by Gerri Hill
“I feel like I need to wash my hands,” she murmured. “Now what? You want to go see if they picked Johnny up?”
“No. Not yet. I have an idea,” Tori said.
Sam followed as they walked to Tori’s Explorer.
“They were all teenagers, minors. Angie was a runaway. Maybe Crystal, too.”
“Yes. And?”
“And they couldn’t get into a lot of the bars. At least not alone. There’s a club, more of a coffeehouse than a bar, really. Belle’s. Usually a younger crowd.”
“Belle’s? Isn’t that a hostel?”
“Yes. Next door to the coffeehouse.”
“So, we think our guy is targeting young lesbians. Where better to find them than at a hostel for young lesbians?”
“Maybe. Or he could be staking out the bars and watching.”
It was nearly midnight as Tori drove them through downtown and on to the edge of Deep Ellum. The parking lot in front of Belle’s was nearly empty. The music coming from inside was quiet, almost soothing. Nothing like they’d heard at the last two clubs.
“Not very popular tonight,” Sam said.
“No. Not Friday and Saturday nights. That’s when they all sneak into the bars.”
Inside, the coffeehouse was well lit, with tables spaced evenly throughout. Only a handful of young women were inside.
“Well, well. Detective Hunter.”
Tori and Sam turned, looking at a well-dressed woman coming from the back. Sam recognized her but couldn’t place her.
“Counselor,” Tori greeted.
“It’s been a while. What brings you out here? Official business?”
Tori nodded.
“This is my partner, Sam Kennedy.”
“It’s Samantha,” she said as she shook the other woman’s hand.
“Anything I can help with, Detective?”
“Just want to ask a few questions,” Tori said. “Do you know Belle?”
Charlotte Grayson laughed. She opened her purse and took out her keys, looking at Samantha with appraising eyes.
“Belle’s my cousin,” she said. “I haven’t seen you around,” she said to Samantha. “New in town?”
“No, she’s not,” Tori said.
“My, my. Possessive, aren’t we, Detective?”
“We just want to ask a few questions,” Tori said again.
“Well, I was just on my way out. Call me sometime, okay? I think you still owe me dinner.”
“Sure.”
She looked again at Samantha, then brushed past them and out the bar. Sam looked at Tori with raised eyebrows.
“Defense attorney?”
“Used to be. Works for the DA now.”
“You have a history?”
Tori smiled. “It was a long time ago.”
“Tell me.”
“Later. Come on,” she said. She walked to the small bar and sat down, then smiled at the young woman who walked up to them.
“Hello. What can I do for you?”
Tori took out her badge and the three pictures. She laid them across the bar.
“Do you know them?”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. She covered her mouth with her hand. “What happened?”
“You recognize them?” Samantha asked.
“Yes. Angie, Crystal and Rachel,” she said. “What happened?” she asked again.
“They were murdered, left in Dumpsters,” Tori said.
Her eyes widened. “I read about that in the paper. They didn’t give names.”
“No. Angie and Crystal are Jane Does.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t identify them, no priors,” Tori said. “We need some help. What do you know about them?”
“Maybe you should talk to Belle. She knows them,” she said.
Tori nodded.
The woman left and Tori glanced at Sam.
“Maybe a break,” she said.
“Yes. At least to their identity,” Samantha said. “What is the woman’s name?” she asked.
“Who?”
“You know, the attorney.”
“Oh. Charlotte Grayson.”
Samantha nodded. She’d heard the name before from Robert.
“How do you know her?” Samantha asked.
Tori leaned her elbows on the bar and smiled. It had been years since she’d thought about it. God, she had been so young.
“It was my first year as a detective,” Tori said, remembering. “She grilled the hell out of me on the stand. And she was so good, she even had time to flirt with me while she was doing it,” she said. “She cornered me outside the courtroom afterward. She bet me dinner that we’d sleep together that day.”
“And?”
“And I still owe her dinner,” Tori said.
Samantha was about to comment when the young woman came back with an older version of Charlotte Grayson. An older, shorter, plumper version.
“I’m Belle Grayson,” she said. “Catherine says you have some bad news.”
“I’m Detective Hunter. This is Detective Kennedy,” Tori said. “We’re with Homicide.”
“I see. What can I do for you?”
Tori pointed at the pictures on the bar. “You know these women?”
Belle scanned the photos, then raised her eyes to them.
“Oh my God. Yes. I know them. What happened?”
“They were murdered… and their bodies left in Dumpsters.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Not Rachel, too?”
“Yes. What can you tell us about them?”
Belle looked past them to the young women in the bar, then back to Tori.
“Let’s go next door to the hostel, to my office,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to alarm them.”
A side door to the coffeehouse led them across a brick-covered walkway and onto the porch of Belle’s Hostel. They both followed the older woman down a hallway.
Belle’s office was sparsely decorated, an old desk and file cabinets, one bookshelf littered with pictures, not much more. Tori scanned the room, her eyes landing on the numerous doors behind Belle’s desk, and she frowned slightly as she counted eight. Sam sat in the only chair and Tori stood beside her. Belle settled in behind her desk, hands folded nervously on top.
