Death of an Escort (10 page)

Perhaps she'd spill the beans about her older
sister. Carlie, like the other suspects, was hiding something.

It may be nothing more than her lesbian
urges, but I had a feeling it was more than that.

I left CarTech and headed to the home of
Carlie and her younger sister.

After arriving, I went up the stairs and
knocked on the door to their unit. After a bit, the door opened up
slightly. It was held by a chain that wouldn't let it open all the
way.

"Carlie?" The early-teen girl looked out.

"No. It's me again," I said.

She looked up at me. "What's with you? Have
you been drinking?"

"No," I said. "I had a reaction to something
that got in my eyes. Can we talk about your sister for a
moment?"

"Is she okay?"

"I think so," I said. "I saw her earlier and
she seemed fine."

The girl seemed relieved, but she still kept
the door chained and wouldn't open it all the way.

"I'm Ray Crusafi, by the way," I said.

"Okay," she said. "I'm Adrienne."

"Your sister will be back soon?"

"Yeah," she said.

"And you're not supposed to let strangers
in?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Do you know where your sister was Saturday
night?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said.

I was surprised. "Where was she?"

Chapter 9

"At a motel. She goes often. Meets other
people."

"Do you know who she was meeting Saturday?" I
asked.

"Yeah," she said. She looked upset.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's nothing," she said. But she looked
upset.

"You seem angry," I said.

"Well, I am," she said indignantly. "I mean
it's cool that Carlie lets me stay with her. If she didn't, I'd be
in a foster home. But—"

"Go on," I prodded.

"She's got these habits. Spends way too
much."

"Drug habits?" I asked.

"No," she said forcefully. "Nothing like
that. She spends money on people."

"Like Kelly Brandt?" I asked.

"She was her favorite," Adrienne said
bitterly. "Sometimes I have to eat at my friend's place because
there isn't any food here. The money is all gone."

Kids nowadays were very educated on sex, and
I figured Adrienne was too. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Thirteen," she said.

"And you know about sex?"

She nodded.

"Do you think your sister is a sex
addict?"

She nodded without hesitation. "But don't say
anything, promise? It really is better being here than in a foster
home."

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "I won't say anything,
but it's not a good environment for you."

"Trust me," she said. "Foster homes are
worse."

"So you guys are often short on money?"

"Yeah," she said. "I never get to do any of
the things I want to."

"Like what?" I asked.

"I like rock climbing," she said. "There's
this place off the main highway. It's cool. There's this big rock
wall you can climb."

"I've seen it," I said. "The rock wall is
visible from the road. It's all windows in front of it."

"Yeah," she said.

I heard the squeal of breaks, and I saw
Carlie had pulled up. "I got to go," I said. "I'll keep your secret
if you promise not to say I was here."

She looked undecided for a moment.

"Remember what a foster home is like," I
said.

She nodded. "Okay." She shut the door.

Carlie was getting out of the car. She'd see
me if I left the normal way. So I didn't.

I stood on the rickety railing and grabbed a
hold of the edge of the roof. Then I jumped. I got over half of my
body laying on the edge of the roof, and I quickly scrambled up the
rest of the way getting myself out of sight.

Shortly after that I heard Carlie clomping up
the stairs. I heard her knocking. I heard the chain being slid back
from inside. The door opened. There was muffled conversation as
they said hello to each other.

The door shut. The chain was slid back into
place. Now I waited for a little bit more. I wanted to give them
time to move into their apartment.

After about thirty seconds, I slid off the
roof and into a heap on the landing. I thudded louder than I meant
to, and I jumped up and took the stairs down three at a time to get
out of there fast in case Carlie took a look outside.

Whether she did or not, I don't know. I
didn't look back. Rather I reached the ground level and got around
the corner of the building. Then I wasted no time getting to my car
and getting out of there.

