Shattered

by Jason Richards

  “It would. Thanks.”

  She picked up her coffee mug. “Refill?” she said.

  “Please,” I said as I handed her my mug. She took our mugs and went to the kitchen. I watched Cookie follow her. Dogs and cats were the same in hoping for treats.

  Brooke returned and handed a full mug to me. “Thanks,” I said. She sat back down, again holding her coffee mug in both hands.

  “My hands tend to get cold,” she said.

  I nodded and smiled. “My girlfriend often holds her coffee mug in both hands for the same reason.”

  We each took a few sips of coffee. After a few beats, I said, “I understand about client confidentiality at Premier, but I know you, Ashley, and Hannah all had Grant Worthington as a client at one time or another. What can you tell me about Mr. Worthington.”

  “You don't think their deaths are connected to him, do you?” Brooke had a realized concern in her voice. “Am I in danger?”

  “Grant Worthington is someone I need to look into because he is a connection Ashley and Hannah shared. Beyond that, I can't say for certain if he's involved in their deaths. And I don't believe you are in danger.”

  Brooke looked somewhat relieved I didn't feel she was in danger, but still surprised one of Premier's clients could be responsible for Ashley and Hannah's deaths.

  I continued, “If what Ms. Osbourne told me is true, you haven't escorted Grant Worthington in nearly a year. Ashley and Hannah were very recent escorts.”

  “That's true,” Brooke said. “It has been nine or ten months since I last escorted Mr. Worthington.”

  “My gut and years of experience tell me there is something more to their connection with Grant Worthington.”

  Cookie mewed. Brooke picked her up and Cookie curled into a ball on Brooke's lap.

  I said, “It may have to do with the fact Ashley and Hannah had both slept with Grant Worthington.”

  Brooke looked up at me from petting Cookie. Her eyes were wide.

  “I'd heard rumors,” she said. “But I didn't want to consider it. Perhaps I'm naive, but our contracts are clear about not getting intimate.” She paused a beat. “Not to mention the fact that wanders into prostitution territory.”

  “My next question is a sensitive one,” I said. “And you probably know where this is going?”

  “I never slept with Grant Worthington. Or any Premier clients.”

  “That's what I figured,” I said. “But I had to ask.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  Cookie began purring. Brooked lifted her hand from petting Cookie and placed it on the table. She wrapped her fingers. Then she looked at me. “So you suspect their sleeping with him has something to do with their deaths?” she said.

  “I do,” I said. “And the fact that they did so recently. It's a combination of those two factors.”

  “Neither of which applies to me,” Brooke said.

  “Correct.”

  “Which is why you don't believe I'm in danger,” she said finishing my thought.

  “All the same,” she said, “I’m going to stay with friends out of town while I study for my exams.”

  “If it makes you feel better.”

  “Is that silly?” she said.

  “No,” I said. “I might do the same if I were in your shoes.”

  Brooke laughed. “Imagine you trying to fit your feet in my shoes?” she said.

  “Are you saying I have big feet?”

  “Yes. But not out of proportion with the rest of you.”

  “To your point, though,” I said, “It would be a comedy of errors.”

  Brooke took a final sip of her coffee. As she placed her mug on the table she looked at me a moment. Then she said, “I don't imagine you scare very easily.”

  “I try not too. It would be hard to stay in my line of work.”

  I finished my second mug of Brooke's freshly pressed coffee. I was smitten with the concept. Probably too lazy to actually press coffee beans myself.

  “What were your impressions of Grant Worthington?” I said.

  “I recognized him as a big Hollywood producer,” she said. “And he liked to play that up. I think he wanted people to know he was important.”

  “Anything else?” I said.

  “He commented how I had the looks and smarts to make it in Hollywood. And that he could make me a star.” Brooke smirked, and then she continued, “I know he runs a movie studio, but I imagine he said that to every escort.”

  “Did any of them take it seriously?