“I just can’t believe this. All dead?”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said sincerely.
“Angie was only seventeen. She came to me two years ago, from New Orleans. She was living with an aunt. When the aunt found out she was gay, she kicked her out. Crystal was eighteen. She’d only been around about a year. Her family is in Kansas. They kicked her out, she came here. Rachel is from Dallas. She still lived at home, although I don’t think her parents were very supportive.”
“Did they live here?” Sam asked.
“Angie lived here for about a year. Crystal stayed only two months. Rachel never actually lived here, although she was friends with quite a few here. She was here all the time.”
“When’s the last time you’ve seen them?” Tori asked.
“I haven’t seen Angie in months. Crystal, she would come around, visit, but it’s been at least a month, maybe more. Rachel, she was here this week.”
“Did you know that Angie and Crystal were hookers?” Tori asked.
Belle raised her eyes to them and nodded.
“Everyone has to make a living, Detective,” she said. “It’s not something they were proud of, certainly.”
“But they were lesbians?” Sam asked.
“Yes.”
“I guess I don’t understand,” Samantha said, shaking her head.
“It was a job. It wasn’t for pleasure, I assure you. They had turned to prostitution before I met them. I tried to talk them out of it, tried to get them a real job. But, Detective, minimum wage can’t compare to what they could turn in a night.”
Tori leaned her hip against the desk, one hand rubbing her eyes.
“Okay. The only connection we have is that they were lesb
ians and that they all have a history with Belle’s. Have you noticed anyone hanging around?”
“No. We’ve had no problems. No one stalking.”
“What about phone calls? Harassment?”
“No, none.”
“Okay. Any other hangouts that they might have in common?”
“Outlaws, I suppose.”
“What’s that?” Samantha asked.
“It’s a bar in the West End area. Wednesday nights they allow minors in. Most of the girls go there. In fact, we close up on Wednesdays for that very reason,” she said.
“Is it a women’s bar?” Samantha asked.
“It’s mixed.”
Sam glanced at Tori, who nodded.
“Thank you, Belle.” Tori pushed off the desk, reaching for the older woman’s hand. “We’ll let you know what we find out.”
“Should I warn the others? I mean, is this like a serial killer?”
“It could be, Belle,” Sam said. “But it won’t do any good to cause panic. Just remind them to be careful.”
Tori paused at the door, turning back to Belle. She motioned to the wall behind Belle.
“Closets?”
Belle frowned. “What?”
“All the doors there.”
Belle followed her gaze, then laughed. “Oh, no. Passages.”
“Passages?”
“This was an old plantation house. It was moved from Louisiana in the early 1900s. They had servants’ quarters in the center of the house.”
“Do you still use them?” Sam asked.
Belle shook her head. “No, no. Even when I bought it, the interior of the house had been closed off. I’d thought about remodeling, making more rooms, but the expense was too much. Besides, what young girl is going to want to stay in a room without windows?”
Tori parked her Explorer in the lot, not far from Sam’s car. She cut the engine and they sat quietly. It was after two.
“What about Johnny?” Samantha asked.
“I’ll go talk to her. It won’t take long.”
“You’re as tired as I am,” Samantha said. “We should do it together.”
“No. You go home. I’ll just crash here.”
“Tori, that’s not fair. I should come in, too.”
Tori rolled her head across the seat, meeting Sam’s eyes in the lamplight.
“I doubt she’ll tell us more than we already know. Go on home, Sam.”
Samantha reached across the console and captured Tori’s hand. She squeezed.
“Go to your boat this weekend,” she said. “Relax.”
Tori nodded. “And what about you? What will you do?”
Sam shrugged. “Right now, I feel like I could sleep until Sunday.”
“Well, if you want to escape the city, call me. You and Robert are welcome. The boat is plenty big enough.”
“Thanks. But Robert is not really…” What? The boat type? “Well, he’s not much for the outdoors,” she said. “But thanks for the offer.” She felt Tori squeeze her hand lightly, and she returned the pressure. “Good night.”
Tori watched Sam drive off, then went inside. Time to face Johnny. She doubted the large woman would be in a civil mood, considering they’d been holding her for nearly three hours.
Chapter Seventeen
Samantha wanted to ignore the phone and let her voice mail get it again, but she knew it would be Robert. It was nearly noon. She reached a hand out from under the covers and grabbed it.
“Hello,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep.
“Samantha? Are you okay?”
“Yes, Robert. I’m in bed still.”
“It’s almost noon,” he said. “You never sleep in.”
She sat up, propping herself on the pillows and pulling the covers to her waist. She was hungry. She was tired. She didn’t want to talk to Robert.
“It was nearly three before I got to bed,” she said around a yawn.
“Three? What kind of bars did you go to?”
“Robert, we were working, not barhopping. We have three dead teenagers, remember?”
“Yes, I know. But still, that’s so late.”