My phone rang. I looked at it. The number was
the disposable phone I'd given my wife to call me. She was strictly
forbidden to call me on the house phone or her personal cell phone.
For that matter, her personal cell wasn't even programmed into this
phone.

I didn't want links to her if something, or
someone got me.

"Yes?" I said answering.

"Sorry about this, but you need to come
home," she said.

"What's wrong?" I'd never gotten a phone call
like this and instantly I felt a little panic.

"Relax," she said. "It's bad, but not that
bad. For some reason, we've had pipes burst."

It wasn't winter. So, it couldn't be
freezing. How else did pipes burst? "I don't understand," I
said.

"Neither do I," she said. "I've got a plumber
on the way, but the water damage is massive. You should be
here."

In the middle of the road, I did a u-turn and
headed home.

The water damage there was extensive. After
several hours, the plumber told us that a pipe was defective, and
had merely given way. Then he admonished us never to buy cheaper
pipes made in China. And he shook his head like we were idiots.

The rest of the day was spent working with
contractors and the insurance company.

The next day, I called my client Macy.

"We need to meet," I told her. "We need to
review, and I've got more questions for you." About that
button.

"Hi Ray," she said. "I'm out of town."

"Out of town?"

"Charity work," she said. "We'll have to meet
when I get back. Oh, I have to go."

She hung up. Charity work?

Next I called Brass Works Wholesale.

"Is Mr. Richardson in?"

"Yes. Who's calling, please?"

I hung up. I'd go see him in person. The
drive all across down didn't take long. The time was about ten in
the morning (I'd gotten up late), and the rush hour traffic was
gone.

At Brass Works, I parked in one of the three
visitor spaces at the front of the parking lot. I went in.

The receptionist looked up and smiled at me.
This one looked different than last time. "Yes?"

"I need to see Mickey," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"This isn't business," I said. "It's
personal, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

I walked by her into the office. The last
thing I saw on her face was confusion and indecision.

I pushed Mickey's door open and walked
in.

He looked up. "You, again?"

"It's me," I said. "We really need to
talk."

"I have a business to run," he said.

"No, let's talk," I said. "Let's talk about
TrueVoyeurLive.com."

His face changed. There was fear and anger.
It reminded me of a cornered animal.

"So, you know about the site?" I asked.

"You need to leave," he said.

I sat down. "I visited the site, and I found
out that you have to subscribe to see the good stuff. So I
did."

"You what?"

"I subscribed," I said. "The trial, you
know?"

He stared at me. The fear was growing in his
eyes.

"And I found out that one of the models on
the site was Kelly Brandt, your fiancée," I said.

Right now, he looked much paler than when I
entered, I thought. It seemed like the color was draining out of
him.

"Here's the thing," I said. "I couldn't
verify that the site was yours, but I got pretty good reason to
think that it is."

"Oh yeah?" He asked. There was a tremor in
his voice.

"The ownership of the site is marked as
private. But that's only for civilians," I said. "Any domain
registrar can see the real info. Of course, that would assume that
you put in the correct info in the first place. You probably
spoofed it. If you didn't, that would have been stupid on your
part."

He cleared his throat.

"Now," I said. "Let's get to the interesting
part. Kelly is a model on the site. She's not identified by name.
None of the models on the site are, but you know that."

"I really don't know what you're talking
about," he said.

"I don't believe that, and I'll explain why
in a moment," I said. "But let's stick with Kelly Brandt for a
moment. There is a page that was supposed to go up with a video of
her on Saturday. That's the day she died. The page is there, but
the video isn't."

He stared blankly, but it wasn't at me. He
was staring off at nothing.

"I need that video," I said. "Give it to me,
please."

"There isn't any video, and I don't know what
you are talking about," he said again.

"Then explain to me how," at this point I
slowed way down emphasizing each word. "Explain to me how you have
multiple fiancées in town. Explain to me how you are dating a
stripper at the same time. And explain to me how they are all
models on this site and have no idea that they are. Explain that to
me."

