He wondered if they'd picked up Eddie Devine, too. And why the cameras weren't fighting for close-ups of him. Probably because the little slimeball wasn't nearly as photogenic as the women.
"According to a reliable source, the high-society madam has friends in high places. She was recently seen in the company of Assistant District Attorney Matthew Ryan at a campaign fund-raiser at the Mark Hopkins hotel. Ryan, son of the late State Supreme Court Justice, Francis Ryan, is currently running for district judge."
"I've got to go, Mom. I've got to get down there."
"Sources at Ryan's campaign headquarters denied there was any relationship between the candidate and Ms. Bennington," the reporter intoned importantly as the scene continued to unfold.
Harry Gasparini's face suddenly filled the screen.
"Susannah Bennington was a guest at the fundraiser," he said easily, standing in front of a Matthew Ryan for District Judge banner. "She purchased a ticket, just like hundreds of other people. I believe she and Matt Ryan sat at the same table with seven or eight other people during dinner. But the suggestion that they have any kind of a close or intimate relationship is completely unfounded."
"I'll talk to you later, Mom," Matt said, severing the phone connection. Swearing viciously, he got to his feet, yanked his trench coat from the brass coatrack by the front door, and stormed out into the night like an avenging angel hell-bent on destruction and rescue.
The television continued broadcasting to an empty room.
* * *
"I told you," Susannah said to the police detective for what seemed like at least the hundredth time. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about. The Personal Touch is not a front for prostitution. I am not some kind of madam. I was not having some kind of lurid sex party. My God, have you looked at my guests? Most of them are over sixty."
"But you don't deny that Judy Sukura works for you?"
"No, I don't deny it. Why would I deny it when I've already admitted it?" Susannah said in exasperation. "Judy Sukura is my part-time receptionist."
"And Heather Lloyd? What does she do for you?"
"Heather doesn't do anything for me. She's a house-guest. She's been living at my home for a little over two months."
"Do you often have young female minors living with you?"
"I have a small bed-sitting room on the lower floor of my house. It's frequently occupied by someone who needs a safe place to stay."
"And is attending your parties one of the requirements of living in that room?"
"No, it is not," Susannah said evenly, telling herself not to let his insinuations rattle her. That's just what he was trying to do.
"Then what was Ms. Lloyd doing at that party tonight?"
"A favor."
"Does she do these kinds of 'favors' often?"
Susannah glared at him.
The detective didn't appear to be intimidated. "Does she, Ms. Bennington?" he repeated.
"No," Susannah said wearily. "She doesn't. This is the first time I've asked her to help out."
"And why is that?"
"Because my regular assistant had to go home early."
"That would be—" he glanced down at his notes as if he needed to refresh his memory "—Helen Sanford?"
"Yes."
"And Ms. Sanford went home early because?"
"She wasn't feeling well."
"Exactly what time did she go home?"
"About two o'clock. Maybe two-thirty. I don't remember exactly." It had been some time after Matt had left her office after their argument and she'd been too upset to pay much attention to the clock.
The detective took a sip of coffee from a paper cup. "What's your relationship with Eddie Devine?"
"I told you, I don't have a relationship with Eddie Devine."
"Who's Isabel?"
"I don't know any Isabel," Susannah said through clenched teeth. "I already told you that, too."
"Tell me again."
"Dammit!" Susannah exploded. Coming to her feet, she slammed her hand down on the table. "I just did!"
The detective was unimpressed. "Sit down, Ms. Bennington."
"I'm tired of sitting down," Susannah replied. "I'm tired of answering your ridiculous accusations. Most of all, I'm tired of you."
She looked at the woman who was sitting quietly in the seat beside the one she'd just vacated. She was a friend dating back to Susannah's days as a social worker. When the police detective had asked her if she wanted a lawyer present, Carole's was the only name she could think of, besides the one that came instantly to mind—and was just as instantly rejected. She couldn't call Matt.
"How much longer do I have to put up with this?" she asked her lawyer.
"Until I'm satisfied with your answers," said the detective.
"Carole?" Susannah said to the lawyer.
"You can refuse to continue this conversation at any time," Carole advised her.
"And then?"
"And then we lock you up," the detective said.
"How long can they keep me in jail?"
"Until tomorrow morning, at least," the lawyer said. "That's when you'll go before a judge for arraignment. Given your long-standing ties to the community, I can probably get you released on your own recognizance."
"What about the others? Judy and Heather and my guests?"
Carole shook her head. "Given Judy Sukura's record and the nature of the charges, her bail is likely to be fairly high."
"I'll take care of it," Susannah said. "What about Heather?"
"She's already been turned over to the juvenile authorities. They'll notify her family and appoint a lawyer for her if she doesn't already have one."
Susannah closed her eyes for a moment. Heather would hate having her family notified. She'd be afraid, too, although she'd never admit it. "Will they turn her over to her parents?"
"Legally, she can be remanded to their custody. But I don't think that will happen, not given the history of abuse. They'll probably keep her in custody at juvie."
Susannah relaxed a little, knowing that, for now, Heather was safe. Probably mad as a wet hen, but safe.
