Freak (17 page)

“Hold that thought. Hey, Danny!” Jerry called through the open door. “Come in here for a sec.”

A moment later his assistant was in the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Can you go through all the posts on Jeremiah Blake’s blog? From a year ago, onwards. I feel nauseated. You have a stronger stomach for this stuff than I do.”

“Everybody has a stronger stomach for this stuff than you do,” Torrance said. Jerry gave him a look.

“I’ve been reading some of the posts already,” Danny said. “It’s not that bad. Just profiles of murderers and some of the victims, and photos of—”

Jerry lifted a hand. “Just read them all, please.”

“And what am I looking for, exactly?”

“Anything that strikes you as weird,” Torrance said. “Trust your instincts.”

“He blogged about you guys, by the way,” Danny said. “On the FreeAbbyMaddox site. I’ve been keeping tabs on it. He said the cops paid him a visit. Earned him some credibility, and now all her fans think he’s cool.”

Torrance looked at Jerry. “Didn’t I tell him not to say anything?” He looked back at Danny. “What else has he written about there?”

“All kinds of stuff. Whoever runs the site must not care who posts, so there’s a lot of stuff to sift through. The site attracts a lot of freaks, all obsessed with Abby Maddox.”

“It’s gonna take a while to find out who runs it,” Torrance said to Jerry. “The IP address that registered the site tracked all the way to India.”

“She has fans in India?” Jerry couldn’t fathom anyone in India having heard of Abby Maddox, let alone caring enough about her to run a website in her name.

“That’s doubtful,” Torrance said, and Danny grinned as if she knew what his former partner was about to say next. “I’m guessing the site owner has likely rerouted the—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jerry’s face. “You know what, why don’t we just wait and see what they find out.”

Danny laughed.

“All right, that’s enough, you two,” Jerry said. “I’m not that dumb when it comes to technology. Get to work on that blog, Danny. Great job so far.”

When she had closed the door behind her, Torrance said, “So listen, I looked up the other names Danny gave me and none of them look like possibles. I questioned all of them, and every single person has an alibi for where they were when one of the victims was killed. Jeremiah Blake, on the other hand, doesn’t have an alibi for any of them.”

“And the madam? Estelle Kane?”

“Having a hard time tracking her. Heard she might be out of town; I’m working on it. So far we know Claire Holt was a pro. The first two, no way to tell right now. If they were escorts, their friends and family don’t seem to be aware of it, but that’s no surprise.”

Jerry frowned and glanced back at his computer screen, still showing Blake’s blog. His picture was in the top right corner and it showed a smiling, rather mangy-looking kid. Jerry pointed to it. “I don’t know, Mike. The kid’s clearly weird, socially awkward, stays at home all day playing video games . . . he’s like the poster child for ‘angry misfit.’ It’s almost too perfect.”

“If it fits, it fits.” Torrance shrugged. “His high school is
closed tonight, but I’m going to stop in first thing tomorrow and see what else I can find out about him. His school records should tell us something.”

“All right, so what did the neighbor say?” Jerry asked.

“He had some good info, actually.” Torrance reached for his pack of Marlboros, saw the look on Jerry’s face, and stuck it back in his breast pocket. “The kid, believe it or not, was some kind of genius. Really high IQ, graduated from school two years early.”

“You’re kidding me. He could barely string a sentence together.”

“That, my friend, is his brain on drugs.” Torrance sighed and shook his head. “The neighbor said he’s had some serious mental and emotional issues ever since his mom died when he was five. He became painfully shy, didn’t feel comfortable around other kids, and always kept to himself. The neighbor said the kid could have gone to any college he wanted, full academic scholarship. But he refused to apply, started getting into weed and who knows what else a couple of years ago, and since his father’s away all the time, nobody really did anything about it.”

“How nice of Jeremiah Blake Senior to take an interest in his son’s well-being.”

“Point is, we shouldn’t underestimate him. He’s young, but his IQ’s probably double what ours is. He’s certainly capable of planning something like this.”