  “Ashley and Hannah were taken enough by the idea to go to bed with him.” Brooke shivered.

  “Not your cup of tea?” I said.

  “I believe that what's inside matters most,” she said, “but have you seen him?”

  I nodded my head. “I've seen pictures. Not an attractive man,” I said.

  “If he was a nice person,” she said, “his looks wouldn't matter. Even a good-looking guy needs to be a good person. Otherwise, I don't see the point.”

  Cookie woke up and hopped down from Brooke's lap. Her bell tinkled as she trotted off.

  Brooke said, “Oh yeah, there was one escort who moved to Los Angeles a few months ago. I don't know if it's related, but I think she had been an escort for Mr. Worthington a few times.” Brooke scrunched her nose as she thought. “Vicki something,” she said. “I'm sorry, I don't recall her full name.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I can find out.”

  I thanked Brooke again for the coffee and information. As I got up to leave, Cookie came over and rubbed up against me. I bent down and scratched her behind the ear.

  “Let me get you the names of those escorts,” Brooke said. “Just a second.”

  She went over to the coffee table in the living room and picked up her purse. She pulled out a business card and handed it to me.

  I glanced down at the Premier Escort Services card with the name “Stacey Becker” and her cell phone number printed on it.

  Brooke said, “Stacey gave me her card one day in case I ever wanted to join them for drinks. They like to go to The Hawthorne.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I pocketed the card. “It looks like I should plan on a drink at The Hawthorne.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The Hawthorne is a swanky lounge. So I figured anyplace swanky called for slacks, a button-down shirt, and a sport coat. I felt it best to blend in as much as possible, but I drew the line at a tie.

  Jessica attended with me wearing a Navy Blue lace bodycon dress that fit above the knee. She got the usual glances as we entered. Her hair danced around her shoulders as we walked down the stairs of the Hotel Commonwealth to the subterranean rooms which comprised The Hawthorne.

  The lounge was modern and sleek with light gray walls and framed photo art. Wall sconces and candles on tables dimly lit the room. People enjoying conversation and drinks crowded long tables. Our former Secret Service friends, on loan from Pinnacle, mingled nearby as backup.

  We went to the bar and ordered our drinks. I had what they called a Real McCoy. It was a rum drink. Jessica ordered a red wine. I paid and then texted Stacey Becker.

  Jessica tried to hide a yawn. She was still on London time and her body was telling her it was the middle of the night.

  “You didn't have to come,” I said.

  She shook her head and said, “Are you kidding? I know what escorts at Premier look like.”

  “They have nothing on you,” I said.

  Jessica smiled. “You're sweet,” she said.

  “It's true.” And I meant it. Jessica always left me breathless. She was beauty and brains.

  “And it's not that I don't trust you,” she said. “But my presence ensures you won't forget what you already have.”

  “How could I ever forget?” I said. “Plus, with Eddie's guys gunning for me, it's good to know I have help.”

  Jessica was skilled in several martial arts and had already proved herself against brutal thugs.

  “Funny
,” she said, “I only ever need to use my training when I help with your cases.”

  “It gives you real-world experience,” I said.

  “I could do without all the danger,” she said, “but it is never dull with you.” Jessica smiled and then took a sip of her wine.

  “True,” I said. “Pinnacle's hoity-toity clients don't offer the same level of excitement.”

  Stacey replied to my text and told me they were in the back room just through the door near the bar. I texted we were on our way into the room.

  The back room had a living room feel to it. There were two long white and black checkered couches on either side of a glass coffee table, positioned in front of a modern fireplace with a simple white mantle. More framed pictures covered the wall above the fireplace. The far side wall had a dark wood floor to ceiling bookcase filled with books and vases, to round out the homier feel.

  Stacey Becker waved to us from the couch to the right of the fireplace. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and wore a pink and blue sequined dress. Stacey introduced us to the other two Premier escorts, Brianna and Nicole. They were all drinking fruity looking cocktails.