"Can we get back to the subject here, ladies?" the detective said.
Susannah ignored him. "And my guests? What will happen to them?"
"They're being released as soon as they've given their statements," Carole told her. "Most of them are already gone."
"Ladies?"
Wearily, Susannah sat down.
"What's your relationship with Eddie Devine?"
"I don't have a relationship with Eddie Devine."
"Isn't he Judy Sukura's pimp?"
"He was Judy's pimp. He isn't anymore."
"Who's Isa-"
A knock sounded on the interrogation-room door. "Excuse me. Detective Martin, can I see you out here a minute?"
Without a word, the detective got up and left the room.
Susannah looked at her lawyer. "What's going to happen?"
"It's hard to say. I haven't seen the evidence against you yet, so—"
"There isn't any evidence," Susannah said, "because I haven't done anything."
"You haven't," Carole agreed. "But what about Judy?"
"She wouldn't." Susannah prayed it was true. "I know she wouldn't."
"Judy has a record going back seven years. She's a prostitute."
"Was a prostitute."
"Maybe," Carole said. "And maybe not. You have to face facts, Susannah. Judy might be guilty."
"How could she be? I mean, it's ridiculous if you just think about it for a minute. How could she possibly be running a prostitution ring from The Personal Touch, with or without Eddie Devine's help? Helen answers the phone as often as Judy does. More often, because she's there more hours. I answer it, too. Even Heather has answered it," she added, remembering that afternoon in her office a few weeks ago when she'd found Heather on the phone. With a friend, she'd said. "So tell me, how could Judy be running some kind of prostitution ring right under our nos
es and none of us know it?"
"Maybe she's not doing it alone. Have you thought of that? Maybe Heather is involved somehow. As far as we know, the trouble didn't start until after she came to live with you. She might very well be involved."
"No," Susannah said. "I refuse to believe Heather would—" The door to the interrogation room opened. Susannah's eyes widened in shock. "Matt."
"Susannah." In three strides, Matt was across the room and hauling Susannah out of her chair by the shoulders. He crushed her to him. "Are you all right?"
Susannah clung to him for a moment, her eyes closed in silent thanksgiving. She'd never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life.
"Susannah?"
"Matt," she said into his chest. Her fingers were curled into the lapels of his trench coat, her knuckles white from the strength of her grip. "Matt."
He lifted one hand to her face, turning it up to his. "Are you all right?" he demanded, tenderly brushing back her hair so he could look into her eyes.
She nodded against his palm, too near tears to trust her voice just then.
"They didn't hurt you?" He slid his hands down her arms, gently pulling her hands from his lapels so he could examine the delicate skin of her wrists.
"She hasn't got a single bruise on her lily-white skin," the detective said, his tone sardonic. "We hadn't got around to the rubber hoses yet."
Matt ignored him and enfolded Susannah in his arms once again. "Dammit," he said into her hair. "Why in hell didn't you call me?"
"You shouldn't be here," she said, trying to pull herself out of his arms. "Your campaign. The press. They were all over the place when the police brought us in." She glanced nervously at the detective who was leaning back against the wall with his arms folded, watching them with obvious interest. "You shouldn't be here, Matt."
Matt refused to let her go. "You should have called me," he reiterated firmly. "I should have been the first person you called."
Susannah deliberately misunderstood. "I have a lawyer," she said. "Carole's my lawyer."
Matt looked at the other woman over Susannah's head. "With all due respect, Counselor," he said. "I'll be taking over this case from here."
"Susannah?" Carole said, looking to her client for direction.
Susannah lifted her gaze to Matt's. "You know what this will do to your campaign, don't you?" she whispered.
Matt smiled tenderly, touched by her concern for him in the face of her own problems. "I have a fairly good idea."
"There's nothing linking us yet in the public mind. There've been no stories about us in the papers yet. No gossip. If you leave now, there probably won't be."
"Sweetheart, there already is. Some 'reliable source' reported having seen us together at the Mark Hopkins."
Susannah's eyes widened. "In the coatroom?"
"At dinner."
"Then it's still all right," she breathed, relieved. "You can make some kind of statement about how I was just there to make a campaign contribution."
"A bleeding-heart liberal contributing to my campaign?" He shook his head. "The press'll never buy it. Besides, someone from the Fourth of July picnic is bound to come forward. No matter what I do tonight, by tomorrow morning we'll be the lead story in both papers."
Susannah closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Matt."
"Don't be." He leaned down and kissed her lightly. "I'm not."
"This is all very touching, folks," the police detective said then, still watching them from his position against the wall, "but I have an interrogation to conduct here."
Matt shifted his hold on Susannah, bringing her around to his side with his arm curled protectively around her shoulders. "The interrogation is over," he said. "I'm taking her out of here."
The police detective straightened away from the wall.
Matt stopped him with a look. "I've already cleared it with your lieutenant, Detective Martin. Ms. Bennington has been released to my custody until this mess is cleared up."
"Does that mean I'm fired?" Carole asked.
Susannah looked up at Matt, silently offering him one last chance to do the sensible thing.
"I'm not leaving here without you," he said.
