Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“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.”

“Wait a minute,” Sandy protested. “You can’t—”

“I’ve got an idea,” Jason interrupted. “I can pull the videos from

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the conÞ scated computers, at least all the ones that were downloaded and saved. And these guys save everything. Sandy can screen them for me. She ought to be able to tell the ones that have street girls in them.”

“Perfect,” Rebecca said with satisfaction. “In the meantime, I want Mitch back in Ziggie’s tonight. Watts, you and I will be backup.”

Watts snorted. “Great. I get to watch the door again while he gets the T&A.”

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Justice Served

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Saturday Afternoon

How are you holding up, Detective?” Catherine asked as Mitchell slumped into the chair opposite her desk with a sigh.

“Not bad.” Mitchell resisted the strong urge to lean her head back and close her eyes. She’d slept very little the night before, especially after awakening at three and realizing that Sandy had not returned to the apartment. She’d paced until daybreak, when she’d Þ nally given in and called Rebecca for help.

Catherine regarded her with a compassionate smile. “Sure?”

“I’ll make it. I need to be sure that all my paperwork is in order.”

“It is Saturday, and—”

Uncharacteristically, Mitchell interrupted. “I know, but the lieutenant is a stickler about these kinds of…” She trailed off, casting Catherine an apologetic look.

“And?” Catherine prodded with the barest of smiles.

“And as long as I tell her I’m cleared for duty, she won’t care about getting the forms Þ led.”

“This is so you can work tonight? The surveillance Lieutenant Frye was talking about this morning?”

“Yes,” Mitchell said, her voice gaining strength as she sat up straighter. “I’m ready.”

“You’ve had a rather momentous few days.”

Mitchell huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Actually, it’s been a really momentous week. I get stabbed, my sister shows up unexpectedly after two years, and then I Þ nd a body I think is my girlfriend.”

“And despite all of that, you want to undertake this assignment tonight?”

“Of course.” Mitchell looked confused. “This is it. This is when it

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all starts coming together, and after this morning…” Her voice caught unexpectedly, and she blinked in surprise.

“Tell me about this morning,” Catherine urged.

For a moment, Mitchell remained silent, her eyes distant, remembering. Then she twitched as if awakening from a dream and focused on Catherine’s face. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

Catherine nodded wordlessly.

“She’s got this stupid short, red, fake-leather jacket.” Mitchell laughed, the sound undercut with pain. “She looks really hot in it, but the damn thing is worthless as far as keeping her warm is concerned.”

Mitchell stared at her lap, her hands curled over the tops of her knees.

“Trudy was wearing it, but I didn’t know that. I saw the body, the blood, the red jacket.”

Mitchell fell silent again, the agony of the memory written across her face. Catherine had a sudden ß ash of Rebecca lying in a pool of blood, her skin white, her chest unmoving. She experienced the terror again, the empty desolation. Her heart aching for the young woman across from her, she murmured, “You thought it was Sandy.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said, her voice hoarse, her Þ ngers white. “I thought she was dead, and I felt something inside of me…freeze. Like all the life was leaving my body and there was nothing left behind.”

She shook her head, then met Catherine’s eyes, her own bleak. “It hurt so much.”

“I know,” Catherine said softly. “Does it still hurt?”

Mitchell took a shaky breath and nodded. “Some. I mean, I know she’s all right. But I still…feel it.”

“Your head knows she’s all right, but your heart will take a little while longer to believe it.”