  Brianna wore a light green cocktail dress that matched well with her light complexion, blond hair, and brown eyes. Nicole had a similar cocktail dress to Brianna in a deep red. Nicole could have been a younger Halle Berry celebrity look alike.

  “I love your dress,” Stacey said to Jessica.

  “Thank you,” Jessica said. “I picked it up in London.”

  “I love London,” said Nicole. “One of my favorite cities.”

  “I wanted to wear the Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hat Jessica bought me in London, but she vetoed the idea.”

  Stacey, Brianna, and Nicole giggled. They were in their early 20s so it was a more mature giggle than teenage girls, but not quite the laughter of women who had reached at least their third decade.

  “It's intended for display in your office,” Jessica said.

  “So I shouldn't smoke the Briar pipe either?”

  “You two are cute together,” Brianna said.

  “Please sit,” Stacey said as she patted the empty couch cushions next to them.

  Jessica sat next to Stacey. I sat in the open space next to Jessica. I think she liked being a buffer. It sent a subtle message to Stacey, Brianna, and Nicole.

  “I've never met real private investigators before,” Brianna said.

  “We put our pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else,” I said.

  “How exciting,” said Nicole.

  I shrugged.

  “Like the case you’re working on now,” said Stacey. “I mean it's sad what happened. But what intrigue.”

  Brooke mentioned Ashley and Hannah socialized with Stacey, Brianna, and Nicole, but it didn't appear the relationships were close or deep. I wondered if they would have anything of substance to offer.

  “How well did you know Ashley and Hannah?” I said. I took a sip of my Real McCoy. It went down smooth.

  “We'd go out for drinks a few times a week,” Nicole said.

  “We socialized, but we didn't learn much about their personal lives,” Stacey said.

  “Except they both talked about working for Premier until their acting careers took off,” added Brianna.

  “So they both wanted to be actors?” Jessica said.

  Brianna leaned back into the couch and crossed her long, toned legs. The tallest of the three, she could play center for the Premier basketball team. “Oh yeah,” she said. “They talked about it all the time.”

  “Did either of them have any acting jobs?” I said. I finished my Real McCoy and placed the empty glass on the table. A waitress came by. I ordered another and bought a round of drinks for the ladies. Jessica passed, still nursing her glass of wine.

  “Our schedules at Premier keep us busy,” Stacey said. “I'm not sure they would have had much time to act in anything.”

  Nicole leaned forward and placed her hands on her lap. She said, “Didn't they take acting classes together?”

  “I think you're right,” Brianna said as she tapped the top of Nicole's hand.

  “Do you know what acting school?” I said.

  The three shook their heads. I still considered Ashley and Hannah sleeping with Grant Worthington as the reason they were murdered. Why that resulted in their killings, I still had no clue.

  But the acting class was another connection the two shared, so I'd need to check it out. Solving a case was often a process of elimination. Eliminate enough things and you end up with the only thing that explains what happened. And, hopefully, why.

  “What can you tell me about their connection to Grant Worthington?” I said.

  The waitress came back with our drinks. “Cheers,” Brianna said as she held up her glass. We all joined in. My Real McCoy went down just as smooth as before.

  “Now, what was your question?” Stacey said after sipping her fruity cocktail.

  “What did you notice about Ashley and Hannah with Grant Worthington?”

  “We're not supposed to talk about clients,” Nicole said.

  “I understand,” I said. “Was Grant Worthington ever one of your personal clients?”

  Stacey, Brianna, and Nicole all shook their heads.

  “Then I think there is wiggle room in your answering,” I said. I turned to Jessica. “What do you think counselor?”

  “I’d have to see the contract,” she said, “but we won't tell.”

  Stacey, Brianna, and Nicole looked at each other. I could see the hesitation on their faces.

  “Let's handle it this way,” I said. “What can you tell me, without giving a name, about a client Ashley and Hannah shared? A client who had professional connections in a field they desired to work.”

