Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served Страница 26

Watts extended a hand and touched her arm tentatively. “You’ve

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got nothing to be ashamed of, kid. Everyone loses their lunch sooner or later.”

Mitchell gave him a grateful smile. “Well, I’m glad I’m running true to form.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and looked past him toward the crime scene van that had just pulled up. “Flanagan’s here.”

“Well, I better give the Loo a hand. Why don’t you take a brea—”

“No, I’m Þ ne.” To prove it, Mitchell took a tentative step, glad to discover that her still-shaking legs were functional. “There’s a lot of work still to do, and—”

A commotion at the end of the block caught her attention, and she heard, “Let me through! I need to get through.”

Then a deep male voice gave a shout of surprise, a splash of pale pink amidst the dark blue uniforms ß ashed into view, and Mitchell took off running.

“Lemme go!” Sandy yanked her arm from the viselike grip of the ofÞ cer who tried to restrain her and rocketed down the sidewalk.

“Sandy!” Mitchell caught her around the waist and engulfed her in a near-suffocating embrace. “Jesus. Sandy. Sandy. God.”

“Whoa, rookie.” Sandy tried to squirm free, but failed. Then something about the vehemence of Mitchell’s reaction penetrated her haze of anger and fear, and she stopped struggling. Instead, she slipped a hand around the back of Mitchell’s neck and caressed her. “Take it easy, baby. What’s the matter? Dell? You’re shaking all over.”

Mitchell buried her face in Sandy’s neck, afraid for anyone to see her face.

Shocked, Sandy rocked back. In a low, gentle voice, she asked,

“Baby, what? Why are you crying?”

“She’s wearing your jacket.” With one arm around Sandy’s shoulder, Mitchell turned her back to the group of curious cops and swiped her sleeve across her face. “Come on,” she said, walking Sandy further down the sidewalk out of earshot. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“Who? No. Trudy never came back, and I…What about my jacket?” Sandy’s eyes widened. “Trudy has my jacket. I went straight to the diner from Chen’s, but she said she had something to do Þ rst. It

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was so cold, and she didn’t have a coat. I waited an extra hour, but she never came.”

“You split up?”

Sandy nodded. “Trudy was supposed to meet someone. Some private deal, she said, but she wanted to talk after that. I said I’d wait for her at the diner.” Sandy searched Mitchell’s face, her own a mask of apprehension. “What about my jacket, Dell?”

Mitchell stroked Sandy’s cheek with her free hand, still holding her too tightly, still unable to believe she was real. “Trudy’s dead, honey.”

Sandy sucked in air as if she’d been punched in the stomach and clutched Mitchell’s hand. “How?”

“Shot. Did you see someone following you last night?”

“No, but Trudy got hinky in the restaurant and wanted to leave right away. I knew something was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell me what.” Sandy stared at the yellow crime scene tape at the mouth of the alley. “Is that where she is?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, baby.” Sandy turned into Mitchell and clutched the front of her jacket with both hands. “You thought it was me. Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

Mitchell shook her head and kissed Sandy’s forehead. “It’s okay.

You’re all right.” Taking several deep breaths, Mitchell forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I gotta go back to work, honey. But I think the lieutenant will need to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“Okay. Sure.” Stunned, Sandy still clung to Mitchell.

“Here,” Mitchell said, slipping out of her jacket and carefully placing it around Sandy’s shoulders. “It’s freezing out here and you’re…well, you’re not wearing enough.”

Reß exively, Sandy slid her arms into the sleeves and then pulled the too-large garment closed with both hands. “Where should I go?”

“Take a cab to Sloan’s,” Mitchell said immediately, pulling her wallet from her back pocket and extracting some bills. “Stay with Michael until I come for you, okay?”

Fisting the cash, Sandy nodded, glancing toward the alley. “Are you sure it’s her?”

Tenderly, Mitchell kissed Sandy’s forehead again. “Yes. I’m sorry, honey.”

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“Be careful, rookie. You be real careful.” Sandy placed her open palm against Mitchell’s chest and fanned her Þ ngers back and forth slowly. “I love you.”

Mitchell covered Sandy’s small hand with hers and squeezed gently. “I love you too.”

v

Catherine arrived twenty minutes after Sandy. When she stepped off the elevator into the loft living room, Michael was waiting. Catherine leaned forward and kissed Michael’s cheek. “Hello. How are you?”

