“Ten minutes.” She sighed and pursed her lips. “Blowjob or bed?”
Brad held up his hands and shook his head. “No sex. I want to talk.”
“I no talk. Not English. Blowjob?”
“No. Listen. You were at the tattoo parlor.”
She shrugged and shook her head. “No blowjob, you go.”
He dug for some way to communicate with her. He held his hand up like it was a movie camera and with the other hand cranked it.
She stared at him. “Movie?”
“Yes.” Then he noticed the tattoo on her chest, just below her clavicle and to the left. A crown with the initials RFI. He pointed. “Tattoo?”
She stepped back until she bumped into the wall. “No talk.” She glanced at the door. “Nyet. Not happen. Go.”
“Did you see …?” He made a gun motion with his hand.
“Nyet.” she screamed.
Brad held out his hands, but she kept screaming. The door burst open and the bouncer and two of the bikers stormed into the cramped room. The girl kept screaming and pointed to Brad. One biker grabbed him and as he tried to shove him off, the bouncer swung his fist into Brad’s gut. He nearly puked, then doubled over. The first biker held him up while the bouncer fired a half-dozen shots at Brad’s face. Pain surged in his nose and he tasted blood. He had no play against the three of them in this compact room, so he slumped in the arms of the biker.
The bouncer punched the side of Brad’s head again. The two bikers dragged Brad out of the room and through a back door. They tossed him on the ground. Each gave him a kick to the ribs, just for fun.
Brad lay on the cool gravel that dug into his cheek. The pain came in waves, then the storm lessened. He pulled himself into a sitting position. His head sparked with electric shots of pain firing around his face. He carefully reached up to his nose. It was swollen but didn’t seem to be crunched or facing the wrong direction. It was filled with drying blood and he breathed through his mouth, which hurt his split lips.
He took a deep breath and was thankful there weren’t any sharp pains in his side. At least his ribs were intact. His face, not so much.
He grabbed the wall and pulled himself up. The world spun, and his eyes wouldn’t focus. This time, no one was coming to save him. No one would nurse his wounds. He was alone and couldn’t reach out. He used the wall of the bar for support and staggered down the alley. By the time he reached the end of the wall, his vision had cleared, but he still stumbled as he headed toward his car.
Two cruisers, lights flashing, stopped in front of the Beacon and the cops raced inside. They didn’t glance at Brad as he headed down Sixteenth Avenue toward his truck. As he passed a sedan, one of the undercover guys glanced in his direction. “You gonna be okay, buddy?”
Brad waved his hand and headed into the 7-Eleven. While he waited for the clerk to pour a coffee, Brad glanced at the security mirror above the cash register. Ouch. His nose was swollen, his lips split in at least three places. The flesh around his eyes was red, which he knew would be black and blue by morning. It had been a while since he’d had the shit kicked out of him. In a weird way, it felt good. He hurt, but he was invigorated. He hadn’t learned a lot—well, except that he still did stupid shit—but he was sure all the girls from the tattoo parlor were working at the Beacon.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
It was 8:45 when Zerr drove past Brad’s former house on Thirty-Fourth Avenue. A dark sedan was parked farther down the block. Zerr continued to the entrance to Bowness Park and spotted another sedan parked on a side street facing the park entrance. “So much for the meeting tonight.”
“The IA bastards have the park staked out,” Steele said.
Zerr kept driving and eyed his rearview mirror. The second sedan pulled in behind them.
Steele glanced over his shoulder. “You going to lose them?”
Zerr shrugged. “No point. Let them follow us and feel useful. I’ll head to the northeast to search for the hookers. We have to find them tonight. But the cold will keep most people inside. We need some of luck.”
Steele peered out his side window. “It’s going to take more than luck to save Coulter.”
Zerr nodded, glanced out the window and chewed a fingernail. “One thing at a time. This is the one we can work on. Every piece of evidence that’s disproved is one step closer to clearing his name. Sturgeon has to figure out the crime scene evidence. We locate the girls and find out why they said they saw Brad’s car.”
