by Jay Allisan
“Yeah, it was cocaine,” Scarlett mumbles. “James made the charges disappear in exchange for my cooperation. He’s all about the pressure points, especially when it comes to cops.”
I shift, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Scarlett stretches his legs straight out in front of him. He sighs.
“So what does James want from you on this case?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Little things. He told me to keep an eye on the reporter and make sure nothing happened to him.”
So much for Benny not being tied to the Speakeasy. But just because James has an interest in him doesn’t mean Benny’s a willing accomplice. Or even aware he’s one.
“Do you know Benny?” I ask.
“I’d never met him before Sonny died, if that’s what you mean.”
“If you were involved with sending him those messages you’d better tell me now.”
Scarlett gapes at me. “No, no way. I had nothing to do with the messages or the victims. I’m being blackmailed but I’m not a killer!”
I stare back, scrutinizing him. He adds, “I was in the room with you when Benny got the second text.”
“What about the first text?”
“Come on, Shirley. You can’t seriously believe I’d do something like that. I wouldn’t just sit back and watch someone get killed. I told you, I was supposed to look out for the kid. That’s why when he met someone in the alley that first night I had to interrupt.”
That was the night Scarlett tagged along with Josie and Whale on their surveillance, the night Paddy and I went to the Speakeasy for the first time. That was the night Robin was drugged.
“So you fucked up the surveillance on purpose, but made it look like you were the bumbling new guy,” I say.
“What was I supposed to do, tell my new coworkers I’m following someone else’s orders? Everyone thinks I’m dumb anyway.”
Scarlett slouches, and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. “Then quit putting on a show, Scarlett. Maybe if you drop the arrogance you’ll actually learn something, and then you won’t be so dumb.”
“Whatever.”
I roll my eyes. “Did you see the woman Benny was with in the alley? Do you know who she was?”
“No. James just said to make sure Benny didn’t meet with anyone alone.”
“What else?”
Scarlett looks at me blankly.
“You said James wanted you to do little things. What else?”
“Update him, mostly. Tell him who we were talking to, what leads we were pursuing, that kind of thing.” Scarlett gnaws on his lip. “And he wanted me to tell him about you.”
“About me,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “Why would he want to know about me?”
“You think I asked? But I didn’t do it, I swear. With the trial coming up and everything you were going through it didn’t seem right.”
“Gee, what a gentleman.” I pause. “Is that why you got beat up at the club? James wasn’t happy with your services?”
“Yeah.”
Scarlett tugs listlessly at the handcuffs. I force a smile. “Part of me thinks I should be thanking you, but the rest of me thinks not spying on your friends should be a given.”
“We’re not friends,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Well, tonight I’m the best friend you’ve got, and I need your help, Scarlett.”
“Why would I help you?”
“Because I need you to.”
“You’re using me. Just like my dad, just like James, just like you did after Max—”
“I’m sorry.”
Scarlett blinks at me.
“You’re right,” I say. “You were trying to help me and I took advantage of you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
I go back to the computer. I search through the files for everything I don’t know about the case, starting with the second victim, the girl from the harbor. There’s a couple photos, but other than that, precious little. I skim the stuff on Anton Czechkov. Nothing I didn’t learn from Benny. Finally all that’s left is a file created today, labeled Jane Doe #2. That must be the girl in the pipe. I open the file.
Photos fill the screen, horrifically graphic. She’s Hispanic, like the girl found in the harbor, and 20 at the oldest. Mottled bruising rings her neck, and marks shaped like handprints cover her hips and thighs. I’ve got no doubt she was sexually assaulted. But it’s her stomach I can’t stop staring at. Someone filleted her from chest to groin.
I close the images and bring up Paddy’s notes. I speed-read through his description of the scene and his interview of the woman with the labradoodle. When I get to the ME’s preliminary findings I hit the brakes.
The girl in the pipe has been dead for weeks.
I glance at Scarlett. “What do you know about the girl found this afternoon?”
Scarlett stares down at his shoes. I read the rest of Paddy’s notes, looking for the connection between this girl and the Speakeasy victims. She would have been killed first, before Sonny…
Sonny.
I log out of the computer and crouch in front of Scarlett again. I touch his leg. He looks at me.
“Do you think Sonny killed the girl in the pipe?”
Scarlett shrugs, dropping his gaze.
“Why was Paddy at the crime scene?”
“How would I know?” Scarlett mutters. “He doesn’t talk to me.”
“Are they connected? The girl in the pipe and the girl in the harbor?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I guess it was suspicious enough to take a look at.”
I prod him again. His eyes come up.
“Why are you here so late? What are you working on?”
Scarlett sighs. “I’m just trying to figure it out. I know James is behind this, and if I can figure out what he’s doing then maybe…”
I say it softly. “Maybe you can get out?”
“Yeah. I hate this, Shirley. I fucking hate this.”
I give his hand a squeeze. “We’ll get him.”
“What are you doing here?” Scarlett asks suddenly. “Did you know about me? Does Dixon know?”
