“Here,” he said, flipping it open. “Got a picture. Here’s her phone number.” He read it off. “No address. Some business papers. Nothing else important,” he concluded, closing the folder.
“We’ll need the file,” Ari said, sticking out her hand. “And your cell number in case we have questions.”
“No way.” Jackson stepped back, clutching the file. “These are personal business records.”
“Probably very interesting to the IRS if we have to subpoena them. And all the rest of your files. Of course, if you want to cooperate, be a good citizen, they wouldn’t have an occasion to see your files. Your choice.” Ari saw him waver. “Unless, of course, you have something to hide. What do you think, Andreas? Should we take him in on suspicion of murder?”
“Good idea.” Andreas stepped forward.
“Now hold on. Wait just one minute.” Jackson backed another step. “Haven’t said I won’t cooperate. This is on the up and up? She’s really dead?”
“If it’s not her, I’ll return your file,” Ari said, mentally crossing her fingers. Yeah, like hell she would. She’d never be back to see the “handler” again, not unless he turned out to be the killer. It wasn’t unheard of for a pimp to terminate one of his girls. In that case, she’d return with cuffs and guns.
Andreas held out an imperious hand. His force of will filled the room, daring Jackson to defy him. Jackson blinked. Without another word of protest, he scribbled his cell number on the cover and handed over the file.
Ari was on the phone with Ryan before Andreas’s silver Lexus left the curb. He’d left the Ferrari at home tonight. In this neighborhood it would have stood out like a rose among the weeds, demanding to be picked.
Ten minutes later Ari sat with the two men in the police conference room. She had sorted the contents of Vanessa’s file into three piles: personal data, client names, financial records. Spenser Jackson had been a meticulous record keeper. Every client, every payment was recorded by hand in bold printing. The room was quiet for the next twenty minutes, as they read every scrap of paper and exchanged the three stacks. When finished reading, they discussed all the possible angles. Vanessa had brought in good money, probably been Jackson’s top moneymaker. It made him an unlikely suspect. Of more interest was her clientele. Vanessa hadn’t been an ordinary hooker. A half-dozen of her repeat clients were names Ari recognized. Moneyed Riverdale residents. The type that might be threatened by a call girl willing to reveal their sexual liaison.
Ari picked up Vanessa’s photo for the third time. Sophisticated nut-brown eyes stared at her, framed by long shiny auburn hair. The vamp call girl had a knowing smile, as if she could see right inside your head and learn your secret thoughts or fantasies. It must have been an effective promotional photo for her line of work.
Ari no longer questioned the victim’s identity. The moment she saw the photograph, she knew. The barbs across the back of her shoulders, the momentary heaviness on her heart. It was a feeling she couldn’t explain to Ryan, but Andreas understood immediately. He had sensed it, too. That tiny hole in the magical universe.
Ari looked at the list of client names. Was one of them her killer, making this an unconnected murder, or simply the link in the existing pattern? Vanessa had sex with humans. The association was different—business transaction versus love relationship—but maybe that wasn’t important to the killer. Of course, there still could be a romantic attachment, a human lover, who could even be on this list.
If Ari could connect Vanessa with Shale’s agency, that would clinch the already established pattern. She vowed to dig into the agency’s files first thing in the morning. Maybe it was time to expand their scrutiny beyond staff and clients, to add sponsors, volunteers, or other community contacts with the agency.
Ari rubbed her temples. She was getting ahead of the evidence again. Instead of trying to make the profile work, she should consider the discrepancies. The manner of death, for example. A beheading was more vicious, more messy. Dormant community fears had been stirred by the recent murders. Maybe this was the result of those irrational feelings, suspicions of the unknown, the ‘not me.’ Uncomfortable with her thoughts, she glanced at Andreas. If she was honest, didn’t she battle with some of those same fears? And were they really so unfounded?
She blinked her lashes to ease the growing grittiness in her eyes. She was tired or she wouldn’t be slipping into such negative territory. Doubts were normal. Like everything else, what mattered was what she did with them. She trusted Andreas. Maybe not all vampires, but one. That was progress. And, unlike the hate mongers, she wasn’t tempted to go running around condemning or killing the rest.
“Almost hope this is the same killer,” Ryan said, interrupting her thoughts. “Two of them could turn into a community disaster.”