Michael smiled. “Much better. Thank you.” She extended a hand to take Catherine’s coat. “Sandy’s in the kitchen.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No,” Michael said with a careful shake of her head. “I’m Þ ne.

Sloan is downstairs with Jason already, waiting for Rebecca and the others to return. Thanks for coming. I thought…” She stopped, smiling faintly. “Is it all right that I called?”

“Perfectly,” Catherine said reassuringly, slipping her arm through Michael’s. “There’s been altogether too much violence for everyone lately. Let’s go talk.”

Sandy sat at the breakfast bar, her hands laced around a white porcelain mug from which steam tendriled into the air. She glanced up at the sound of Catherine and Michael’s approach, but said nothing.

“Hello,” Catherine murmured as she passed behind Sandy to take the stool on her far side. “Michael told me what happened. I’m so very sorry.”

“I think it might be my fault,” Sandy said in a voice so low Catherine almost couldn’t hear.

“Why do you think that?” Catherine nodded her thanks to Michael, who set a matching mug in front of her. The smell of jasmine and oranges drifted to her on a plume of steam.

“Someone probably got suspicious after the bust last week, and Trudy is the one who brought me there. Whenever the cops show up, they always blame us.”

Catherine thought of the fact that both her lover and Sandy’s were cops. At the moment, however, Sandy was viewing everyone in law enforcement as being on the opposite side of whatever divide

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had existed in her life, and her allegiance to the other young women who shared her desperate struggle was clear. “Do you think there’s a possibility that Trudy’s death could be unrelated to what happened at the Þ lm studio?”

Sandy shrugged and pushed her mug back and forth in a slow semicircle on the gleaming granite countertop. “I suppose. There are always plenty of people who might want to make a point by coming down on one of us. Pimps, dealers, johns. You name it.” She made a deprecating sound. “And nothing makes a statement quite like a body.”

“What about Trudy?” Catherine might not have questioned Sandy, except for the fact that the girl appeared to be ready to shoulder so much of the blame for Trudy’s death. Even without knowing all the circumstances, Catherine doubted it could be as simple as that. And she cared for both Sandy and Mitchell too much to let Sandy accept the burden of guilt all by herself. She tried not to think about the fact that her own lover was very likely going through the same agony of self-recrimination at that moment. “Was she in trouble with anyone that you know of?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. She was weird about something.”

“I can imagine how it must feel to you right now,” Catherine said gently, patting Sandy brieß y on the back. “But try to remember that the guilty person here is the depraved individual who killed her. No one else.”

Sandy angled her body slightly and Þ nally met Catherine’s eyes.

“Frye will make them pay.”

“Yes, she will,” Catherine said with certainty. “She’ll see that justice is done.”

v

“Let’s go over it again,” Rebecca prompted gently.

The entire team was seated around the conference table, everyone in their usual seats, except this time, Catherine and Sandy joined them as well. Mitchell, at Rebecca’s direction, moved to the far end of the table, out of Sandy’s line of vision. Mitchell had hesitated only a second before tossing Sandy an encouraging smile and changing chairs.

Catherine sat beside Sandy, a comforting presence.

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Sandy drew a breath and repeated what she had already said numerous times. “We met at Chen’s a little after two. We’d just gotten our food when Trudy started acting…Þ dgety, like something was wrong. I asked her, but she just said ‘nothing.’”

“What did you tell her was the reason you were meeting?” Rebecca asked.

“I didn’t have a chance to tell her anything. We set up the meeting through the phone tree, so I could only leave her a vague message. I didn’t know who else might get it before it got to her. I said I wanted to talk to her about the extra work.” She shrugged. “I Þ gured she’d know I was talking about the porn shoot, because that’s the only thing we ever did together.”

“Did she say if she told anyone about the meeting?” Watts inquired.

“No, and I don’t think she would. She’s been pretty careful about keeping her location quiet—that’s why we were using the message tree.

She was freaked by what happened.”

“And you didn’t see anything unusual in the restaurant?”

“It was crowded. At that time of night, down there, there’s always a lot of weirdos around. I didn’t notice anyone who was more creepy than usual.”

“So maybe,” Watts said, turning his attention to Rebecca, “Trudy recognized the guy from somewhere else. From one of the video shoots or maybe the clubs where she danced.”

“That might explain why she wanted to leave so quickly, and also why he followed her and not Sandy,” Rebecca agreed.