  Stacey spoke first. “Ashley talked about being promised a spot in a movie.”

  “Hannah did too,” Brianna said.

  “I think the client used it as a way to seduce them,” Nicole said.

  “When did this begin?” I asked.

  “Ashley had been escorting the client for three or four months,” Brianna said. “She only started going to bed with him within the last month or two.”

  “What about Hannah?” Jessica said.

  “Hannah was even more recently escorting Mr.," she caught herself with a momentary pause. "She started two months ago and went to bed with him shortly after that.

  “So Ashley and Hannah started sleeping with the client around the same time?” I said.

  “Yes,” Stacey said.

  “And they were aware of that fact,” Jessica said.

  “Sure,” Brianna said. “It was a means to an end for them both.”

  “A Hollywood career?” I said.

  Brianna nodded her head. She said, "I think Victoria moving to Los Angeles about two months ago inspired them."

  “Whose Victoria?” I said.

  “Victoria Clark,” Stacey said. “She had been an escort at Premier.”

  “And she had been an escort for the same client?” Jessica said.

  Stacey said, “Yes. And she took the same acting classes with Ashley and Hannah.”

  Jessica and I looked at each other.

  “I don't think Victoria went to bed with the client while an escort at Premier,” Nicole said. “She just up and moved to LA on the mere mention of getting an audition.”

  “My guess is there was no audition waiting for her,” I said.

  Nicole nodded her head in agreement. “Victoria needed to sleep with the guy first,” she said. “Which she did out in LA. There have been promises of an acting career and a relationship.”

  “So you keep in touch with Victoria?” I said to Nicole.

  “Yeah. We started at Premier around the same time. I've known her a few years.”

  “Can you give me her contact information?” I said.

  “No problem,” Nicole said. She paused a beat. Then she looked at me. “You don't think Victoria is in any danger?”

>   “She might be,” I said. “I'd like to talk to her.”

  Nicole picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts. I gave her my cell phone number and she texted me Victoria's information.

  I'd learned more from them than I had expected. They confirmed Grant Worthington was a creep who used his position of power and influence to get sex out of Ashley, Hannah, and Victoria. It also seemed likely, in one way or another, that Grant Worthington was responsible for Ashley and Hannah's deaths. I wanted to prevent Victoria from becoming another victim.

  As we waited for our security detail to give the all-clear for us to leave, I dialed Victoria's number. It went to voicemail and I left a message. I also called a friend in the FBI's LA field office for him to locate Victoria and provide safe lodging until we determined what was going on.

  “I need to update Burke and Sanchez,” I said to Jessica as we waited in the Commonwealth Hotel's lobby. One of our guys was at the front door while the other brought the car around.

  An unassuming couple walked into the hotel. Our guy looked at them. They didn't look like the Garavito crime family had sent them to off me. The woman carried a small dog in her arms. The man wore a business suit and carried a folded copy of The Boston Globe in his right hand. A bellhop carried their luggage behind them.

  The woman approached the front desk, and the bellhop followed. The man stopped next to me. “Mr. Patrick,” he said, “We need to talk.”

  I glanced down as he lifted the Globe to reveal a gun. Our guy at the front door looked over, reaching for his gun. I shook him off like a pitcher who doesn't like the catcher's sign. We were in a crowded hotel lobby, I didn't want to turn it into a shootout at the O.K. Corral.

  Jessica knew me well enough to realize we would let this play out. We were both fast enough to make a move on the guy, and we outnumbered him, but the risk of someone getting hurt was too high. Also, he might have associates placed around the lobby.

  “What about?” I said.

  “We have a mutual interest,” he said.

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “I'll explain it all over a drink.”

  “I recently finished having drinks,” I said. “I'm good.”

  “I think you can make time for another drink.”

  I smiled at him. “I'm pretty perceptive,” I said, “even on a bad day. But why don't you humor me and offer me your name? Since we'll be having a drink together.“