script. “From what I could dig up, this is the only outcall promoter Diana Kostas works with.”

  Martine let out a low whistle, and Levi’s frown deepened. Sinful Secrets was a top-tier agency, the kind that catered to celebrities and Fortune 500 executives. Their escorts’ hourly fees were astronomical.

  Carmen navigated through the website—which was actually quite tasteful—to one of the escorts’ individual pages. “She goes by the name Pandora while she’s working.”

  The woman in these pictures wasn’t Kostas, but it wouldn’t be; agencies like these used models on their websites to protect their escorts’ identities. It was a close approximation, though.

  “Why the hell would someone who’s probably making thousands of dollars an appointment roll a john for a wallet and some electronics?” Levi said.

  “We don’t know that’s what happened. There are other possibilities.” Martine ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke. “Maybe they did the drugs together, and he had a bad reaction. Maybe she drugged him because he made her feel unsafe and she didn’t think she could leave the room. Or maybe he took the drugs after she left.”

  “Then where’s his stuff?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered.

  “I know; I feel it too,” said Martine. “But we won’t know anything more until we question this woman. Carmen, you got an address?”

  After Carmen provided them with Kostas’s home address in Henderson, they stopped by their desks to grab their things. “Do you mind driving?” Levi asked. “I need to think.”

  “Sure.”

  Just as they were leaving, however, Levi’s desk phone rang. Martine waved him toward it.

  “You’d better get that. I’ll start running the air-conditioning in the car. Maybe by the time you catch up, we’ll be able to get in it without roasting alive.”

  As she continued on her way, Levi returned to his desk and picked up the receiver. “Detective Abrams.”

  “Hi, Detective. This is Dr. Maldonado from the coroner’s office.”

  “Yes, Doctor, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m calling in reference to the Hensley case.” A clicking keyboard sounded in the background. “I’ll be forwarding you the full report later, but I wanted to update you on the cause of death as quickly as possible. It was definitely an overdose—flunitrazepam, to be specific. Rohypnol. There’s very little chance it was accidental.”

  His interest piqued, Levi asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Nobody could survive the massive amount of Rohypnol in his system. Whoever measured out the drugs either intended for him to die or had absolutely no idea what they were doing. I should also note that I can’t rule out the possibility that the drugs were self-administered, though this isn’t a common substance of choice for suicides.”

  Levi thanked her and hung up, even more dubious now that they were on the right track. He shared the news with Martine as they drove out to Henderson.

  Kostas lived in a cute desert ranch on a quiet suburban block. Given the heat, very few people were out and about at this time of day. With Martine by his side, Levi walked up the flower-lined path and rapped on the front door.

  Kostas answered a moment later; Levi was startled to realize she was barely an inch shorter than him, and she wasn’t even wearing heels. “Can I help you?” she said.

  “Diana Kostas?” he asked. When she nodded, he showed her his badge and said, “I’m Detective Abrams with the LVMPD, and this is Detective Valcourt. We need you to come with us and answer some questions about Dr. Stephen Hensley.”

  Blanching, Kostas took a step backward. Before she could respond, there came the patter of small feet and a cry of “Mommy!” as a young boy of about four or five ran up behind her. He saw Levi and Martine and ducked behind his mother’s leg, though Levi could still glimpse a head full of black curls and big, soulful eyes. He held a half-eaten cookie in one hand.

  Another woman, this one pale and blonde, joined the growing group at the front door. “What’s going on, Diana?” she said in a voice full of suspicion.

  “Everything’s fine. Can you take Mason back to the kitchen, please?”
>
  Though the blonde woman cast Levi and Martine a narrow-eyed glare, she didn’t argue, just took Mason by the hand and led him back into the house.

  “Your roommate?” Martine asked.

  Kostas shook her head. “Just my friend Julie. She helps keep an eye on Mason during the day so I can study.”

  “Would she be able to watch him while you come down to the substation?”

  Folding her arms, Kostas said, “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet,” said Levi. “But Dr. Hensley is dead.”

