“I’m not going to tell them anything you say. But you’re going to want to talk to me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I know you’re not supposed to be driving past eight p.m. And about the possession charges. Out of curiosity, are the Prioleaus aware of your legal troubles? As protective as they are of their reputation, I somehow doubt it.”
He looked away.
“Aw, man. Look, I need this job. I have bills to pay. Child support.”
“I have no desire to make trouble for you. Honestly.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Does Henry normally work on Monday nights?”
“No. The restaurant is usually closed on Mondays. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas they’re open seven days a week.”
I nodded. “But when the restaurant is open, he’s there on Monday nights?”
“Yes.”
“Was he there this past Monday night?”
“Yes.”
“Do you always work upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Does Henry always work upstairs?”
“Yes—except he works the door from five ’til seven. Then Rut Junior takes over,” he said.
“Now think back to this past Monday. Was the restaurant busy?”
“Yeah—like insanely busy. It’s been that way all week. People going out for holiday dinners.”
“Did Henry come upstairs at seven like usual?”
Tyler thought for a minute. “I remember seeing him come up. It was probably around seven.”
“How many of the Prioleaus were working the floor, going around talking to people, Monday night?”
“All of them. Three downstairs, four upstairs.”
“Is it possible Henry could’ve left for a while and no one would’ve noticed?”
Tyler blinked at me.
“Think about it,” I said.
“That would’ve taken real balls. His mamma would’ve eaten him alive. She’s serious about making folks feel welcome. That’s one mean woman.”
“But could he have slipped out of the rotation, gone down the elevator and left for thirty minutes, came back, slipped back in, and she wouldn’t’ve noticed?” The folks having dinner would’ve no doubt been grateful for the break.
“I don’t know…”
“All I want to know is was it possible, not if you think he did that. I’m not asking you to accuse him of anything.”
“Yeah, it’s possible.” He looked at the deck flooring, then off to the left.
“Is there something else you want to tell me?”
“No.”
“Think carefully. This is important. You really don’t want me to come back, do you?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, all those people are a little crazy.”
“I get that.” Boy howdy, as Colleen would say.
“Mrs. Prioleau did ask me once if I’d seen Henry. She was looking for him. I don’t know why.”
“What time was that?”
“It would’ve had to’ve been after seven, or she wouldn’t’ve been looking upstairs. But it was early. Maybe seven thirty? I’d seen him, but I didn’t know where he was right then. It was a madhouse up there. Between people being seated, the waitstaff, and the family, it was wall-to-wall people. It was hard to get back and forth to my tables.”
“One more question. What does Henry usually wear?”
“A sport coat, khakis, usually a solid colored shirt. Expensive loafers.”
“Thanks, Tyler,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t say a freakin’ word.”
From the car, I called Sonny.
“Lookit, I am still mad as fire at you. But I have some things for you.”
“I’m listening.” His tone was even.
“First, I think the girl buried behind the garage is Victoria Baker. She’s from Abingdon, Virginia. Parents deceased. She has an aunt and uncle and a few cousins still in Abingdon, but they’re estranged. Victoria’s uncle didn’t approve of the older man she was seeing. He was giving her money. Sound familiar? Victoria was one of William Calhoun’s lady friends. Miss Dean told me she left in the middle of the night about three years back. You can connect the dots. The family’s name is Hawkins. Mrs. Hawkins is Victoria’s mother’s sister. I’m sending you the phone number.”
“I appreciate you doing my job for me. Makes my days so much easier.”
“Sarcasm isn’t becoming. A simple thank you would suffice. Never mind. This is important. Promise me you’ll get right on this.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I ignored his attitude. “Henry Prioleau was expected at the bordello Monday night. Monday is one of his normal nights. He works for his family’s restaurant group, Rut’s over on East Bay.”
“I know the place. I’m aware of his connection.”
“I think he slipped out and went over to see his girlfriend, Heather. But when he arrived, he saw Thurston in the parlor, looking for the rent ledger. Heather told him Thurston was asking questions. He didn’t want his apple cart upset, but more than that, he couldn’t have his involvement become public. The Prioleaus are insanely protective of their image.”
“You have my attention. But this is just a theory.”
“Which is why you need to get over to Miss Dean’s right this very minute. If he was the person Raylan saw slipping over the fence, his very nice loafers would’ve likely left footprints in the yard. And he was wearing a sport coat, which could possibly have snagged on the brick wall, or a bush. And he wouldn’t have been wearing gloves. He didn’t plan on committing a murder. He didn’t know he’d run into Thurston. There could be fingerprints somewhere along his trail.”
Sonny sighed. “Liz, the solicitor is moving forward with a case against Olivia. My lieutenant considers this case closed.”
“Which is why you need to hurry. This is Olivia. What is wrong with you?” I may have been verging on hysteria, or sounding like it.