“You probably meant to say we double check their information and see if there are any inconsistencies in their statements.”
Zerr grinned. “Like I said, get them to say they didn’t see the car.” He steered onto Edmonton Trail and headed north. The sedan followed.
For the next two hours, they drove back and forth between Edmonton Trail and Sixth Street northeast from Sixteenth Avenue to Thirtieth Avenue. They traveled these roads so many times and talked to so many people that when they passed a second, or third, or fourth time, the people on the street just waved at them.
Dispatch asked for units to respond to the Beacon Hotel Bar for an unruly patron.
“What about the Beacon?” Zerr said.
“What about it?” Steele replied. “You want to break up a fight?”
Zerr grinned. “I wouldn’t object to that. I was thinking—”
“That’s a first.”
“—maybe the girls had a few jobs. You know, make movies, strip, and turn tricks.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” Steele said. “You think of that all on your own?”
“Screw you.”
Zerr drove to Centre Street and parked the truck behind two cruisers. They pushed past a biker at the door and entered the bar. The lights were on and some soft background music played. They split up, and each wandered around the bar. As they passed the tables, some patrons quieted. Others, feeling the false courage of booze, heckled. Steele just grinned and kept walking. But he made a mental note that one night they needed to come back with the entire team and settle a few scores.
When they reached the far wall, they backtracked and met at the door.
“Did you see anything?” Steele asked.
“I’m not sure what we’re searching for.”
“You’ll know when you see it.”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t see it.”
The lights dimmed, and the music roared. The patrons cheered as a tall girl wearing a nurse’s uniform danced onto the stage and paraded in front of the men in the front row.
“We should head out,” Steele said.
“Why?” Zerr asked.
“First, it’s hard to see anything with the lights low, and second, this is not a pleasant image.”
“First, the lights over the stage are just fine and I can see everything I want to. Second, no one gives a shit about us being here.”
“What are we going to accomplish here?”
Zerr smirked. “Surveillance never hurt. Besides, we’re showing the colors. Keeps everyone in line.”
A waitress stopped next to them. “Can I get you a drink, boys?”
“No thanks,” Steele said.
“On the house,” she said.
Zerr grinned at her, but Steele put his hand on Zerr’s arm. “We were just about to go.”
“All right. You should have been here earlier.”
“Why’s that?”
“Some customer got out of hand and the boys had to tune him.”
“He grab the girls, or what?” Zerr asked.
“Not sure. He was a quiet guy, not like the ones who commonly get out of hand. He’d had little to drink—well, at least from here. I doubt he’ll be back. The boys are excellent at getting their message across. If you know what I mean.”
Steele nodded. “Have a good night.”
“The offer is always here if you get thirsty later.” She winked and headed to a table.
They stopped outside the bar. “We’ve got a choice to make.” Steele
peered up and down the street. “Either we call it a night, or I need a coffee and to pee, and not in that order.”
“Fine,” Zerr said. “Take your break, then let’s do another hour.”
Steele sighed. “Okay. Fine with me.” He drove south on Edmonton Trail and pulled into the 7-Eleven. They climbed out of the SUV and headed to the door.
Just as they stepped inside, three ladies headed away from the cash register.
“Hello, ladies,” Zerr said.
“We’ve been searching for you,” Steele added.
Steele had arranged for three cruisers to take the girls to HQ to be interviewed. At two in the morning, it wasn’t difficult finding three free crews. He didn’t want the girls to talk to each other and come up with a story.
They stepped into the first interview room. The teenaged girl was shaking. She appeared tiny in the small room. Her hair was blond, but not naturally. Her face was heavily made up with thick black eyelashes and bright blue around her gray eyes. Her arrest records had no date of birth but said she was twenty. Steele guessed no more than seventeen or eighteen.
They sat opposite her. Zerr reached over and uncuffed her.