"You're crazy," he said hoarsely.

"Did you kill Kelly?" I asked.

"No!"

"Something went wrong?" I asked. "She found
out? And to keep her quiet, you killed her?"

"No!"

"Did she find out she was being filmed?"

He didn't answer.

"And are you going to have me killed now too?
Like Kelly?"

"This is crazy talk," he said. He got up. I
watched him closely. As much as he was denying it, it was clearly
affecting him. He went to a small fridge and took a bottle of water
out.

The bottle shook in his hands as he tried to
get the cap off.

"Was Kelly's death accidental?" I asked.

"I really have no idea," he said.

"And I find that hard to believe. I think we
both know why," I said. "And I'm warning you. I'm going to be a lot
harder to take out than Kelly was. Better not try it."

Some color returned to him. "Do you hear
yourself?" His voice went up in volume. "Do you hear yourself?
You're crazy. You're talking about me murdering you, and you're
accusing me of murdering my fiancée—"

"One of them," I said interrupting.

He sat down and his eyes narrowed on me.

"You're too damn nosy. That's not good."

"Threatening me?" I asked and smiled.

"Fuck you," he said vehemently.

"How much does an apartment at the Casino
Royale Hotel cost?"

"What?"

"You ought to know," I said. "You lease
one."

"What's your point?"

"Wholesale is a business with slim margins.
Sure, you're a successful businessman, but you lease a place there?
That doesn't add up. As far as I know, that is mostly for rich
out-of-state types with massive fortunes. It's odd that you can
afford a place there and your condo too."

He leaned forward. "It's time for you to
leave."

"If you killed her, I'm going to find out," I
said.

"It was suicide. Kelly committed suicide," he
said.

"Why?"

"How would I know?"

"You ought to know her pretty well, right?
You were to be married, right?"

"Get out," he said.

"Okay," I said. "But I'm going to make one
more promise."

"What?" he asked.

I got up and walked to the door. "If it was
you, if you did kill her, I'm not going to take you to the
police."

"So?" he said.

"I'm going to take you out to some deserted
area. I'll finish you off myself over several hours. I'll make you
feel sorry before you die."

He didn't react.

I closed his door behind him, and walked
toward the front to exit. He was a tough one to read. His cage had
been rattled for sure. Was it him? I didn't know. His denial of
killing Kelly was different than his denial of the porn site.

One, I knew he was lying about, and he wasn't
a very good liar. But about Kelly, he'd seemed more sincere.

However, I expected to be jumped sometime
within the next twenty-four hours. He had too much to lose. I'd
uncovered his dirty little world, and I may have uncovered the
murderer too.

With the money he had, he'd have someone on
my tail before the day was over.

I felt my pocket. There was my knife and my
brass knuckles. Illegally concealed, I also carried a small
semi-automatic pistol.

The rest of the morning I spent doing odd
errands constantly watching over my shoulder.

Lunch consisted of two bananas I bought at
the grocery store and took to my office. I turned my computer on
and checked my email. There was one from the Google alert I set up
on Kelly Brandt's name.

I'd set up alerts on variations too. Things
like "Kelly Brandt", "KellyBrandt", "KBrandt", "KellBrandt", "Kell
Brandt", and "KellyB".

This hit happened on the term KellyBrandt.
Google picked it up in a forum. Looking at the forum name, I had a
bad feeling about this. PwnHer.com/forum was the base of the
URL.

I clicked through. It was a pornographic
forum, but not the normal kind, if there is such a thing. This was
oriented toward the violent side. The logo was a woman who was
bound with ropes. She was cut and bleeding. To top that off, she
was also naked and looked like she was despairing.

This was most definitely not my kind of a
site.

And I realized all this sex and porn exposure
was my own fault. I'd taken on a client whose mother was a sex
worker, but I needed the money. Witness the lunch I was eating. Two
bananas.