The bartender thought about this a few moments, then said, “Yeah, yeah, that sounds like it. But I’m not a hundred percent sure. She only used the card once.”
Digging out his wallet, Cullen handed a snapshot of Marla to the bartender and held his breath.
Matt stared at it and nodded. “Yup. This is her. Only she didn’t dress funky like this. She always wore top-of-the-line dresses.”
Cullen hesitated. “Do you think she and Rafael were lovers?”
Matt shook his head. “Not really, Danny. No.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, see, Rafael was a real touchy-feely type. You know? And he loved to handle the merchandise. With Marla, he kept his hands to himself.”
“They didn’t kiss or anything?”
“Not that I ever saw. My take was they were just friends. Although I got the distinct impression from the way he looked at her, he would’ve preferred a different arrangement.”
Boff could tell Cullen was getting ready to lose it. He drank off half his wine, put the glass down, and extended a hand to the bartender. “Matt, you’ve been a big help,” he said. “We’ve got to take off now.”
Emilio, who had been half-listening, touched Boff’s arm. “Frank. You guys leaving already? You only just got here.”
“I’d love to stay,” Boff said, “but these boys take their training curfews very seriously.”
Emilio smiled. “All work, no play, huh?”
Cullen felt like he was suffocating. He needed to get away from this place. Sliding off his stool, he bolted for the front door. Bellucci hurried after him.
The bartender said, “Did I say something wrong?”
“Marla was his girlfriend,” Boff replied.
“Oops. Sorry about that. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have talked about her. I bet he’s going to give her hell tonight.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“She’s dead, too.”
Chapter 21
Silence reigned in Boff’s car on the way back to Brooklyn until Bellucci said, “So, Danny…what are you feeling?”
“What the fuck you think I’m feeling? She cheated on me. I was such a jerk.”
“Slow down,” Boff said. “You heard the bartender say Rafael never touched her. They were just friends.”
“My ass they were! Maybe at the club they agreed just to act like friends. And…and if Marla went out with him regularly, who’s to say there weren’t other guys she was seeing, too? Not to mention the friggin’ expensive clothes she wore and the drinks she bought. She told me she only worked a couple nights a week at a bar in Brooklyn Heights and couldn’t afford a cab ride to my place from Columbia—like, if she really even went to law school. Everything was a goddamn lie!”
“Come on, Danny,” Bellucci said, “you know she loved you.”
Cullen dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “She probably faked that, too.”
Boff glanced at Cullen in his rearview mirror. “Why would she fake that?” he asked.
“Who the hell knows,” Cullen snapped back. “Maybe she was a fucking weirdo who got off leading a double life. Man, the only fucking thing I know for sure is I didn’t really fucking know her at all.”
Boff made his voice softer. “Danny, you’ve got a right to be upset. But I want you to try and distance yourself from her for a moment. We’ve got two murders that might be connected. So I need to know everything Marla told you about herself. Whether you think she was lying or not.”
In response, Cullen took out his wallet, pulled out a snapshot Bellucci had taken of him and Marla, and was about to tear it in half when Boff, who glanced in the mirror, said, “Don’t do that! Give it to me. I want a picture of her.”
“Be my fucking guest.” He tossed the photo over the seat. It landed on the dashboard. Boff picked it up and set it down beside him.
Figuring it would be better to question Cullen after the initial shock wore off, Boff didn’t say anything further about Marla until they were in the boxer’s apartment. After Bellucci fetched sodas, they sat on the couch in the living room.
“How’d you meet her?” Boff asked. “Were you introduced by someone? Just met by chance?”
Cullen took his time before answering. “She was sitting in a Starbucks at the table next to me. I don’t remember how we started talking. Maybe I said something to her, I dunno. What’s the difference how we met?”
“I want to know if she tried to pick you up.”
“I…I don’t think so. I mean, she was, like, friendly and all that, but she wasn’t coming on to me. In fact, when I asked if I could call her, she said something like it wasn’t the right time. She was getting over somebody. It was only after I kept pestering her that she finally wrote her phone number down on a napkin. Then she stood up a minute later and walked out.”
Boff paused a moment so it wouldn’t seem like he was hammering the kid with questions. “Where’d you go on your first date?”
“Dinner.”
“Was it a nice place? The kind where people dress up?”
“Sort of. I mean, I wore a sports jacket.”
“And what’d she wear?”
Cullen grimaced. “What she always fucking wore. Fucking jeans and a fucking stupid shirt. I guess she sent her designer clothes to the cleaners that night.”
Boff could tell Cullen was getting ready to shut down, so he pressed on while he could. “Okay, so eventually you two got involved. Did she tell you anything about where she was from?”
“Jersey. Union City.”
“Probably Cuban, then. Did she ever talk about her parents?”
“Stop fucking asking me fucking questions!” Cullen snapped. “What the hell’s the point of all this? It was just bullshit she made up.”
“That may very well be,” Boff said, “but just in case it isn’t, I need to know.”
“Why’s that?”
“You know why. Marla could be the key to finding out why Rafael was killed.”