Jerry shrugged. “So what? That doesn’t mean the kid’s
smart
. There’s a difference between book smart and life smart.” He cracked his knuckles. “I still think it’s too easy. If he was so smart, why are we looking at him? Why didn’t he cover his tracks better?”

There was a knock on the door. Danny poked her head in. “Uh, guys? I think I found something.”

“On Blake’s blog? That was quick.”

“I emailed you the link. When you log into your email, just click on it and it’ll take you right to the page. Want me to do it?”

Jerry snorted. He found it both amusing and irritating that Danny always assumed he didn’t know how to use email, or the Internet. Okay, so he was no technology expert, and more than once he’d sent out emails saying “Attached please find . . .” without actually attaching anything, but hey, he wasn’t
that
bad.

He logged into his email program and clicked on the link Danny sent him. It was a blog post written six months earlier, and it was clear from the first sentence that this post was different from the others. It was a story of some kind, written in the first person. He read it out loud so Torrance could hear.

“‘
Her long dark hair trails down her back and without turning around, she raises a hand and beckons me closer. She faces the wall, her palms flat on the surface, and I move forward until I can feel her through my clothes. I slowly peel off her blouse, sliding it up and over, and her skirt, sliding it down and under, until she is naked and panting and breathless with her desire. She wants me. She spreads her legs and I reach between them and—’”

“Skip to the end,” Torrance said.

“‘I enter her,’”
Jerry said, ignoring him,
“‘and listen as she gasps my name over and over again. I stroke her hair, murmuring her name, and I tell her how much I love her, how good it feels to be inside her, and as she climaxes, I pull it tighter, and tighter, until I can no longer hear her, until she is quiet and still and no longer breathing. I am satisfied.’”

“Oh hell.” Torrance reached forward to turn Jerry’s computer screen around so it faced him. “Did he really write that?”

“It sounds like a lot of the sex fantasy stuff that gets posted on the FreeAbbyMaddox site. He said in the comments section
underneath that it was just a short story.” Danny was still lingering at the doorway. “Fiction. He made it up.”

“I know what a short story is, Danny,” Jerry snapped, giving his assistant a dirty look. “What was the reaction?” he said to Torrance.

“Mixed.” The detective had taken hold of his mouse and was scrolling down the page.

Danny looked thoughtful. “I know writers say fiction is just made-up crap, but personally, I think even made-up crap’s gotta come from
somewhere
.”

Torrance looked up. “I think I agree with you,” he said to her, and they exchanged a smile.

Jerry sighed and stood up. “I’ve had enough for today. I’m going home to sleep and I might not come in tomorrow. Lock up the office, okay?” he said to Danny. “All lights off and don’t forget the alarm.”

His assistant gave him the same dirty look he’d given her a moment earlier. “I know what locking up is, Jerry.”

SHE DIDN’T MIND
the job. She really didn’t.

She knew it was customary for a lot of the escorts to complain about what they did, to pretend they hated having sex for money, as if being all moral about it somehow made them better people. So ridiculous. It didn’t matter what you thought about what you did, it mattered what you
actually did
, and if you fucked for money, you were a whore. Plain and simple. Alessandra (real name: Alice Bennett) didn’t get what the big deal was. Whoring was better than waitressing, working retail, and cleaning houses. All shit she’d done to earn money before she started stripping, and before she’d hooked up with Estelle.

It was easy work. The clients paid the modeling agency directly and so she didn’t have to worry about handling money. Condoms were a must. And she wasn’t one of those stupid girls who’d fuck bareback for an extra five hundred under the table—so not worth it, too many diseases. The way to survive in this business was to treat prostitution like the job it was. Be smart, be polite, give the client what he wanted (or she—Alice’s specialty was couples), keep your nose clean (because drugs fucked up your judgment), and everything would be just fine.

Alice was more tired than usual tonight, having worked the last three days straight. But the money had been too good for
her to pass up this last-minute Monday night request, and she knew the 5-hour Energy drink she’d downed a few minutes earlier would kick in soon. After tonight, she was taking a couple of days off. She needed to study. Midterms were coming up.

