by Ace Atkins
“Christ,” Quirk said. “You got me there. Let me make some calls.”
I stood, pointed at him with my thumb and forefinger, and dropped the hammer.
On the way out, I took an extra donut with me.
13
I picked up Pearl at the Navy Yard and drove back to my office before the lunchtime traffic. Right before noon, I parked somewhere in the neighborhood of Commonwealth and Dartmouth, slipped her into a training harness, and took her out for a little stroll.
She was a handsome dog. Perhaps the most beautiful of all the Pearls. Slick brown coat and intelligent eyes, a long, regal nose that immediately found the grass along the mall. Many people offered compliments as we walked. Lovely women stopped jogging to bend down and pet her.
I was enjoying this arrangement.
The address I had for Peter Steiner was on the north side of Comm Ave, an elegant four-story brownstone that dominated a space usually reserved for three homes. I read it had once been a hotel before becoming a private school in the fifties. It was a lot of real estate for an unmarried man with no family.
It was shady and cool under the large trees as we walked. Every so often, I would stop and command Pearl to sit and stay. I would walk back five paces, leash in hand, and then ask her to come. When she got to me, she got a small treat. When she came without being called, I set her back into a sit. We did this over and over.
I furtively glanced at Steiner’s residence. I saw no one enter the door at the top of the stone steps or leave. The blinds in the home were half drawn, but as a professional investigator, I knew that peeping in windows was considered poor form.
Pearl and I crossed the street and walked around the corner of the building. I tried to look in the windows anyway, but the afternoon sun glared hard off the glass. Pearl sensed something, perhaps a clue, and dug her nails into the sidewalk.
I decided to let her take the lead. Ten yards later, we found half of a discarded bagel still in a wrapper.
I had to remove it from her mouth. No telling who’d eaten the other half and what they might pass on to Pearl. Pearl wasn’t pleased.
We kept walking and soon found the public alley behind Steiner’s place and decided to investigate.
On the backside, we found two cars parked outside. One was the Mercedes I’d seen drop off Debbie Delgado. The other was a light blue Rolls-Royce Phantom. Pearl and I noted the license tag on the Rolls. Or at least I hoped she did. She was still a detective-in-training.
I continued past the dumpsters and the other cars, still not being able to see inside the turreted windows facing the alley.
We continued along the alley all the way to Clarendon, heading back over Commonwealth to the mall. Pearl sat smartly at the corner until I let her know it was safe to cross.
She panted with the exertion as we crossed into the mall, and she promptly relieved herself. This was a lot of work for a puppy detective.
As I was jotting the tag number of the Rolls into my phone, it began to buzz.
“Where are you?” Mattie said.
“Teaching Pearl the finer points of investigating.”
“Can you get back to the office?”
“We are headed in that very direction.”
“Good,” Mattie said. “I found another one.”
“Another what?”
“Victim of that creep Steiner,” Mattie said. “Amelia Lynch. She’s eighteen now but says she was fourteen when it happened.”
“He expose himself to her, too?”
“Worse than that,” Mattie said. “Much worse.”
“Sure it’s Steiner?”
“This thing happened at his house,” Mattie said. “Big place on Comm Avenue.”
“I’m standing right in front of it.”
“She thought she was going for a modeling audition,” Mattie said. “It was that woman, Poppy Palmer. She talked her into taking some pictures in a bathing suit and all that kind of stuff.”
“If you found her in less than twenty-four hours,” I said, “how many you think are out there?”
“Didn’t you say the more victims we find, the more that’ll step forward?”
“That’s generally the rule.”
“Okay,” Mattie said. “Let’s keep looking. Let’s get this asshole.”
14
We met Amelia Lynch at a Dunkin’ in Mattapan. As I considered all Dunkin’ shops in the greater Boston area satellite offices, I made myself comfortable at a back table. We all drank coffee, but a corn muffin called to me from behind the counter.
As Mattie settled in with Amelia, I excused myself and bought the muffin. I split off a quarter, walked to the curb, and shared it with Pearl waiting patiently in the car.
It was a blazing hot summer in Boston at a cool seventy degrees. My windows were cracked to let in the morning breeze and smells of the city.
“She okay?” Mattie asked when I returned.
“She is now,” I said.
“Amelia was telling me about first meeting Poppy,” Mattie said.
“Pretty dumb,” Amelia said. “She told me I had the looks and height to be a runway model in Paris.”
Amelia had the height, a little taller than Mattie, with long, white-blond hair and wide-set blue eyes. Her skin was pale and her cheeks pink. She may have been eighteen, but she appeared and acted much younger. She spoke quietly, eyes down on the table or at her cup of coffee, dressed in ragged jean shorts, flip-flops, and a tie-dye T-shirt featuring Snoopy and a peace symbol.
It had been a while since I’d seen one of those.
“How did you meet Poppy?” I said.
“A girl in school told me about her,” she said. “I told my parents, and they laughed. My dad said it sounded like a con job. My mom told me I was decent-looking but not quite model material. She thought my nose was too big.”
“I think you have a terrific nose,” I said. “Much better than mine.”