“You know me. You have to know how much I want to help Olivia. But I’m accountable to my lieutenant. I can’t just go running around doing whatever the hell I please. That’s where my job is different from yours.”
I hung up on him. I called James Huger on his private cell.
“Miss Talbot. What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Huger, I take you for a romantic. Would I be right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Nate and I are getting married tomorrow.”
“Congratulations. I had no idea. I wish you both all the happiness Beatrice and I have found.”
I stumbled over that—couldn’t quite get the toys out of my mind. “Here’s the thing. Olivia Pearson has been arrested for Thurston Middleton’s murder.”
“Yes,” he said. “I heard about that. Utterly ridiculous, of course. I’m certain it will be straightened out very soon.”
“Olivia is one of my bridesmaids—one of my oldest friends. The wedding rehearsal starts at six p.m. this evening. I was wondering…do you perhaps know the solicitor?”
“In fact, I do. You would like me to expedite Olivia’s release on these frivolous charges?”
“Could you?”
“I believe I can.”
I took a deep breath. “It would mean so much to me. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. Call me any time, for any reason.”
My instincts were rarely wrong. They told me I could trust him, mostly because he was trusting me. “Mr. Huger?”
“Yes?”
“I’m almost certain it was Henry Prioleau. It might’ve been William Calhoun, but my money’s on Prioleau.”
“Do you have evidence against either of them?”
&n
bsp; I shared with him my theory of the crime—the one I’d just shared with Sonny. I also told him about Victoria Baker.
“That is sad news, indeed,” he said.
“Of course, the autopsy hasn’t been done. There’s no proof it’s her. But…”
“But she’s unaccounted for.”
“That’s right.”
“Very well. I’ll see what I can do for Olivia and encourage the authorities to scrutinize Henry Prioleau and William Calhoun. As you know, Thurston was a close personal friend. I don’t believe for a second Olivia killed him, and I would consider it a privilege to play a small role in bringing his killer to justice.”
It was almost eleven o’clock. I could check on Miss Dean, catch the twelve-thirty ferry, and still be at Mamma’s by one. On the drive from West Ashley into Charleston, I called and updated Nate.
“Well done, Slugger. Are you on your way home?”
“As soon as I check on Miss Dean. And buy bridesmaids’ gifts.” Holy shit. “And pick up my dress.” How had I almost forgotten that?
“See you soon.”
I took a few deep breaths, then called Robert, who was frazzled but holding it together for the kids. I shared with him everything except my conversation with James Huger.
He said, “I’ll call Charlie Condon and give him all of this. He should be able to make a case for the solicitor that there’s a better suspect than Olivia.”
That would be perfect. Two powerful men lobbying for the same thing. “I’ll be praying hard on that,” I said. “With any luck, I’ll see you both tonight. I’m going to stop and check on Miss Dean before I head back.”
“Thanks, Liz. I know Olivia will appreciate that.”
I parked right in front of 12 Church Street. The door to the porch was unlocked. I walked up the steps and rang the bell.
William Calhoun opened the door, a satisfied smile on his face.
I stepped backwards. “Where is Miss Dean?”
Like an alligator snatching his dinner from the riverbank, he grabbed me, pulled me in the door, and slammed it closed.
I swung my tote at his head.
He ducked, grabbed my arm, turned me around.
He wrapped me in his arms from behind.
I threw one elbow punch before the handkerchief descended over my face.
Chloroform. I held my breath and stomped the top of his foot.
“Bitch.” He held the handkerchief tighter over my face.
The struggle left me winded. I had to breathe. My limbs went numb.
Blackness.
Twenty-Seven
When I woke, I was in a chair in the Hugers’ playroom over the garage, my hands cuffed behind the chair. My head pounded with a horrible migraine.
William sat on the sofa in the sitting area, directly across from me. He was going through my phone. My tote was beside him, my iPad on his lap. A picture frame also lay on the sofa, one of the five-by-sevens on the bedside tables in all the rooms. He’d come to get the photo of him with Amber, maybe other things that tied him to this place. He wouldn’t be worried about fingerprints. He had no arrest record I’d found. His prints weren’t on file anywhere. Why hadn’t the police taken that photo? Maybe they’d done the same thing I did and photographed it.
“Good,” he said. “You’re awake. You saved me a lot of trouble showing up here. I was going to have to hunt you down. Or perhaps lure you out.”
I had nothing to say to him.
“Why do you have James Huger’s private number?” He laid my phone on the sofa.
I shrugged.
“What did the two of you have to chat about for fifteen minutes?”
“I’m getting married tomorrow. I invited him and his wife to the wedding.”
He was on his feet and across the room in a flash.
He slapped me hard across the face. My head swung sharply over my right shoulder. My ears rang. Dizzy. My cheek was on fire.