“Isn’t it obvious why that shithead was killed? He was a cheater. He probably messed with the wrong woman and some jealous guy killed him.”
Boff shook his head. “No,” he said, “I think that’s too simple. Something else is involved here.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure Marla’s murder was staged and the cops were involved.”
Cullen shot up off the couch. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“If you’ll sit back down, Danny, I’ll explain.”
Although Cullen wanted to bolt, part of him also wanted to hear what Boff had to say. Reluctantly he sat back down on the couch. “Let’s hear it,” he said. “Fast.”
Boff recounted how the cops had just happened to be in the right place at the right time that night, and how they hadn’t followed the standard response procedure.
“So?” Cullen was ready to stand up again.
“So, I believe the whole murder scene was rigged,” Boff said. “A setup. The contractor paid the killer to take Marla out. And he also paid the two cops to be on the scene to take the rapist out. That way, the murder would look like an open and shut case and nobody would bother to look too deeply into Marla’s life.”
Looking disgusted, Cullen stood up and disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door after him.
“Boff,” Bellucci said, “I think he needs some time to deal with this before you question him again.”
“True. But knowing him, no matter how pissed he is now, he’ll come to his senses. He’s been around me long enough to know I wouldn’t have said what I just said if there wasn’t some truth to it. You wait. By tomorrow, he’ll be bugging me to let him help out on Marla’s case.”
Bellucci shrugged. “I dunno about that. Like, you know, Danny’s had a rough time. First Marla gets killed. Then he finds out she had money and frequented places like Devil’s Own. And now? Now you’re connecting the two murders. That’s a helluva lot t
o digest. He could just shut everything out and not talk to you.”
Boff smiled. “I doubt that, Mikey. Even if he thinks Marla cheated on him and lied, he’s going to want to find the killer or killers and punish them. It’s his nature.”
Bellucci laughed. “Tell me about it! If you embarrass him in the gym, he turns into a junkyard dog. Danny has pounded the shit out me on more than one occasion. Also, let’s not forget that when you two vigilantes found the guys who killed Nino Biaggi, you made sure they never lived to see a courtroom.”
Boff stood up. “See you tomorrow. Thanks for the soda.”
Chapter 22
The next day, Boff took the boys to Cheffy’s for lunch again, hoping he could wiggle more information out of Cullen. After they finished their appetizers and were into the main course, he took a stab at getting Cullen to talk about Marla.
“You said she worked twice a week as a bartender in Brooklyn Heights. Did she mention the name of the place?”
Cullen took his time before answering. “The Brazen Head. She said it was an upscale yuppie hangout and she made good money. Around four hundred a night.”
“Well,” Boff said, “if she was only working twice a week, four hundred a night wouldn’t have been nearly enough money to buy the kind of clothes she was apparently wearing at Devil’s Own. Designer dresses routinely go for five hundred bucks or more. Did you ever go to the Brazen Head while she was working there?”
Cullen shook his head. “She asked me not to. She said it was always real busy, and she wouldn’t be able spend time with me, and that’d make her feel bad.”
Boff put his fork down, took out his phone, got the number for the Brazen Head, called, and asked for the manager.
“My name is Frank Boff,” he said when somebody answered. “I’m looking for someone who might’ve worked as a bartender for you. Her name was Marla Ramirez … I see. Well, she sometimes used another name, Marla Hoban … Uh huh. Thanks for your time.”
“What’d he say?” Cullen asked.
“Never heard of her.”
“Figures.”
“Then where was the money coming from?” Bellucci asked.
“One possibility,” Boff said, “was that she had rich parents.”
Cullen shook his head again. “Nope. Not according to her. One time, we were talking in bed and she told me her parents had died when she was a teenager.” He suddenly shoved his plate away. “This is stupid. I’m just repeating her lies.”
“That may be so,” Boff said, “but tell me anyway.”
“You really want to hear her fucking soap opera story? Fine. According to Ms. Marla, her father was a lawyer who was indicted for bribing a judge. A day before her father was to go on trial, he hung himself.” Cullen blew out a sigh of disgust.
“Keep going.”
“Ms. Marla was fifteen at the time. She said after her father killed himself, her mother started drinking heavily. Two years later, the mother drove drunk into a telephone pole and was killed.”
“What happened to Marla then?”
“Oh, for chrissake! What’s the point? She probably found that story in some women’s magazine.”
“Be that as it may,” Boff said, “let’s hear the rest of it.”
But Cullen clammed up, fiddled with his napkin, and didn’t say anything. Ever patient, Boff used the time to eat.
Finally, a few minutes later, Cullen responded. “She said she moved in with her aunt, graduated high school near the top of her class, and got a full scholarship to Princeton. After Princeton, she got another free ride. To Columbia law school.”
Boff put his fork down. “Did she live in the dorm at Columbia?” he asked. “Or get her own apartment?”
“Her first year, she said she roomed with two other students in a Bronx walkup. This year, she…she moved to Brooklyn Heights.” He winced. “Brooklyn Heights! Where the fucking rents are pretty fucking high. So how the hell did she afford that? Goddammit! I never even thought about that. How could I’ve been so stupid?”