She dropped the picture back on the table. So, Ryan was worried about old hostilities too. Vampires had changed; they stayed within the law now. Mostly. But underneath was always that dark something, the predator. Had someone seen that side of Vanessa and killed her for it? Struck out in fear, thinking they would kill before they were killed? Ari glanced at Andreas again, his dark head bent over a list of names. Would he ever turn on her? It was that niggling doubt that kept her from commitment.
Startled that she could even think such a thing, Ari stood and stretched. Ryan looked at her and nodded. “Tired? It’s been a long day. I vote on calling it a night. Tomorrow we start interviewing her clients.”
“I will try to find her sleeping quarters before dawn,” Andreas offered. “I can see if other vampires knew her or anything about her. Having a name should help.”
Ryan and Ari divided the revised client list, narrowed down to repeat customers or anyone who had seen her within six months. They still had thirty-six names. Busy lady. Interviewing them would take a while, even with the help of Ryan’s officers.As Ari and Andreas walked out the front door of the police building, he asked, “Are you coming back to the club?”
“Not tonight.” Ari shook her head vigorously, doubts still crowding her mind. Not really about him, about her. She wasn’t prepared to talk about them, but the investigation was getting to her.
“What is wrong, Arianna? You act upset,” he said, scrutinizing her face.
“What could possibly be wrong?” Her voice was strained.
He cocked his head. “Somehow I think my perfectly ordinary question has taken us down a perilous path.”
Damn him. Why was he so perceptive? And why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? She frowned in a mixture of annoyance and guilt. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Why was she always the one who had these issues? And why in hell could he read her so well? “Stop analyzing me,” she said. “You don’t know me as well as you think. And you won’t listen when I try to explain.”
“I am listening now.”
“So, fine. Look at what we’re seeing in this investigation,” she snapped, not realizing how sharp it would come out. “Everyone’s so suspicious, so hateful. No one trusts the vampires. Doesn’t it tell you something about our relationship?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ari wanted them back.
“The prejudice against vampires reflects one part of the world we live in.” The planes of his face tightened. “I already knew there were intolerant people, too afraid to let go of preconceived ideas to realize they might be wrong. I had not believed you were one of them.”
Stung, her temper flared. “That’s not fair. What you’ve been demanding from me is more than friendship. Whether I go there or not is a matter of personal choice. Not bigotry. Sometimes you scare the hell out of me, Andreas!”
He threw up his hands. “I know I do, and somehow I always say the wrong thing.” A wry smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “You would think I could do better after two hundred years of dealing with females. I may have misspoke. For I do not think it is the vampire in me you fear the most.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out.”
He got in the Lexus, slammed the door, and drove away. Ari stood looking after him. Fuming. She was still taking his name in vain long after her head hit the pillow.
Chapter Twelve
In spite of a restless night, by noon the following day Ari had made good progress on her portion of the lengthy client list. She’d talked with ten of Vanessa’s former clients: eight men, two women. Vanessa had swung both ways, at least professionally. When the clients got past the embarrassment of being questioned, each had expressed regret at her death, but none knew the details of her private life. These liaisons had been financial arrangements, enjoyable but shallow. Ari began to wonder if Vanessa had been lonely. In spite of Ari’s current anger with Andreas, she no longer believed all vampires were cold-hearted beings. Andreas and his friends had taught her that. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. He’d also taught her how annoying vampires could be.
After a quick sandwich from a local deli, she started interviewing again, whittling the list, one by one. Interview number thirteen lived in a red brick apartment building, Room 202B. She climbed to the second floor. No doorbell. She tapped firmly on the door. At first, nothing happened, then she heard footsteps, and finally a male voice wanted to know who she was and what she wanted.
She held her ID to the level of the peephole. “Official investigation. Need to talk with you about a murder,” she said in a clear voice.
The door opened abruptly. “Christ! Keep it down. Do you have to announce it to the neighbors?” A man about her own age of twenty-four gave her a harried frown. Tousled brown hair, faded jeans, white crew neck. College type.
“Perhaps you should let me in,” Ari responded.
He looked her over. She gave him the innocent girl-next-door smile, and he allowed the door to swing open.
“You’re Fred Lomax?” she asked, as she stepped inside.