Shattered

by Jason Richards

  I hummed along to Elton John's Benny and the Jets playing over the office radio. I wondered how soon it would switch over to twenty-four hours of Christmas music. Thanksgiving was still several weeks away, but it seemed to start earlier each year.

  A door to the right of the receptionist opened. I looked over as a tall and slender woman stepped out. She wore a stylish cocktail dress. It's five o’clock somewhere. She smiled at me as she walked past and exited the office.

  An equally tall and slender woman walked out of the interior office door. I was detecting a pattern to the women employed by Premier. She walked over to me.

  I stood as she approached. There are a few gentlemen left.

  The woman was in her late fifties or early sixties. She was nearly as tall as Jessica. While I didn't think any woman was as beautiful as Jessica, she was attractive. If not a former model, she could have been.

  “Mr. Patrick,” the woman said in a lovely British accent, “I am Rita Osbourne.”

  “Any relation to Ozzy?” I said as we shook hands.

  “Pardon?” she said.

  “Ozzy Osbourne. The rock singer.”

  She considered my question a beat. Then she said, “Isn't he the one who bit the head off a bat on stage?”

  “The bat bit him back,” I said. “Plus he needed to be treated for rabies. Ozzy, not the bat.”

  “How gruesome,” Rita Osbourne said.

  “Gross,” the receptionist said.

  “A lesson learned in performing a stunt for shock value,” I said.

  I assumed from Rita's reaction, she was not related to Ozzy. Or she didn't want to admit it. I considered asking if her first name was inspired by The Beatles Rita the meter maid but thought that might be pushing it. Although Sir Paul did sing about how lovely Rita was.

  “This way, please,” Rita Osbourne said as she showed me through the open door to her office.

  Her long legs took even and graceful strides, barely ruffling her black pencil knit skirt. I deduced her outfit also came from a fancy boutique on Newbury Street. While Rita could likely afford her own outfits, I was still betting on a corporate expense account.

  “Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning to a plush black leather chair.

  I sat. Rita Osbourne sat in the chair's twin located across a small glass table. The entire office was glass and leather. I had no doubt it was Italian leather of the highest quality. It sure felt classier than the leather seats in my car.

  Rita Osbourne sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. Her white silk blouse was as undisturbed by her arms moving to rest on the side of the chair as her skirt had been when she crossed the office. Rita Osbourne was cool, collected, and in charge.

  “What is it like being a private investigator?” she said.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “A lot of wandering around and talking to people,” I said.

  Rita Osbourne let out a sophisticated laugh. She said, “Surely your job is more exciting than that?”

  “Has its moments,” I said. “But I mostly ask a bunch of questions until I find some answers.”

  “Do you carry a gun?”

  “When I need to,” I said. “Most of the time I can handle things another way.”

  Rita Osbourne looked me up and down and nodded her head. “I imagine you can handle yourself,” she said.

  “When called for,” I said.

  “Did I hear correctly you were once a special agent with the FBI?”

  “It's not a secret,” I said.

  Rita Osbourne considered me a few moments. Then she said, "I hear you were an exceptional FBI agent. And I also know you are an excellent private investigator.”

  “You can't always believe what people say,” I said.

  Rita offered me a mildly surprised look. “Modest was not something I've heard to describe you,” she said.

  “You seem to have heard a lot about me.”

  “Enough to conclude there was no point in turning you away.”

  “I am persistent,” I said. “That much is true about what you've heard.”

  “My sources used more colorful language,” she said.

  I shrugged.

  “You're not bothered by that?” she said.

  “Sticks and stones,” I said.

  Rita Osbourne let out another sophisticated laugh. It seemed a learned trait from some sort of finishing school. Or I could just be a clod.

  “While I'm a fan of the subject,” I said, “If we're done talking about me, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Of course,” Rita Osbourne said. “It is, after all, what you say you do.”

  I gave her my most sophisticated smile. It didn't come nearly as close to her laugh, but I never attended finishing school.

  CHAPTER 16

  “What can you tell me about Ashley Holland and Hannah Parks?”

  Rita Osbourne dropped her head toward her chest. After a measured display of sorrow, she said, “How tragic. Losing them both in two terrible accidents.”

  Burke and Sanchez had already questioned Rita Osbourne. She understood the deaths were suspicious. At least enough for two State Police detectives to look into how they died.

  Maybe she didn't want to believe Ashley and Hannah's deaths were anything other than tragic accidents. Or she knew and didn't want to say. I wasn't sure which yet.

  Rita took a deep breath and looked up at me.

  She said, “Ashley and Hannah were two of my best employees. I can’t fathom how I will ever replace them.”

  “No one can ever be truly replaced,” I said. “We are all unique. Special in our own way.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I meant more like filling their positions. It takes a lot of training to join my escort service.”

  “What kind of training?”

  “You must think very little of what my girls do?”

  I shook my head. “No. I'm just trying to understand your business better.”

  Rita got up and crossed the office. She stared out the window as people went about their day along Massachusetts Avenue four stories below.