"What about Judy? And Heather? I can't leave them here."
"And if they're guilty?"
"I still can't leave them here."
Matt nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can do about getting them released, too."
Susannah looked over at Carole with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, you're fired," she said.
* * *
Matt poked his head into the interrogation room. "You two ready to go?" he asked, looking back and forth between the two women sitting at the table.
Judy pushed her cup of coffee away and stood up. "I'm more than ready," she said fervently, although her face was devoid of all emotion. Whether she was upset or not, frightened or not, was anybody's guess. Matt assumed she'd had a lot of practice hiding what she was feeling.
Susannah, on the other hand, was an open book. Every emotion she was feeling showed in her expressive face. She was angry, frightened and determined. She was also shivering.
"Here, put this on," Matt said, shrugging out of his trench coat to wrap it around her bare shoulders. "It's colder outside than it is in here."
"Did you get Heather released?" Susannah asked as she slipped her arms into the coat sleeves.
Matt nodded. "I had to pull in a few favors, and promise a few more, but I got the juvenile authorities to release her to my custody. Carole went over to pick her up." Matt put his arm around Susannah's shoulders and slipped a hand under Judy's elbow, leading them toward the door as he spoke. "She'll meet us over at my mother's."
Susannah stopped dead. "Your mother's?"
"I can't take you back to your place, or mine, for that matter. Not right now. The reporters will be waiting for us."
"I don't mind a few reporters," Judy said, slipping her arm out of his hand. "I can get myself home."
"I'm sure you can," Matt said, reaching out to recapture it. "But you're coming with us. I plan to conduct a little interrogation of my own." His expression hardened into one any hostile witness he'd ever questioned would have recognized. "Before the night's over, I'm going to get to the bottom of this." He started toward the door again, a woman held firmly in either hand. "When we get outside," he warned, "don't say anything to anyone. Not even 'no comment.' Is that clear?"
Both women nodded.
"If any talking needs to be done, I'll do it." He paused, looking from one woman to the other. "Ready? Okay, here we go."
It was pandemonium outside the police station. They were instantly surrounded by reporters thrusting microphones and minicams in their faces.
"Mr. Ryan, what's your relationship to the High Society Madam?"
"Are you and Ms. Bennington lovers?"
"What does this mean to your campaign?"
"Ms. Bennington, were your parents aware of what you do for a living before tonight?"
"Are the rumors about young girls being coerced into providing sexual favors for elderly clients true?"
"Are you going to pull out of the campaign now?"
Silently, slowly, stoically, they made their way to the car parked at the curb, ignoring the noise and confusion swirling around them. Matt opened the front passenger door and assisted Susannah inside. Judy pulled open the back door and quickly climbed in, locking the door after her.
"Mr. Ryan, were you aware that Ms. Bennington was a prostitute before you became involved with her?"
Mart's head jerked around. He leveled a killing glance at the man who had asked the question. "My fiancée—" he placed a subtle but unmistakable emphasis on the word "—and I will have a statement for the press in the morning."
Chapter 11
Matt looked around the circle of feminine faces staring back at him from their seats in his mother's front parlor. Heather, Judy, his mother, and Susannah returned his gaze with varying degrees of seriousness and concern.
"The way I see it," he said, "we're left with only one possible alternative."
Susannah shook her head, but she wasn't really disagreeing with what he'd said. She couldn't see any other answer, either. "I can hardly believe it," she said, half to herself.
"Just examine what we know so far," Matt said. "For the last few weeks, at least, Eddie Devine has been using The Personal Touch to set up appointments for some of his girls. That means he has to have someone on the inside. You weren't doing it," he said to Susannah. "Judy and Heather swear they didn't have anything to do with it, either."
"And I believe them," Susannah interjected, smiling at each of the younger women in turn. "Completely."
"As do I," Matt agreed. Now. "So that leaves only one possible suspect."
"Wow," said Heather, speaking for all of them. "Who would'a, like, thought Helen would do something like this in a million years?"
"When you think about it logically," Matt said, "it really couldn't be anyone else. The key is the telephone. Helen answers it more than the rest of you put together. When the voice on the other end asked for Isabel, she knew what that meant. That it was a code word. When one of you answered it, you just assumed it was a wrong number and hung up. You told me yourself, Susannah, that you've gotten calls like that on a more-or-less regular basis ever since you opened for business. Helen had to be hoping you'd just think these were more of the same."
"But Helen was upset by those calls," Susannah said. "Remember, Judy? That other afternoon when we got one? Teri Bowman had just come in for her appointment and the phone rang. Remember?" She looked back at Matt. "Helen was very upset by it."
"Of course she would be upset," Matt said patiently. "If you and Judy were standing in the room when the call came, how could she not be upset? You might have tumbled onto what was going on."
"I still can't believe...." She shook her head. "How could she have thought it would have worked? Surely she must have known.... She had to realize we'd become suspicious sooner or later."
"Ah, but would you have?" Matt asked. "Think about it. If it hadn't been for the ongoing investigation into Eddie Devine's activities and the subsequent raid on your place, would you have suspected? Or would you just have gone on assuming someone had given out a wrong number?"
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