She strode down the hallway of the Phoenix, a boutique hotel just outside the shopping district. She passed a mirror but didn’t bother to glance over—she knew she looked good. Long, dark hair, loose and flowy (she’d been raking in some good money since she’d gone from blonde to brunette—who knew?), jeans, boots, T-shirt, leather jacket. She’d been booked for a GFE tonight, and while they weren’t her favorite—too much talking, not enough doing—she was up for it. Estelle had agreed to discuss upping her percentage to a fifty-fifty split instead of the standard forty-sixty all the girls got, once she hit the one-year mark. Which would be in two weeks.

She knocked on the door. It opened immediately.

“Right on time,” the client said.

She stared at him, then checked the number on the door.

“Alessandra, right?” he said.

“That’s me,” she said, looking him over dubiously. Tall but impossibly skinny, he had acne and a mop of hair that hadn’t seen a barber in way too long. Hell, he was just a kid. “How old are you?”

“Come in, we’ll talk inside.” He opened the door wider, and she stepped into the room. A second later, her phone rang.

She held up a finger and took the call. “Hi, Lynne.”

The door closed behind her.

“Hi. Everything okay?” The voice of Estelle’s assistant floated through the phone.

Not wanting to be rude in front of a client, Alice said, “Yes, I got here just fine. How’s everything on your end?” This was code for confirming that payment had been received.

“Everything’s clear over here. Payment was received via PayPal an hour ago. You’re booked for two hours. Have fun and be safe.”

“Okay then.” Alice disconnected the call. It still seemed a bit weird—this was not her typical client. He was way too young and she was way too expensive.

But then again, what the hell did she care? He’d paid, he looked totally harmless, and he was smiling at her hopefully. And she had to admit, grudgingly, that his smile was rather sweet.

“Everything check out?” he asked. “I paid earlier, if that’s what the call was about.”

“Everything’s good.” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Jeremiah,” he said.

She put her purse down on the dresser. “Let’s get started then, Jeremiah.” She stepped closer to him. Suddenly she heard a mewling sound, and noticed there was a pet carrier in the corner of the room. Alice frowned. “You brought your cat?” She was allergic to cats.

He smiled impishly and sat down on the bed. “Um, I know I requested a Girlfriend Experience, but . . . I’ve always wanted to try something a little different. I’m not sure I’m into all the cuddling, you know?”

Thank God
. Neither was she. “Not a problem,” Alice said. She sat beside him on the bed. “What did you have in mind, then?”

He reached into a plastic bag sitting beside the bed and pulled out a pair of silk scarves. Blushing slightly, he said, “I thought maybe . . . I thought maybe we could do something with these scarves. I’ve got some . . . bondage fantasies.”

She laughed and took one of the scarves from him. “Sweetie, this isn’t kinky. You want kinky, I can give you kinky. Too bad
you didn’t request it. I have a whole suitcase full of gear I could have brought.” She patted the empty space on the bed between them. “Come closer and tell me exactly what you want. Don’t be shy.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing, and I don’t know if you’ll want to . . .”

She put a hand on his arm and dropped her voice to a throaty purr. “Baby, I’ve heard everything you can imagine. You paid good money for me to be here, right? Might as well make the most of it.” She leaned forward. “Here’s a not-so-secret secret, Jeremiah. I’m a sure thing. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

Moments later, she was naked from the waist down, and her arms were up over her head and secured to the bedposts, one on each side.

He hovered over her, straddling her, his eyes feasting on her naked breasts. One hand cupped her tentatively, a finger caressing her nipple, which hardened in response. It didn’t feel good and it didn’t feel bad. It just was what it was: work.

He leaned forward and she braced herself for his kiss. She didn’t particularly like kissing—another reason she wasn’t crazy about GFEs, too much kissing and not enough fucking—but she readied herself anyway, smiling up at him and parting her lips.

He stopped an inch short of her face. His breath smelled like Twizzlers and old pizza. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ve gotta turn the TV on. There’s something I want to watch while I do this.”

“Whatever gets you going, honey,” Alice said.

He reached for the remote control and flipped through the channels, turning up the volume. Then he pulled off his shoes
and socks. Turning back to her, he said, “The show starts in a few minutes. So, you said to tell you what it is I want.”