  After a minute passed, she said, “It's all so horrific.”

  Rita continued to stare out the window. Her posture was perfect. More finishing school. The black pencil knit skirt was form fitting. Rita Osbourne kept herself fit.

  She turned toward me. “I’m aware of what the State Police think,” she said. Rita paused a beat. “I don't believe it.”

  “I tend to agree with them,” I said. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I'm no longer even being paid to investigate.”

  “I wasn’t aware private investigators did pro bono work.”

  “We do when no one is paying us and we care enough about a case.”

  “How noble,” she said. Rita sat back down in the plush leather chair and resumed her earlier position.

  I said, “Two young women are dead under suspicious circumstances. Their parents deserve the truth about what really happened. If someone did kill them, and I believe someone did, they need to be brought to justice.”

  “And what is justice, Mr. Patrick?”

  “It's different for different people. But a murderer going to prison for life is a good place to start. It won't bring Ashley and Hannah back, but it can offer some closure.”

  “And a measure of justice?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “It's imperfect, but it's something.”

  “My girls are highly educated with liberal arts educations. They can converse intelligently on many subjects. Were you aware that many of them speak at least three different languages fluently?"

  “Impressive,” I said. “I'm still mastering English. And not the Queen's English. Our own version of it here in Boston.”

  Rita Osbourne ignored me. She continued, “To work as an escort at Premier, a young woman must be comfortable around wealthy executives. It's not as easy as that may seem.”

  “I imagine not. I'd want to stick a fork in my eye if I had to spend all th
at time around wealthy executives.”

  “You are not a fan of wealthy and powerful men?”

  “I'm not a fan of lots of folks.”

  “Be that as it may,” Rita said, “escorting an elite clientele requires a level of sophistication, grace, and discretion.”

  “Not to mention genuinely attractive,” I said.

  Rita grinned and offered a slight nod of her head. “Yes, my girls are all attractive.”

  “And tall,” I said. “Have you ever considered starting a women's basketball team?”

  “You are an extremely interesting man, Mr. Patrick. A few moments ago you were talking about finding justice and closure for Ashley and Hannah, now you are attempting to be humorous.”

  “A lot of people tell me I'm a wise ass. I'll take humorous. But don't think for a second I'm not serious about what I do.”

  “I understand,” she said. “You must see the darker side of humanity in your line of work. Humor releases the stress.”

  I nodded.

  “I recognize what most people say about escort services,” Rita said.

  “And?” I said.

  “Most people would be wrong. Escort services like ours are completely legitimate. Our young women accompany men out to dinner, work functions, and society events. They offer stimulating conversation and the company of true beauty. Nothing more.”

  “And these men pay a lot of money for this service?”

  “The expense is relative,” she said.

  “If you have to ask, you can't afford it,” I said.

  Rita Osbourne smiled. A more genuine smile. She was warming to my charm.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “We have extremely exclusive clients.”

  “So for what they pay,” I said, “these extremely exclusive clients don't expect more?”

  “We make it quite clear what they are, and are not, paying for.”

  “But sometimes it turns into more than dinner, work functions, and society events,” I said.

  “We do not sell those services,” she said. “The escorts of Premier Escort Services are not prostitutes.”

  “I think you've made that pretty clear,” I said. “But there certainly are times when an escort voluntarily provides extra-curricular activities. Without being paid for them.”

  “The contracts my escorts sign prohibit any physical intimacy with our clients.”

  Rita Osbourne had been coached well by Premier's attorneys. And what she said would legally hold up. I had no doubt what the contracts said. I also had no doubt those contracts were sometimes broken. What mattered to me was if Ashley and Hannah were killed because of it.

  “Were you aware Ashley Holland was sleeping with Grant Worthington?” I said.

  “I cannot discuss a client with you.”

  “So you don't deny Grant Worthington is a client?”

  Perhaps I should have been a lawyer. Or at least played one on TV.

  “I know you are already aware of the fact,” Rita said. “But I still cannot discuss a client with you. You are not the police.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “But are you also aware there is photographic evidence of Ashley and Grant sleeping together?”

  “I am not going to discuss this with you,” she said.

  Rita Osbourne was one smart cookie. And had first-class lawyers.

  “All I want to do is find out who killed Ashley and Hannah,” I said.

  “Assuming they were murdered,” she said.

  “Ashley and Hannah both worked as escorts here. They both died in apparent tragic accidents just days apart. You don't find that strange?”

  I waited a few beats. “Well?” I said when Rita didn't answer.

  “There are such things as coincidences, Mr. Patrick.”

  “Not like these,” I said. “At least not most of the time.”

  “And that's your professional opinion?” Rita said.

  “Mine, and those of two excellent State Police detectives. But don't tell them I said they were excellent.”

  We were silent a few more beats. Then I said, “I've done this many times. Too many. So have detectives Burke and Sanchez. Detective Captain Robert Burke has seen more cases than he can even remember. We can solve this one. With or without cooperation. But it will be a lot easier with cooperation.”