Amelia smiled, nervously tucking her long hair behind one ear, showing off multiple piercings. I wasn’t sure if telling a young woman that she was attractive was acceptable or creepy. I just didn’t want to let her mother’s comment slide. Kids, particularly teens, took everything to heart.
“So,” Mattie said. “Amelia went anyway.”
I decided to let Mattie handle the questions. And I began to eat the corn muffin to make myself appear useful. The woman behind the counter continued to stock the donuts. I remembered a time when people actually made the donuts. Now they just stocked them. They appeared each day, brought by the donut gods.
“It was at Mr. Steiner’s house,” Amelia said, still staring into her cup. “I was so nervous. I even went to the mall and got a manicure and a new summer dress. I did this makeup tutorial on YouTube and everything. I had my cousin take some pictures to make it look like I had a portfolio. This girl that set me up said Poppy had connections at Abercrombie and Lululemon.”
“I’m old enough to remember when Abercrombie sold hunting boots and dog collars,” I said.
Mattie rolled her eyes. I could power the lights at Fenway with the eye rolling from Mattie Sullivan.
“Tell him about the interview,” Mattie said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know.”
“Spenser’s been around,” Mattie said. “He’s heard it all. He’s seen it all. He’s like a doctor. He needs to know everything. Every detail about what happened at that house.”
“It’s true,” I said. “Some are even convinced my soul is nearly ninety.”
“How old are you?” Amelia said.
I told her.
“That’s not that old,” she said.
I turned to Mattie and stuck my tongue out. Amelia swallowed and reached for her coffee. She took a long sip as if it were filled with Old
Forester instead of a double decaf latte.
“His house was like some kind of palace or museum,” Amelia said. “I once took a field trip to the Winthrop, and it reminded me of being in there. Only without the paintings and sculptures. Big, tall ceilings and lots of marble. Like I told Mattie, Poppy was really nice to me. She took me upstairs to her private office, and we talked about all the people she knew and the places she’d gone.”
“Buttering her up,” Mattie said. “She’s as sick as he is.”
“Poppy told me she was Mr. Steiner’s business partner,” Amelia said. “And they owned a big-time modeling agency that had offices in Boston, New York, and Paris. I don’t know if it’s true, but I was impressed. I mean, no one had ever talked to me like that, telling me about traveling the world on private jets and meeting rich and famous people. She said they’d just hosted a big party with guys who played for the Pats and that one of her girls, she was always saying her ‘girls,’ had just landed a part on one of those CSI shows.”
“Is that when you met Steiner?” Mattie said, leaning in to the table.
“Nope,” she said. “That was the second time. The first was just Poppy. She said my pictures showed potential but all of ’em needed to be reshot by a pro. She said it was enough to show to Mr. Steiner and see what he thought. He had the real eye for talent. She told me Steiner had discovered Bridget Moynahan back in the day.”
“I doubt Bridget Moynahan needed much discovering,” I said.
Amelia took a long breath, and I noticed that her hands were shaking as she picked up her coffee. She took a sip and closed her eyes for a moment. When she spoke, her voice cracked a bit, and she placed her hand to her small chest.
“It took a lot going back and forth into the city,” Amelia said. “Without my parents finding out. I had to do my makeup on the T. Which is a real mess. When Poppy called again, I was excited. She said she’d shown my pictures to Mr. Steiner and he wanted to meet with me. I really thought this was going to get me the hell out of here and on to New York or Paris. I’d read about things happening like this. Someone powerful spotting a nobody on the street, and the next thing you know they were making movies.”
“Happened to Thelma Todd,” I said.
“Who the fuck is Thelma Todd?” Mattie said.
“Pride of Lowell?” I said.
Nothing.
“The Ice Cream Blonde?” I said.
Still nothing.
I was attempting to leaven the situation. Mattie shook her head and kicked me under the table. The cups of coffee jostled.
“It was pretty much the same this next time,” Amelia said, playing with the ends of her hair. The delicate features, sharp ears, and nearly white hair reminded me of something out of Tolkien. “We talked more about Paris and how it was really the center of the universe. Poppy told me about fashion week and all the girls going that year. She talked about these big fancy parties, and that’s when she asked me if I’d like some wine.”
“And how old were you?” I said.
“Fourteen,” she said. “I didn’t know what to say. The only wine I’d ever had was at communion. I said okay because I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t have any class. When she came back with a bottle, that’s when I met Mr. Steiner.”
I kept quiet. I finished the muffin, wadded up the paper, and looked over at Mattie. Mattie was listening to every word, her entire body turned to Amelia, watching her as intently as I imagined Susan Silverman would with a patient. Like me, she didn’t take notes but recalled every word.
“He was so handsome,” Amelia said. “And charming. He looked like someone who should be playing polo or yachting out on the Cape. Polo shirt. Big silver watch. He gave me a hug and opened the wine. When we started talking, it was like being with someone I’d known my whole life. He asked me a ton of questions and told me how impressed he’d been with my photos. He apologized for being late. He said he was hanging out on the set of a Wahlberg movie that was shooting in Quincy.”