“I didn’t know until you told me, but Dixon probably knows. He knows everything.”
“So you didn’t come looking for me?”
I hesitate. “No. I came to look at the case file.”
Scarlett squirms. He’s biting his tongue.
“Don’t hold out on me now,” I say. “I’ve got people mixed up in this and I just want to get them out. If you know something—”
“Presley,” Scarlett says. “That’s who you’re looking for, right?”
I stare at him. “How do you know his name?”
“I didn’t know you knew him, but then I saw a picture in the paper, you and Presley and some other kid going into the trial. I guess I should have realized, but—”
“Scarlett. How do you know Presley’s name?”
“I thought you knew. I thought that’s why you did this to me.” He jangles his cuffed wrist. “Because I didn’t tell you.”
My skin prickles with goosebumps. “Tell me what?”
“That he’s been spying on you for James.”
I lose my balance. I put my hand on the ground, sinking out of my crouch until I’m sitting. Scarlett frowns. “Shirley?”
“He’s my friend,” I say, breathless. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s my friend. We live together. He’s—”
“He’s not your friend. He’s working for James.”
“He works for James because he has to. He didn’t even know James until a couple weeks ago.”
“Shirley, he’s a drug addict. He’s been working for James for years.”
My voice catches. “What?”
“Presley’s addicted to cocaine, and as long as he works for James he gets his fix.”
I shake my head. “No. I would have known. I would have noticed…”
Scarlett touches my arm and I flinch away. He winces. “Presley’s the guy I bought from back at the
academy. He’s the one who told James about me in the first place. Remember what I said about pressure points? James used Presley, and Presley used you.”
“No,” I whisper. “Presley would never do that to me.”
“He did. He was at the Speakeasy the night I was there with you and Paddy, the night I got beat up. I heard him, Shirley. He was reporting on you.”
“He’s my friend,” I whisper. “He’s my friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
I push shakily to my feet. Scarlett grabs me by the hand. “Wait a second. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go find him.”
“Don’t do it, Shirley. Just leave him alone.”
“He needs me. I have to help him.”
I pull free of Scarlett. He makes another grab for me but I move toward the door. Scarlett scrambles to his knees.
“Come on, don’t be stupid. There’s something bigger going on and we’re all just pawns. You, me, Presley, we’re all just being toyed with. Stay here, okay? We’ll be safe here.”
“I can’t. I have to go.”
“Shirley—”
“I’m sorry about this. Really. But someone will find you in the morning, and you’re right. In the meantime you’ll be safe.”
“Forget about Presley! He’s not worth it! Please, Shirley, don’t go—”
I go.
43
I’M ALMOST at the Speakeasy when my cell phone rings. It’s Benny. He jumps right in without preamble.
“Hey, so the autopsy just started, but my contact gave me an update and you’re not going to believe—”
“Sonny Carpenter killed her,” I say. “He drugged her and raped her and cut her apart.”
The line goes silent, or I think it does. Blood’s rushing in my ears and throbbing in my temples. I pull my car to the curb and force myself to focus on my breath.
“Mordecai? Are you still there?”
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m here.”
“How did you know about Sonny?”
“I did some research of my own. What else have you got?”
“There’s no ID on the girl yet, but she had Sonny’s tissue under her nails. Skin cells or something. She’s been dead for about three weeks. And she was roofied.”
“What else?”
“Well, uh, my contact thinks Sonny was looking for something when he cut her open. He didn’t just cut through the skin. He cut into her stomach and intestines and dug around.”
“He was looking for drugs. Cocaine.”
Benny pauses. “You mean like if she was a drug mule?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“Wow. Okay. Well, that’s all I’ve got for now, but I’ll call you in the morning—”
“Benny.”
“Huh?”
I lift my head and stare out the windshield. The Speakeasy’s two blocks away. Only two blocks. I put my car in gear.
“Uh, Mordecai?”
I can go get him right now. Fuck security. Fuck James. I’ll just walk in and take Presley home.
“Hello? Mordecai?”
He’s my friend.
“Okay, well, I’m hanging up now…”
“Wait.”
“I am waiting,” Benny says. “Did you forget about me?”
“No. No, I haven’t forgotten about you.” I exhale slowly and massage my temples. “Benny, you were talking to someone the night Sonny was killed, in the alley where we found his body. You were talking to a woman. Do you remember?”
“Well, yeah, I was—”
“Describe her to me. Everything you can think of.”
Benny laughs. “Mordecai, I was talking to my editor. Your team already asked me about that.”
“Why were you in the alley?”
“She wanted to see the crime scene.”
I grip the phone a little tighter. “Your conversation was interrupted, remember? By Josie and Scarlett. Where did you go afterward?”
“I went to the office and worked all night.”
“Where did your editor go?”
“I don’t know. She got a phone call right when your cop friends showed up and she took off.”
“Where are you, Benny? Where are you right now?”
“I’m at work, sketching out this new article—”
“Is your editor there?”
“No.”
“Is anyone else there with you?”
