by Bob Mayer
Chase wished he could see his eyes up close. Some killers had a certain look in their eyes. Chase knew that sounded stupid to people outside the world of violence and he couldn't go into a court with it, but the ones who killed out of dumb meanness had it. He’d seen it in Iraq and Afghanistan. Guys who fired when they shouldn’t have. The type who'd kill a person if they cut them off in traffic, or said something bad about their girl in a bar, or blasted civilians at a check point if they didn’t stop soon enough.
Chase’s glance had done little but let him know what Hatcher now looked like. The fact that Donnelly had shifted Gotleib to work on this case told Chase that the Barnes investigation was getting deep-sixed.
Porter and Chase went back out to the car and started cruising the lots after calling campus security to find out which ones it would likely be in. At least finding a van wouldn't be that difficult. It took fifteen minutes.
SRW 374. The body of the vehicle had seen some better days. The white paint could use a good washing. Chase couldn't imagine Rachel walking over to this vehicle late at night in the CU parking lot unless she was a lot stupider than the A’s she had been getting. Of course, he knew there were school smarts, there were street smarts and the two didn’t necessarily add up.
Chase wondered if Hatcher had been a member of the swingers club. Maybe he had even had sex with Rachel and then followed her from the club. Chase didn't know. Even if she didn’t have street smarts he couldn't imagine Rachel willingly having sex with Hatcher, her being really into sex notwithstanding. Besides, Sylvie had said they only let single women in, not men.
Porter told Chase to keep an eye out, just in case Hatcher got off early. The van had no windows except in the front and two small panels in the back. The two in the back were tinted.
Porter went over and peered in the side windows, then came back. “He’s got a blanket hung behind the front seats so I couldn’t see the rear.”
“That’s strange.”
Porter shrugged. “Not enough to get a warrant.” They got back in the car and Porter drove Chase back to his Jeep.
"What's the plan?" Chase asked
Porter sighed. “We keep an eye on him. You got any ideas?”
Chase trusted Porter. Besides there was always the slim possibility that they might trail Hatcher to the same club he was at this evening. That could be awkward.
"I think I know where Rachel was the night she was killed. I'm going with Sylvie to check it out tonight."
Porter’s gray eyebrows arched. "With Sylvie?"
Chase told his partner the story and where he was going. When Chase was done Porter just looked at Chase for a minute as he mulled it over. "It sort of fits. I never even thought of something like that. What are you going to do when you get there? Show Mrs. Stevens’ picture around?"
Good question. "I don't know. I'll play it by ear."
"Why is Sylvie going?"
"She wants to. And it will be easier for me to get in with her."
Porter grinned. "You going to do anything?"
"What do you mean?"
He winked. "You know. It is a swingers club after all. I'm sure Sylvie will be the hit of the party."
Porter and Chase had worked together for four months but this was the most he had ever pissed Chase off. Through his anger Chase realized his partner’s comment was just an echo of the way he had talked about Sylvie for the past several months. He'd treated her as a good deal. An object.
Chase opened the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Porter reached over and grabbed his arm. "Hey, Chase. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It was stupid."
Chase nodded. "I know. It's more my fault. Take care."
Chase shut the door and went over to his Jeep. He tried to shake off his irritation, realizing it truly was more with himself than with Porter. He was getting worn down with bad feelings.
There were only two things Chase knew that he was doing that he hadn’t been told to. One was checking on the Patriots and Colonel Rivers. The other was checking on the Barnes. And what he had learned so far indicated the two might be connected. So how did the third leg of this triangle-- the CIA-- fit in? Thorne had hinted at that.
Chase needed more information-- exactly what Fortin had told Chase not to seek.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The North Denver Social Club met in a large three-story house, nestled in the midst of a middle class community. There was nothing on the outside to suggest it was anything other than a home. If Sylvie hadn't had the address, Chase would have questioned going up and knocking on the door. As she had said, it was only three blocks from where Rachel had caught her cab.
Chase sensed someone watching them through the peephole. Then the door swung open and they were ushered in. The doorman was a middle-aged man, slightly balding, with a smile on his face.
"Good evening. I'm Andrew." He looked at Sylvie. "You must be the young lady I talked to on the phone today."
Sylvie smiled and offered her hand. "Yes. I'm Sylvie and this is Chase."
Chase was looking about. The inside was much different than the outside suggested. Someone had gutted the main floor, making it into one large room. A rectangular bar sat in the front half. The rear half held a dance floor with tables scattered about it, and booths around the wall. A large screen TV was set up there also. There were about fifteen, maybe twenty people spread about the place, but it was hard to pick up details about them. The place was dimly lit and cigarette smoke hung in the air. That alone would have canceled the place in Boulder.
"Do you have your tests?"
Sylvie pulled the copies of the AIDS tests out. The man frowned. "These are too old. We require current within one month."
Chase let Sylvie do the talking.
"I know. We went this afternoon and had our blood drawn for current ones, but the results won't be in for a week. We just want to look around tonight. We won't do anything with anyone. We're as concerned as you are about safe sex."