  Rita Osbourne took a deep breath and exhaled. She said, “These are delicate matters. They must be handled with discretion.”

  “Discreet is my middle name.”

  “While I don't condone any of my girls becoming intimate with clients,” Rita said, “I realize it happens on occasion.”

  “And you were aware it happened with Ashley?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What about Hannah?”

  Rita nodded her head.

  “With the same client?”

  Rita nodded her head again.

  “Are there any other escorts who also had this same client?”

  Rita considered my question a moment. “Yes,” she said. “Brooke Chambers. Although I don't think Brooke ever,” she stopped herself a beat. Then she continued, “I don't think Brooke was ever intimate with the client.”

  “You don't have to answer,” I said, “but am I correct in thinking the client we are speaking of is Grant Worthington?”

  Rita Osbourne looked me. “You are an astute detective, Mr. Patrick,” she said, “you don't need my answer.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Jessica and I were having dinner at Henrietta's Table in Cambridge. We liked the fresh from local farms good home cooking. Even after dark, the restaurant offered a bright and airy environment with an upscale country kitchen décor.

  The waitress brought our drinks as we considered the supper menu. Jessica started with a Henrietta's Sangria. I was having an Autumn Old Fashioned. The mix of Clydes Alabama Style whiskey, orange bitters, maple syrup, and cherry was a perfect drink on a cool fall evening.

  “I know what I'm having,” I said as I put down my menu.

  “Already?”

  “I had a good idea before we came in,” I said. “Maine Rock Crab for a starter, and Yankee Pot Roast for my entree, and Henrietta's Chocolate Bread Pudding Sundae for dessert.”

  Jessica tilted her menu away from her face and smiled at me. My world grew brighter. I was lucky to have her sitting across from me. She returned to reading the menu.

  I enjoyed my Autumn Old Fashioned as Jessica scanned the options. I figured she was debating whether to have the fish or the chicken. We ate at Legal Sea Food recently, so my bet was on the chicken.

  She put her menu down. A hint of perfume drifted toward me. It was like a spring meadow.

  “So what will it be?” I said.

  “Spinach salad and the rotisserie roasted herb crusted chicken.”

  I smiled.

  “Because we had Legal a few weeks ago?” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I'll keep you in suspense as to what I'm having for dessert.”

  Our waitress, Julia, came and took our order. She had served us a few times before when we'd eaten at Henrietta's.

  “How are your studies going?” Jessica asked her. Julia was a graduate student in American History at Harvard.

  “Good,” she said. “Doris Kearns Goodwin came to speak to my class on American presidents.”

  “Did you know Doris Kearns Goodwin was the first women to be let in the Boston Red Sox dugout?” I said.

  “No, I didn't,” Julia said. “Cool.”

  “Makes me think I should become a world-renown scholar on American presidents,” I said.

  “Or get hired by a member of the Red Sox to solve a case,” Julia said.

  “Even better,” I said.

  “I'll go put your order in,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  After Julia left, Jessica leaned toward me and whispered, “I think Julia has a little crush on you.”

  “I do have that effect on women.”

  “Just as lon
g as you remember you're spoken for.”

  Jessica placed her hand on top of my mine.

  “How could I forget?” I said.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I’m aware of how good I've got it.”

  Jessica patted my hand. “I've got it pretty good too,” she said.

  “Where do things stand with the Ashley Holland case?” Jessica said.

  I caught Jessica up on what I had learned. She agreed, despite the lack of hard evidence, there was enough to pursue the case as a murder investigation. But there was still a lot to consider.

  “So let's consider means and possible motive,” she said.

  “Grant Worthington pretty much rules Hollywood, so he certainly has the means,” I said.

  “How about motive?”

  “Ashley and Hannah were blackmailing him to keep silent?” I said. “They learned something else about Grant he didn't want to get out?”

  I spread my hands apart and shrugged my shoulders.

  “Both plausible,” Jessica said.

  She took a sip of her sangria. Jessica was a sipper when it came to alcoholic beverages. She'd nurse the drink through dinner.

  “The difficulty is in figuring out how probable,” I said. “And then proving it. Not to mention Grant may not be involved at all.”

  “There is that,” Jessica said.

  “I really don't have enough information to have a strong working theory,” I said.

  Jessica said, “Other than their deaths look like they occurred at the hands of a hired killer. Ashley and Hannah were both escorts at Premier. And both had slept with Grant Worthington.”

  “Thus far, those are the results of my investigation in a nutshell,” I said. I finished my Autumn Old Fashioned. I caught Julia's attention and ordered another. She brought it over and placed it on the table, along with our starters.

  I dug into my Maine Rock Crab as Jessica nibbled at her spinach salad. She sipped her sangria. I drank my second Autumn Old Fashioned.

  “So what's your next move?” Jessica asked.

  “Take your pick,” I said. “I need to learn more about Premier Escort Services, Grant Worthington, and Ashley and Holland's interactions with him. I also need to find out if Ashley and Hannah shared any other connections. Particularly any other Premier clients.”