“What. Did. You. Talk. To. James. About?”
He ground out the words through his teeth.
“I’m investigating this place,” I said. “You know that. He has a mistress here. I was asking questions. That’s what I do.”
He stepped back, glared at me, measuring whether he believed me or not. “You mentioned you had photographs of me coming and going from here. They’re not in your phone or on your iPad. They’re not in your cloud. Where are they? I want them. All of them.”
He must’ve used my fingerprint to access my devices. “Where’s Miss Dean?” Lord, my throat hurt.
“She’s napping in her room. We had tea together this morning. She’s worried about the girls who live here. They seem to have disappeared Tuesday in the middle of the night. What do you know about that?”
He’d drugged Miss Dean. Please, God, she was only napping. That’s why he’d had chloroform at the ready, in case she woke up. “How would I know where they went? I need to interview them. If you find them, let me know.”
He got in my face.
“Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to tell me where I can find all the photos. After I find them and destroy whatever they were taken with, then I’ll let you go. But only if you can convince me I have all the photographs.”
He didn’t fool me for a second. There were no circumstances whatsoever under which this psycho planned to release me. He’d killed before, likely for less. I knew too much. And there was the matter of him chloroforming me and handcuffing me to a chair. No way he’d believe I’d let that go.
“You need a breath mint,” I said.
He started that foaming at the mouth thing again.
“You do not want to antagonize me further.”
I was pretty sure he was right about that. “I lied about the photos. I wanted to see your reaction. It was impressive.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I shrugged.
“How can I convince you? You’ve checked my electronics.”
“Your partner has electronics, too. And maybe a camera. We’re going to call and get him to bring the photos to us.”
I really liked that idea. I tried to look concerned. “What’s the big deal anyway? Didn’t you read this morning’s paper? Everything about this place is in the news.” I needed to stall, but not convince him he was doomed. I didn’t mention how the police would’ve documented that photo he had on the sofa. He was likely thinking they’d missed it. Once he thought his life as he knew it was over, he’d kill me and head straight to the airport and buy a one-way ticket somewhere else.
“But they don’t have names,” he said. “And they have no proof of who has been patronizing this establishment.”
In his dreams. “I suppose that’s true. James and I were just discussing that very thing. It’s entirely possible none of you will be implicated. The girls are all gone. No one can question them. Miss Dean certainly won’t be naming names. James trusts me to be discreet.”
He backed off, went to pacing. “I don’t believe a thing you say.”
That was mutual. “Call James Huger. Ask him.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? What? You thought you’d yell and he’d hear you? James has as much at risk here as I do. He’s not coming to your rescue.”
I shrugged. “Then call him.”
“I want those photographs. But I think maybe it’s a better idea for me to go find them than to bring your partner to our party. Things could get messy. Messier. Suppose you tell me where I can find them.”
“I don’t think so.” He wanted to deal with Nate and me separately. But he would no doubt kill us both if he could.
“Tell me now, and I’ll not give Miss Dean any more sedatives.”
“I’d bet good money you’ve already killed her,” I s
aid.
He walked behind the chair and reached under my armpit. “Stand up.” He yanked me out of the chair. My hands were still cuffed behind my back. I struggled for balance.
He pulled me down the short hall towards the door, then into the main part of the house. He dragged me to Miss Dean’s bedroom door. “Be quiet. I don’t know how far under she is. But I can easily fix that.”
He walked over to the bed, dragging me behind him. Miss Dean was lying on her back on her bed. I watched for a moment. Her chest rose and fell. Thank God, she was breathing. Why hadn’t he killed her? Maybe he was keeping her alive to lure Amber back—and me. His plan had been to lure me back, he’d said. But what about Olivia? She was in jail. He likely farmed out some of his dirty work—like the “family member” he’d sent to get Victoria Baker’s things and notify the College of Charleston she wouldn’t be back.
Calhoun dragged me out of the room. He pulled the door closed, then moved in front of me.
I brought up my right knee, twisted left, and slammed my foot into the back of his right knee for all I was worth.
He stumbled, let go of me.
He spun around, raging mad.
I kicked him in the groin.
He roared and doubled over.
I brought my knee up hard and slammed it into his head.
He went down.
He could only be dazed for a moment. I stepped over him and ran for my phone.
Out the double windows behind the sofa, I saw Sonny in the yard with a forensics tech. Oh thank God. I turned around and ran for the door leading to the parking area.
Calhoun was on his feet.
I yanked the door open and screamed, “Sonny!”
Calhoun slammed the door closed.
He charged me.
I aimed a roundhouse kick at his chest.
He fell back.
Sonny burst through the door, weapon drawn. “Charleston PD. On the floor, now.”
Calhoun hesitated for a moment, then complied.
“I want a lawyer.”
04 Lowcountry Bordello Page 23