Andrew looked us both over. Chase knew he liked what he saw, especially Sylvie. She was dressed to kill, looking very sharp in a nice dress with a thigh high cut on one leg. Chase didn’t think he was looking too bad either, but he wasn't sure he wanted the guy to let them in because he liked the way he looked.
"All right. You can stay. But you mustn't have sexual contact with any of our members. It will be forty dollars for this evening. If you come back with current tests we'll sign you up as members and that fee will be one thousand dollars for a year's membership."
A thousand bucks. Chase doubted Hatcher could come up with that. Hell, Rachel hadn't been making money when she came here-- if she came-- she'd been giving it away. So where'd the money in the account come from?
Andrew turned as a woman came up. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Short blond hair, slim figure. She was wearing a very short black leather skirt and a halter-top through which Chase could clearly see her nipples.
"This is my wife, Lauren." He introduced Chase and Sylvie and explained to her about the AIDS test.
Lauren nodded. "It's all right. Let me show you about and explain our rules."
Chase had to admit to himself that he was surprised. He had half-expected some sort of dive, run by questionable characters. The place wasn't exactly high class on the inside like the Stevens’ house, but it was better than his basement cave.
Lauren led them along the first floor. "The bar is BYOB. We don't have a liquor license. You bring in whatever you want and give it to the bartender. She'll serve you only what you brought."
Chase did a double take at the girl behind the bar. She was a blond, who didn't happen to be wearing a top. She was slightly overweight, but it looked nice on her. She smiled at them.
Lauren stopped at the edge of the small dance floor. "We have our own DJ. We all gather here on the main floor until eight. Then we open the up and down stairs. No screwing on the main floor. You can have oral sex or use your hands however you like, but you can only have int
ercourse on the other floors."
The last was said so matter-of-factly that Sylvie and Chase just stood there and nodded. Chase felt like he was in a sort of erotic twilight zone.
"No drugs," Lauren said. "Not even pot. We run a clean place and we don't want any trouble with the police. You want to smoke some pot, you can go outside and down the street to the park and take your chances. But you do any in here and you're out. You get caught doing it outside, you don't tell them that you are members."
She pointed out the bathrooms and then led the two of them upstairs. The foyer looked like a locker room, which it was. "When you come up you can put your clothes in a locker. We have never had any trouble with stealing, but you can bring your own lock if you like."
She pointed out the bathroom next to the foyer. It had been remodeled with a large tiled shower room with three heads.
The rest of the level consisted of rooms with mattresses covering the floor in each. She stopped in one room where there was a strange device that looked like it belonged in a gym or a doctor's office.
"What's that?" Sylvie asked.
The woman hopped up on a bicycle seat and put her legs up on the two stanchions that came out. She gestured down at a padded platform between her legs. "One of you sits there and the other person sits where I am. Makes it very convenient for oral sex don't you think?"
Her tiny skirt had ridden up to her waist and Chase could see that she was wearing just a small g-string. She didn't seem in the slightest bit embarrassed. Sylvie turned to Chase and smiled. "We'll have to try this sometime. Almost as good as a Jeep sound bar."
Great, Chase thought. Slam the only thing he was proud of.
He was trying to remember his original reason for coming here as the hostess led them down through the main floor and into the basement. It was one big room half covered with mattresses. The two walls flanking the mattresses were lined with mirrors.
"This is where it gets pretty wild sometimes," Lauren informed them. Chase could imagine. It looked like they could fit twenty or thirty people on that floor.
She led them back upstairs. "Like Andrew told you. No sex with any of our members until you get more current tests and can join, but you two can do whatever you want with each other tonight.
"We do ask though, that you not be voyeurs. It's all right to watch anything here on the main floor, but don't go up or downstairs just to stand there and watch others without their permission. Everyone here has the right to say no to anything, even someone just watching.
"Naturally, there are no photos allowed and anyone you meet in here you leave in here. What I mean is that we value everyone's privacy. If you see someone out in the world that you only know through the club, then you act as if you don't know them.
"We don't like pushy people here," Lauren added. "If you have any problems with anyone please let Andrew or I know. We have three other new couples here tonight. Usually a good fifth of the people in here on any given night are newcomers who just want to check it out. Do you have any questions?"
Chase and Sylvie shook their heads. The DJ was playing some rock and roll at a level where one could carry on a conversation and still have the brain function. Sylvie went to the bar and got them two plastic cups of soda. "What do you think?"
Chase looked about slowly. "It's different than I thought it would be."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not a dive. The people aren't low-lifes."
Sylvie smiled. "You always expect the worst don't you?"
"It's my job." Chase peered over her shoulder to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. A woman was seated, facing out on a stool, leaning back on the bar, while another woman was kneeling in front of her, head buried between her legs.
"This is different."
"Why, Chase?"
He gestured. "Look at that."
Sylvie glanced over her shoulder. "So? Isn’t the Silver Satyr weird? There I take my clothes off so men can pay money and watch. Here at least people seem to be meeting on some sort of equal basis. Remember, Lauren said the one right you do have here is to say no. Nobody here is paying to see someone else take their clothes off."