  He watched the shock blossom across her face. She could just be a good actor, he reminded himself. A lot of sex workers were; it was part of the job.

  “We have uniformed officers on their way with a search warrant for your house,” he added. “So you might want to have Julie take Mason somewhere else for a few hours.”

  Kostas pressed her lips together and nodded shortly. “Give me a minute.”

  She walked away, leaving the front door wide open so Levi could see into the living room. It was a cozy space, with toys scattered across the floor and pictures of Mason all over the walls.

  “Oh boy, this is gonna suck,” Martine said.

  On his way into the substation, Levi stopped outside the doors to give Dominic a call. “Hey,” he said when Dominic answered. “I’m about to interrogate a suspect, but I should be able to take a break in about an hour and a half.”

  “Cool,” said Dominic. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Well . . . I was thinking maybe we could just eat at my place.”

  “Your place? Levi, I’ve seen your kitchen. You’ve got a couple cans of soup, a loaf of bread, and everything else is coffee.”

  Levi shifted from foot to foot, sweating through his suit jacket under the burning sun, and said nothing.

  “Why, Detective,” Dominic said, slow and delighted. “Are you trying to tell me you’re in the mood for a nooner?”

  “You’re an asshole,” Levi said, scowling even though Dominic couldn’t see him.

  Dominic laughed. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll pick up some takeout and meet you at your apartment, all right?”

  “Fine.” Levi didn’t dare say more than that, not wanting to let on how aroused he was by the idea of using his lunch break to get fucked in the middle of the workday.

  His voice sliding into a low, teasing register, Dominic said, “I’ll get something that keeps well, so it can wait until afterward if you really need sex so—”

  “Ugh,” Levi said, and hung up on him. He felt both annoyed and amused, a common blend of emotions he experienced around Dominic, and he was looking forward to lunch so much he didn’t know how he was going to make it through the interrogation.

  Diana Kostas was sitting at the metal table in the interview room with her back straight and her hands clasped in her lap. She looked nervous, lips pinched and cheeks pale, but she was holding herself together well.

  “Ms. Kostas,” Levi said as he sat across from her, “can you please tell me where you were last Saturday night between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m.?”

  She hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the camera in the corner of the room.

  “I’m not interested in pursuing a solicitation charge,” he said. “I wouldn’t be able to prove it anyway. My only concern is with Dr. Hensley’s death.”

  “All right.” She took a deep breath. “I got the referral from Sinful Secrets early in the evening. The requested appointment time was ten thirty, so that’s when I got to Dr. Hensley’s room at the Mirage. I was there for . . . two hours, two and a half? I’m pretty sure I left around 1 a.m. Then I went straight home.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “Yes, my babysitter.”

  So far, Kostas’s statement synced up with the Mirage’s security tapes. Levi made a note for himself to get the babysitter’s contact information later.

  “Did either you or Dr. Hensley take any mind-altering substances while you were in his room?”

  “We drank some champagne, that’s all.” Her composure suddenly cracking a bit, Kostas leaned forward and put her hands on the table. “Look, he was fine when I left his room, I swear to God. In a great mood, even. I don’t know how he died, but—”

  “It was an overdose of Rohypnol. And several valuable items were missing from his room.”

  She blinked—and then, to Levi’s surprise, fury twisted her features as she clenched her hands into fists. “Is that what this is about?” she spat. “You think I’m a fucking trick roller? Are you kidding me?”

  “Ms. Kostas—” Levi started, but she barreled right over him.

  “Do you have any idea how much money I make doing what I do? I don’t need to rob anyone. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it on a job I’d been sent to by people who know my real name!”

  Her voice had risen to a shout by that point. He’d slid his chair back a few inches from the table, his hands half-raised, very aware that she wasn’t cuffed to the table.

  Abruptly, she closed her eyes and sat back in her chair. When she opened her eyes several seconds later, her voice was clipped but calmer. “I depend on referrals from Sinful Secrets for my livelihood. If I ever harmed a client and it got back to them, they’d never work with me again, and I’d be screwed. Whatever was taken from Hensley’s room couldn’t possibly have been worth that.”