Bellucci looked up from his plate. “Simple,” he said. “You were in love. People in love don’t think about stuff like that.”
“And, Mr. Cool, how would you know? The guy who’s never been in love.”
Bellucci shrugged. “Mikey’s been in love. Just not like you.”
“Let’s get back to the money,” Boff said. “Given that her parents were dead, my experience tells me there are three possible ways a very attractive woman like her could’ve gotten the kind of cash she needed to buy designer clothes and have an apartment in Brooklyn Heights.”
“And they are?” Cullen asked.
“One, she could’ve worked as a fashion model. But, that being said, if she really was a graduate law student, she wouldn’t have had the time to put in on long photo shoots or be ready to work on short notice, as often happens in that industry.”
When Cullen said nothing, Bellucci asked, “What are the other two ways?”
Boff looked at Cullen. “Danny, you’re not going to like what I have to say next.”
Cullen let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t imagine it being any worse than finding out that my girlfriend was a complete fucking liar. Just say it.”
“One way was she could’ve gotten a lot of money from a sugar daddy.”
Cullen waved that off. “I sincerely doubt it,” he said. “The Marla I knew wouldn’t even take money from me. I can’t see her taking money from some rich old fuck. Let’s hear the last way. Then I’m splitting.”
Boff had saved the worst for last. “Three, she could’ve been a high-class call girl and worked for an elite escort service.”
Cullen shoved his chair back and stood up. “Are you fucking crazy? That’s totally whacko. Marla would never do that.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. “Well…at least the version of her I knew.” Feeling defeated and depressed, he sank back down on his chair.
“Danny,” Boff began, “you’d be surprised at the kind of women who work for escort services. I’ve represented a couple of them. They told me some of the gals were business execs. Others were housewives. Accountants. School teachers, even. And in one instance, there was a high-powered lawyer who moonlighted as an escort.”
Bellucci made a face. “Man, why would women like that turn tricks?”
“Why?” Boff replied, raising three fingers and ticking the reasons off. “One, because it’s part-time work. Two, the money is very good. And, three, if you’re with an elite house, they carefully screen customers so your risk level will be very low.” He raised a fourth finger. “Also, they could just get off on living a secret life.”
As the waitress walked by, Cullen grabbed her arm and handed her his half-eaten plate of ackee and codfish.
“Something wrong with the food, Danny?” she asked.
“No. I’m just not all that hungry.”
“You want me to bring you something else?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
After the waitress left for the kitchen, he stood up again. “I’m going for a walk.”
“I’ll come with you,” Bellucci said.
“No. I need to be alone.”
Cullen brought out his wallet. “How much do I owe?”
“It’s on me,” Boff said.
Without another word, the boxer headed for the door.
Chapter 23
To check on Marla’s family story, Boff called Armando Perez and asked him if he knew about a Union City lawyer named Ramirez who had hanged himself before going to trial on a bribery charge.
Yes. It was a shock to the community. He was well-liked and did pro bono work for our people who couldn’t afford a good lawyer.
“Did he have a daughter named Marla?”
Yes, he did. She was a very beautiful girl. She later suffered a double tragedy when her mother died in a car accident. Frank, I’ve always wondered what happened to that girl. Do you know?
“She was apparently going to law s
chool at Columbia and doing very well. But she was raped and murdered recently.”
Oh, no! Pobrecita. She survived so much. Then this happens. Are you investigating?
“Yes.”
Good. If anybody can get justice for her, it’s you.
After he got off the phone with Perez, Boff drove to the gym to meet with Damiano. He was leaning against his Malibu waiting for her when Wright called.
“What’s up, Billy?”
The guy who killed Marla had a long rap sheet. But no violent crime.
“Which means nothing. There’s always a first time. And plenty of murderers have never committed any kind of crime before. What exactly did this mutt do?”
Burglary. Shoplifting. Petty larceny. Nickel and dime stuff. Also, the guy was seriously broke. He was two months behind on his rent and Con-Ed bills. Cablevision had already shut off his service. Plus he was in outpatient rehab for H three nights a week. The clinic said he didn’t show up last week. Frank, any way you slice it, this was one desperate guy. The kind who would’ve done anything to get his hands on some money. Even blood money.
“Thanks, Billy. How’re those chemtrails?”
You’re going to regret not listening to me.
“I always listen to you.”
As Boff hung up, Damiano’s Dodge Charger pulled up and double-parked. She got out of the car and walked over to him.
“So whatcha you got for me?” she asked.
Boff filled her in on the possibility that Marla had led a double life.
Damiano looked surprised. “You really think she was a hooker?” she asked.
“Not with any certainty. But she apparently lived a lifestyle way beyond the means of a law student without any financial help from her parents.”
“Ummmm. So how did Danny take this little bit of news?”
“Not very well. Listen, do me a favor and find out how much the guy who raped and killed her had in his wallet when your cops killed him.”
“Why?”
“If the guy was paid to do the job, he might’ve had cash in his wallet he shouldn’t have had.”
The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) Page 11