Chase tried to regain focus. "Do you think Rachel would have come here?"
"What do you think?"
Slowly, Chase nodded. "Maybe. It fits. I think she would have felt reasonably secure here. I just have to figure out how to find out if she had been here. I don't want to spook anyone."
"Why don't you just ask Andrew or Lauren?"
Chase drew his attention away from the two women. "Because it occurs to me that if they require an AIDS test to get in here, then they must have had one from Rachel with her name on it. If that was so, then they knew she came here.
"Rachel's name was all over the papers last week. If she spent the last evening of her life here, then why didn't anybody come forward and say so? If they didn't just because they’re so concerned about their privacy then I have some questions about the type of people we're dealing with. There's a big leap from protecting privacy to murder. They could have called us confidentially."
Sylvie didn't have an answer to that.
Chase looked over the other people. He could vaguely see people in booths doing things to each other. As far as he could tell, Hatcher wasn't here. Besides, he really couldn't imagine Hatcher being allowed in.
He and Sylvie were approached several times by couples who introduced themselves and sat down and talked for a little bit. No last names, no questions about what they did for a living, just some chitchat. No "Hey, do you want to fuck?" questions either.
They were asked by one couple if they wanted to go upstairs with them. Sylvie explained about the AIDS test thing. The man said he appreciated her honesty and they moved on. This was getting stranger by the minute, Chase thought.
At eight, people started gravitating toward the stairs. There seemed to be about thirty people here now; more women than men which fit with Sylvie's theory. Chase was still uncertain how to proceed. Before he left, he needed to know if Rachel had been here last week.
Chase got up to go the bathroom. "Are you going to be all right?"
Sylvie looked at Chase. "I think I'm safer sitting here than I am dancing at the Silver Satyr."
Chase made his way past the tables. He glanced in a booth as he went by and froze. Two women were seated there tight together. One looked to be in her early twenties and her dress top was pulled down, exposing pert little breasts. The other woman was older and had an arm around the younger girl's shoulders, casually playing with the nipple of her right breast. The older woman was Linda Watkins.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Linda Watkins was one cool woman. Her hand never left the young woman's breast as Chase slid into the bench opposite them.
"Detective Chase, what a pleasure to see you."
Chase didn't say anything for a long minute and just eyeballed her. She finally told the young woman to get a drink as she had to talk privately. That had not been the primary purpose of Chase’s quiet. Mainly, he was trying to rein in his anger.
"Well, detective what brings you here?" Her voice was coated with a husky sensuality that hadn't been there the last time he’d talked to her. He wanted to lean over and slap the superior bitch look off her perfectly made-up face.
"What the hell do you think brings me here?"
She was cool; she also wasn't dumb. "Why are you so tense? Should I be fearing for my health at this moment?" She picked up her drink, which was empty, and absentmindedly tried to take a sip.
Chase leaned forward. "Why don't we talk about what you're doing here and maybe we'll have a few minutes left to talk about unimportant things, like obstruction of justice for one. Or maybe withholding evidence." He knew he was being a prick, not a good interview technique, but he just couldn’t hold it in.
Chase watched a worried frown flit its way across her features before she could stop it. He had to admit he liked it. "I don't understand what you'
re talking about Detective Chase."
"I think you do understand, Mrs. Watkins. Tell me everything about Rachel. We can do this now or I can haul you down to the station and we'll do it there. Makes no difference to me."
"I don't understand why you're being so threatening. I haven't done anything. You can't just talk to me like I'm some common criminal.”
"I don’t think you’re common. You’re probably one of the most uncommon women I've ever met. I don't care what you're doing here, but I care very much if Rachel was here the night she was killed. Seems to me you said you hardly knew her. I feel like I've been jerked around. I don't like that feeling, do you understand me?"
She was playing with the little straw that had come with her drink. "I'm starting to understand you very well. You think this club had something to do with Rachel's death."
A genius, Chase thought. "Wouldn't you? If Rachel came here I'd say that puts an entirely new slant on things."
Linda's manner rebounded. "You're so pathetic. For a minute there, when I first saw you, I thought you would be different. The fact that you got this far in your investigation made me think that you understood something about Rachel, and therefore something about this place. But you're not different. You're small-minded, but don't feel too bad. You have lots of company."
Chase saw what she was trying to do and he decided to cut her off at the knees. "Don't mess with me. You're too old and I'm too tired. I don't gave a rat's ass what you think about me. I want to know who killed Rachel Stevens and if I have to drag you through the mud to get that, you better be ready to suck some dirt."
The girl came back with some drinks. Linda took hers and waved the girl off. Chase turned to check on Sylvie. She was talking to some big guy with his back to them. Chase didn't feel too threatened as Sylvie could take care of herself. He sat back to let Linda spill her guts or rip them out of her, if he had to.
"Rachel and I weren't really good friends. We just had a few things in common. It didn't take me long to figure that out. I like to think I'm a good judge of character.