  Levi was inclined to agree. He thought back to the video footage of Kostas leaving Hensley’s room Saturday night. She’d appeared at ease, no signs of panic or distress. She certainly hadn’t looked like someone fleeing the scene of a homicide, accidental or otherwise.

  He spent another half an hour with her, going through her statement multiple times and following up on several questions, such as what she’d needed the duffel bag for (to carry the clothes she changed into once in the client’s room) and whether she’d seen anyone else in the hallway when she left (just the usual drunken partiers coming and going). He was jotting down her babysitter’s name and number for corroboration when there was a knock on the other side of the two-way mirror.

  Levi excused himself and left Kostas alone while he went into the viewing room next door. In addition to Martine, he found a uniformed officer named Daley and an unfamiliar woman who immediately caught and held his attention.

  He knew a trained fighter when he saw one. People who had dedicated serious time to the study of hand-to-hand combat tended to hold themselves with a loose, quiet readiness, their backs straight, weight evenly distributed, hands free in case they were needed for defense. This woman checked all those boxes and was in incredible shape besides, her lean, hard muscles obvious beneath her silk blouse and pencil skirt. She had golden-brown skin, a sharply defined nose, and black hair that was swept up in a simple ponytail.

  “Levi, this is Deputy District Attorney Leila Rashid,” Martine said. “Ms. Rashid, Detective Levi Abrams.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Detective,” said Rashid, coming forward to shake his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say the same.”

  “I’m relatively new to the DA’s office—just started in March.”

  “Did you catch the Hensley case?” he asked. “I don’t think we have anything solid for you yet.”

  “Are you sure about that?” She looked at Daley, who cleared his throat.

  “The officers searching the Kostas home didn’t find any of the stolen items,” he said to Levi, “but they did find a shoebox stuffed in the back of the cabinet under the bathroom sink behind a bunch of other junk. There were a few unlabeled vials inside that field-tested positive for flunitrazepam. They’re on the way to the lab for confirmatory testing, but it doesn’t look good.”

  Astonished, Levi turned to the two-way mirror. On the other side of the glass, Kostas sat cradling her head in her hands.

  “Are you going to arrest her now, or let her sweat it out for a bit?” Rashid asked.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Levi sa
id, more to himself than to her.

  She responded anyway. “Why not? I’ve reviewed the case so far. You’ve got her fingerprints and almost certainly her DNA at the scene, video evidence of her leaving within the window for time of death with a bag that could easily be carrying the stolen items, and now the possible murder weapon found in her home. What more do you want?”

  “A motive would be nice,” Levi snapped.

  “Please,” Rashid said, waving a dismissive hand. “I can think of half a dozen reasons for a sex worker to kill her client just off the top of my head without even bringing robbery into the equation. Have you considered the possibility that she took his stuff just to create the very doubts you’re feeling now?”

  Of course he’d considered it, but having Rashid throw it in his face only irritated him. He glared at her.

  “Levi,” Martine cut in, levelheaded as always. “Do you have another angle? Suicide, maybe?”

  “In a guy who’d just had great sex, was about to present ostensibly ground-breaking research, didn’t leave a note, and had been robbed? No.” He shrugged. “But someone else could have killed Hensley and pinned it on her.”

  “Oh, floating the frame-job theory?” Rashid said pleasantly. “That’s kind of a specialty of yours, isn’t it?”

  Levi went rigid. In his peripheral vision, he saw Martine wince, and Daley actually backed up a few steps.

  “Okay,” Martine said, after a loaded silence in which Rashid continued smiling at Levi like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “We’ll continue pursuing other avenues of investigation, but Levi, you know we have to charge Kostas based on what we have right now. I can do it if you’d rather not.”

  “I’ve got it,” said Levi, his voice curt. He left the viewing room, restraining himself from slamming the door, and returned to the interview room.

  Kostas lifted her head; when she saw Levi’s face, she straightened up with an apprehensive expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “The officers searching your house found Rohypnol underneath your bathroom sink.”