“Hope it was better than his last,” I said.
“I was so nervous I drank the wine fast,” she said. “Without asking, he poured me another and then started to talk to Poppy like I wasn’t even there. He kept on eyeing me and nodding, watching me like when I go with my dad to buy a new car. He told Poppy I looked European and worried I might be lost with all the girls from Sweden and Poland. He asked me to stand, stood back, and looked at me some more, and said I was still an inch too short for runway and that I wasn’t developed enough for bathing suits and lingerie. He said most of his clients ended up doing catalog work and I might need to develop some and maybe come back later. I don’t know why I did it. But I tried to change his mind. I told him that I was more grown-up than he thought. I said I had some pictures taken over the summer in a bikini that made me look lots older.”
“Just what he wanted,” I said. “It’s called negging.”
“It’s called being a fucking asshole,” Mattie said.
“Before I knew what was happening, Mr. Steiner said maybe Poppy could get some Polaroids of me. He said they had a small studio on the first floor.”
I didn’t speak. And neither did Mattie. A woman in a housecoat and slippers wandered into the Dunkin’ and asked for a dozen with powdered sugar and a coffee regular. Amelia turned to watch the woman and then back to the table and leaned in. “That’s how it happened.”
She didn’t speak again until the old woman paid and left.
“They had swimsuits and bras and stuff already,” she said. “They acted like the whole thing was normal. Just something you did. She gave me a black silk robe and told me to pick out what I liked. The room seemed legit. It had light stands and those silvery umbrellas and a big wall set up. So, I did like she said. I really wanted to make them happy. I wanted them to think I was good enough right then. I didn’t want to wait.”
“Was Steiner there?”
“Not at first,” Amelia said. “He didn’t come in until later. Poppy said he had an important business call and might not be able to make it. Poppy took a bunch of pictures of me in a bikini and then asked me to take off my top.”
I took a long breath and let it out. I looked to Mattie. I needed to hear it. But I very much wanted to leave and wait with Pearl outside.
Amelia started to cry. After a while, she wiped her face with a napkin and coughed into her hand to compose herself. Mattie rested a hand on her knee and told her it was okay.
“I was so damn stupid,” Amelia said. “So damn stupid.”
“And that’s when he touched you?” Mattie said.
Amelia looked to both of us and nodded. “Poppy excused herself, and I was putting my robe back on,” she said. “Mr. Steiner told me I did great. He walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck. Before I could cover myself up, he had one hand on my boob and another down my bottoms. I don’t know why but I just froze. He whispered into my ear that I was beautiful and so innocent. And I’d be famous one day.”
“What happened next?” I said.
“What do you think?” Amelia said. “I got dressed and got the hell out of there.”
“Did you ever tell anyone?” I said.
Amelia shook her head. Her blue eyes looked enormous and very clear. “Not until I heard Mattie was asking around about him and Debbie Delgado. The girl who introduced me to Poppy was the one who got Debbie into all this. I figured maybe I could help now. Maybe do something and make it right. I don’t freeze up so easy anymore.”
“Will you talk to the cops?” I said.
Amelia nodded. Mattie nodded back.
Now there were two.
15
Two days later, Boston Police Homicide Captain Lorraine Glass walked into my office and stood in front of my desk with a decidedly unpleasant expression.
“Quirk says you have some questions for me,” she
said.
“Yes,” I said. “Why has it taken you so long to be won over by my obvious charm and winning personality?”
“About Peter Steiner.”
“Oh,” I said. “Him.”
“Please skip the regular bullshit,” she said. “Quirk said to talk to you. And I said I’d stop by. So here I am.”
Glass stood over me, dressed in a black pant suit with a cream top under the jacket. I knew she had a gun, but the jacket covered it nicely. She was average height and trim, with short brown hair and angular features. She didn’t wear any makeup or jewelry besides a digital sport watch on her wrist.
“May I offer you a coffee or a bottle of water?”
“Nope.”
“Hot towel,” I said. “Wine spritzer?”
“Like I said,” Glass said. “Skip the bullshit. I don’t like you, Spenser. I’ve never liked you. I know you’re big pals with Belson and Quirk. However the hell that happened was way before my time. I’ve worked very hard to get to where I am. I am not, nor will I ever be, part of the boys’ club. And if I find out you’re working for some scumbag attorney who works for Steiner, I promise you I’ll come back here and kick your balls from here to Haverhill.”
“Haverhill is quite a long ways from the Back Bay.”
“And I got a leg to do it.”
I waved a hand in front of my client’s chairs. She took a seat, and I closed my laptop and leaned forward onto my desk. “My balls are safe,” I said. “I don’t work for Steiner.”
“Who do you work for?”
“I don’t need to tell you,” I said. “But in the spirit of cooperation and our blossoming friendship, I’ll tell you I’m working with another victim.”
“So you know about the others?”
“I know two. I also know there are others.”
Glass shook her head and leveled her eyes at me. She ran a hand over her face and took a long breath. “Not including those first charges?”
“I found no charges against Peter Steiner or his significant other, Poppy Palmer.”