“No. It’s just me.”
I pull my car into traffic. The Speakeasy’s two blocks away. Instead I go back the way I came. “I’m coming to get you. Be outside in ten minutes.”
“Why?”
“Pack up what you need. I’m on my way.”
“YOU’RE KIND of freaking me out, Mordecai,” Benny says as we come through my front door. I bolt it and peer out the peephole into the street. Benny hugs his bag of notebooks to his chest. “Am I in danger?”
I sweep the living room for signs of intrusion, Benny trailing after me like a duckling. I check the lock on the back door. “Yes.”
“You said there were people watching me. That I was safe.”
He follows me to my bedroom. I close the door. “Not everyone watching you wants to keep you safe. Sit down.”
He drops his bag to the floor and sits uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. He squints at the papers stuck to the wall. “Uh, why is my name up there? Why is it beside Sonny? You don’t think I’m involved in this, do you?”
“You are involved. You were chosen by James.”
Benny’s eyes bug out. “By James? Why? How?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I pull a sticky note from the pad and write a new name. I slap it on the wall. “Tell me about her.”
“About Layla?” he says in disbelief. “You think my editor is—”
“Just tell me everything you know.”
Benny cocks his head. “Well, she’s a tabloid editor, but like I said, she’s trying to turn the paper legitimate. She doesn’t drink coffee and I’ve never seen her eat. She yells a lot. Mostly in Spanish. And I’m totally afraid of her.”
“How long has she been with the paper?”
“A few months, maybe? She’s pretty new, but I guess her resume was impressive. She’s got a reputation for digging up dirt and there’s lots of money in scandals.”
“How do you know her reputation?”
“I Googled her. She won awards back home for her aggressive reporting, but you also make a lot of enemies that way. She tells the truth and doesn’t care who it hurts.”
“Where is she from?”
“Colombia.”
“How does she know James?”
“She doesn’t.”
“She does. She must.” I study the papers on the wall. “We’ve got two dead girls, probably from Central or South America. We can’t identify them because they were brought into the country illegally, and they brought something else illegal in, too. Cocaine.”
“The girl in the harbor was a drug mule too?”
“That’s my guess. Once the girls pass the drugs James puts them to work in his club. That’s probably how he got them in the first place, by promising a lucrative dance career. But something went wrong.”
“Sonny killed the girl in the pipe.”
“Sonny fucked up. Whether he was after the girl for sex or cocaine, he stepped out of bounds. James needed to get rid of him, but instead of sweeping it under the rug he gets the police involved. Somehow he’s covering his ass.”
“What about the girl in the harbor?” Benny asks. “Why was she killed? Sonny was already dead so he couldn’t have done it.”
“I think she probably got scared when her friend disappeared. Maybe she was asking questions or wanting to leave.”
“Then what about Czechkov? And how does Layla fit into this?”
I sit next to Benny on the bed. “I don’t know about Czechkov yet. Maybe he was playing the same game as Sonny.”
&n
bsp; “And Layla?”
I don’t answer right away. Benny’s knee starts to bounce. “What about my editor, Mordecai? What do you think she’s doing in all this?”
“Benny, why did your editor want to see the crime scene in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t know. She just wanted to see it.”
“There wasn’t anything left to see.”
“I know, but she wanted me to tell her what I saw, and she wanted to compare the picture I got to the alley, and…” His face scrunches up in thought. “She was really adamant about the photo. She thought I took it, even after I told her it was sent to me. She didn’t believe me.”
“So she asked you to meet her at the crime scene.”
“Yes.”
“Alone. In the dark.”
“Yeah…”
“With the incriminating photograph.”
Benny pounds the floor like a jackrabbit. I put my hand on his leg to still it. “Do you understand where I’m going with this?”
“You think…” His chest heaves. “You think she’s… she’s…”
“I think she’s the hitman,” I say gently. “And I think you’re on her list.”
Benny goes white. “She was going to kill me. Oh my God, she was going to kill me.”
He sits motionless for all of three seconds, and then he leaps to his feet, gesticulating wildly. “No! No, she wasn’t going to kill me, because she’s not the murderer! The murderer sent me the photo, remember? If she was the murderer she would have known about the photo because she sent it to me, so she wouldn’t have been asking me about it!”
I stand. “Benny, look at me. Calm down.”
“You said the murderer took the photo so it wasn’t her, and she wasn’t going to kill me! You’re wrong! You got it wrong!”
He starts giggling. I make him sit back down and put his head between his knees. “Just breathe, Benny. You’ll be all right.”
“I am not all right! I am not I am not…”
I rub his back, giving him the words so often spoken to me, and gradually his breathing steadies. I leave my hand on his shoulder but let him straighten.
“Why,” he says slowly, “would a newspaper editor be killing people? Why them? Why me? And what about the photos?”
“James wants the publicity,” I say. “He wants the coverage and the spectacle and the police investigation.” I think of Scarlett and blackmail and another piece falls into place. “It’s insurance. His own evidence on the killer.”