“Trudy was the target,” Mitchell said quietly.

Rebecca nodded. “I’d say so.”

“Then why not take her out on the way to the restaurant before anyone had a chance to see him? Why risk someone remembering his face?” Sloan put out to the group at large.

“Because maybe,” Watts offered, “he wanted to see who she was meeting.”

Sandy stiffened and Mitchell cursed.

“That’s possible,” Rebecca said quietly. “It’s also possible that this was the Þ rst time she’d come out of hiding since the raid last weekend, and he was Þ nally able to pick her up. It might have been coincidence that she was with Sandy.”

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Watts grunted. Every cop in the room knew that there were no coincidences.

“So the question is,” Rebecca continued, “what did Trudy know that was important enough to get her killed?” She stood abruptly and looked around the table at each person. “We’re missing the key, and we’ve been missing it since the beginning. What did Trudy know that someone was afraid she would tell us? Sandy?”

Frowning in concentration, Sandy stared at the tabletop, her words coming slowly. “Well, she knew about the sex shoots, but she already told us that.”

“She knew the guy who set up the shoots,” Mitchell offered.

Rebecca shook her head. “No good. The feds have him in custody, and the porn ring is already compromised. There wouldn’t be any point to eliminating her now if that’s all she knew.”

“Payback,” Sandy said ß atly.

Rebecca’s expression didn’t change. “Maybe. What else?”

“She knew the location of the Þ lm studio,” Watts noted. For a moment he looked pleased, and then his grin faded. “Except it’s the same deal. We already know that too.”

“All right,” Rebecca said. “Let’s look at what we know—

everything revolves around Trudy and those Þ lms. If it’s not who, and it’s not where, then what else is there?”

The room was silent until Catherine said quietly, “When?”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. Watts hummed under his breath.

Mitchell shifted forward in her seat. Both Jason and Sloan reached for pads of paper and began jotting notes.

“Let’s assume that’s it,” Rebecca eventually said. “Let’s say when the porn Þ lms were made is important. We know that Trudy got other girls to do some of them.” She focused on Sandy again. “What did she say about those times?”

“She said…she said sometimes the regular girls couldn’t do them, and then this guy would ask around for some of us.”

“‘Us’ meaning prostitutes?”

Sandy’s chin came up. “Yes.”

“And who exactly are the regular girls?”

“I’m not really sure,” Sandy said. “There’ve been a lot of new girls in places like Ziggie’s in the last year or so. Dancers. Prostitutes.

Both.”

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“All right. Let’s put that aside for the moment and just say that the regular girls were busy. Busy doing what?” Rebecca made an impatient sound when no one answered. “Come on, people. Give me something here.” She’d just spent the last two hours looking at the brutalized body of a dead girl, a dead girl she’d help to put in that alley, and for a few minutes, she’d thought it had been Sandy. The shock of that had rocked her, and the frustration and pain had her strung tight as piano wire.

“Sex party?” Watts suggested.

“Could be. I wouldn’t think anyone would worry about hiding that information, unless there were high-proÞ le clients. Judges. DAs.

Cops.”

“We haven’t found anything suggestive of that in Beecher’s records,” Jason interjected. “And it seems that that would be the kind of thing he’d be into. Nothing in his calendar stands out.”

“Keep looking,” Rebecca instructed. “Some kind of drug transfer, perhaps. Maybe the girls were muling and weren’t available to do the videos those particular nights.” She made a note in her small black notepad. “Sloan? Can you run a computer check on the narcotics busts for the last twelve months—cross-reference with organized crime, prostitution, anything that might tie this together.”

“On it.”

“Jason,” Rebecca continued, suddenly energized. “Comb through Beecher’s computer and the computers conÞ scated during the raid.

Find out the dates of all the live video broadcasts. Let’s look for some kind of pattern there.” Then she focused on Sandy. “What exactly did Trudy say about the nights that she Þ lled in for the video shoots?”

“Just what I said earlier,” Sandy said, weariness and stress edging her voice with impatience. “Every few months, is what she told me. I didn’t ask for dates.”

“I need speciÞ c dates.”

“I’ll ask arou—”

“No,” Mitchell said forcefully. “Whoever shot Trudy saw you with her. You’ve been made. It’s not safe.”

“I’ll be careful.”

This time, it was Rebecca who spoke. “No. Mitchell’s right. I want you off the streets.”