She sighed. Her patience was running out. PMS? Already? She mentally counted back the weeks. No. Too early.
“I wanted to have breakfast with you, so I waited. I guess it’s lunch then,” he said. “You want to come over and we’ll cook here? Or would you rather go out?”
She sighed again. Cook? She was in no mood to cook.
“I’m too tired to cook, Robert.”
“Okay. How about the deli? We can get pasta,” he suggested.
“How about the Bar and Grill?” she countered. “I could eat a greasy burger and fries.”
“Samantha, you know that always upsets my stomach.”
“Okay, fine. Pasta.”
“Great. Now get that beautiful body of yours out of bed and come on over.”
She attempted a smile as she tossed the covers off. It never quite made it to her face.
“Be right there,” she said.
“And I’ll make my famous omelet for you in the morning,” he said. “Maybe served in bed, huh?”
She hadn’t the heart to tell him she hated his omelets. He was so proud of them. So she agreed. While she showered, she wondered if Tori was out and about yet. Most likely, considering the woman hardly ever slept. She thought about calling her, to see how it went with Johnny, but then thought better of it. If something had come up, Tori would have called. She really hoped Tori went out to her boat and relaxed some. It appeared her time on her boat was the only real pleasure Tori got out of life. This thought made her sad.
Tori stripped off her shirt and sat in the sunshine in only her sports bra. It was a warm morning. Maybe spring was really here to stay this time. The marina was still quiet. Only a few boats had pulled out. Fishing, most likely. She would join them later in the day, then drop anchor and spend the night out on the water. The wind was calm and there would be a full moon. Perfect for night fishing.
She reached onto the deck and picked up her glass, sipping quietly from the Bloody Mary she’d made earlier. She let her thoughts drift, going over the night before, their time in the bars, her short conversation with Johnny, not pausing over any of them long enough to matter. She was tired. She grabbed only a couple of hours’ sleep on the cot, then headed out early, stopping at a grocery store for supplies. She would take Sam’s advice and spend the weekend on the boat. She needed this. Her long days were catching up with her.
Samantha stared past Robert to the other couples sitting around them on the patio. They were all locked in conversations, smiling and laughing. She sighed, then brought her attention back to Robert as he continued telling her about the case he was working on. She nodded at the appropriate times, not really listening to his words but watching the animated expressions on his face. He really was a sweet man. And he cared about her, she knew that. But at this very moment, she wasn’t certain what their future was. At one time, she might have thought they’d get married or at the very least, move in together. But now… she wasn’t so certain. Their relationship had evolved into one of friendship, companionship, but not passion. On her part, anyway. Robert still seemed to enjoy their time together in bed, and she wondered if he realized how forced it had become for her. There just wasn’t that excitement, that total loss of control, that burning desire to touch and be touched.
She thought back to last night and the way her body had reacted as she watched the two women across the bar. She admitted now, she had been excited. Her body had responded to what she saw and she had no explanation for that. Sitting there watching them last night, something had clicked inside of her. The looks on their faces as they touched, the natural way they moved together.
Had she ever looked like that when Robert touched her? When any man touched her? Her thoughts went to Tori, and again she tried to imagine her there. But it wasn’t some stranger she saw on her lap, kissing her, touching her. She saw hersel
f reaching out to touch Tori, to kiss her.
“Samantha?”
“Hmm?”
“Well?”
She focused on Robert and frowned.
“What?”
“Have you not been listening? I wanted your opinion.”
“I’m sorry, Robert. I was lost in thought. What did you say?”
“Never mind. It wasn’t important.” Then he pointed to her plate. “How’s your pasta?”
“It’s fine.” In fact, she’d barely touched it. She twirled the pasta on her fork and took a bite. She would rather have had a burger.
“You feel like seeing a movie later?” he asked. “Or maybe we could rent one and go back to my place,” he suggested.
“It’s so pretty out, Robert, I would hate to be inside,” she said. “Why don’t we go to the park?”
“The park? And do what?”
“I don’t know. Sit in the sunshine? Walk around? Throw a Frisbee?”
He put his fork down and stared at her.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a beautiful day. I don’t want to be stuck in a dark theater.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting very strange for the last several weeks,” he said.
She stared back at him.
“Are you suggesting that since I got transferred to Homicide, I’ve been different?”
He shrugged. “I think it started before that.” He leaned forward. “Why was it so important for you to move to Homicide?” he asked. “That’s all you focused on for months.”
“I told you why, Robert. I didn’t want to be a detective in Assault for the rest of my career. There are only two women that have made Captain. I want to be the third.”
“Why?”
“Why? What kind of question is that?”
“I envision us getting married and having kids and hopefully having you home more, not less. We hardly see each other anymore, Samantha. It’s like your career is more important to you than I am.”
“Did you hear what you just said, Robert? Did you even listen as the words left your mouth?” she demanded.
“What?”
“You envision us getting married and having kids? So I can stay home more? So that you and the kids and the goddamn house can be more important to me than my career?” She noticed several curious stares from some of the other tables, but she hardly cared.