Steele opened the file folder he carried, then glanced at the girl. “It seems we have various names for you. What do I call you?”
She stared at the table, rubbed her wrists. “Martina.”
She pronounced her name with a heavy European accent, possibly Russian. “Okay, Martina, I’m Sam and this is Charlie.”
“I don’t know nothing.”
Steele smiled. “I haven’t asked a question yet. Where are you from?”
“I don’t have to say anything.”
Steele leaned back. “That’s true. We’d like to help you.”
Martina crossed her arms over her chest. “Police lie. They don’t help.”
“We don’t want to keep you here,” Steele said. “Answer a few questions and we’ll let you go with your friends.”
She sneered. “I give blowjob, you let go?”
Steele held up his hands. “Whoa. Nothing like that. Just a question. Well, the truth. Last week you were at the tattoo parlor.”
“Parlor?”
Zerr rolled up his shirt sleeve and pointed to the tattoo on his shoulder—the US Army Ranger logo with a lightning bolt and the words Ranger, Airborne.
She nodded. “Soldat? You soldier?”
“I was.”
“Worse than police.” She spat on the floor.
Steele glared at Zerr. “Thanks for the help.”
Martina grinned and pulled her top down, revealing a tattoo just below her left clavicle, RFI. Then she pulled the shirt down farther.
Steele held up a hand. “No. Stop.”
Martina glanced from one to the other, then released the fabric.
“We need to know about the night the men were killed.”
“Pigs.”
“The man who killed them, what did he say?”
“Say go. Give money. We go.”
“Nothing else?”
“Take money, go.”
“Okay.” Steele picked up the file folder.
“Wait,” Martina said. “You said you help?”
Steele nodded.
“You keep us safe?”
“Absolutely.”
She pursed her lips and sighed. “I talk to prosecutor. Make deal.”
“What do you know?” Zerr asked.
She leaned back in her chair. “Prosecutor.”
Steele opened the door to the second room. Zerr removed the handcuffs and again they sat. The lady, early twenties but appeared thirty or more, had unnaturally bright-red hair. Her face was overly made up with bright-red cheeks and thick red lipstick. She sat back in the chair, arms folded, almost black eyes glaring at them with an ‘I’m going to kill you’ glare.
Steele glanced quickly at the file folder. “What do we call you?”
She glanced at her red nails then chewed a cuticle.
“This says your name is Belova Komarova. You go by Belle.”
“Why you ask, if you know?” Her accent sounded Russian.
Steele shrugged. “Okay, I’ll call you Belle.”
“Call me whatever.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “I don’t talk to you.”
“You speak English well.”
“Dah.” She grinned and leaned forward. “You understand, fuck you.” She shifted in her seat then cupped her breasts in both hands and shoved them up. She grinned at Zerr. “Quiet one, you like?”
“I’ve seen better,” Zerr grinned.
Belle laughed and sat back. “But you pay more.”
“We have a few questions,” Steele said.
“Am I under arrest?” Belle’s eyes stayed on Zerr.
“No.”
She pushed her chair back. “I go then.”
Steele shook his head. “No.”
“I buy coffee in store. That a crime in Canada?”
“A couple of questions and you can go.”
She folded her arms. “Lawyer.”
“Your choice,” Steele stood and gathered the file folder.
“Leave quiet one here.” She blew a kiss to Zerr and giggled her breasts. “He likes.”
“I can do the next interview alone,” Steele said.
“Screw you.” Zerr grabbed another Coke and they entered the third interview room.
This girl was hunched over and crying. When she glanced up, her brown eyes were red and puffy. She gasped with each breath, her chest rising and falling, on the verge of collapse.
Her brown hair was curled and hung a few inches below her shoulders. Like the other two, she wore a lot of makeup, but Steele was sure she hadn’t seen her sixteenth birthday yet. She couldn’t weigh more than ninety-five pounds.
“We want to help you.” Steele slid a box of tissue toward her.
She grabbed a couple of tissues and blew her nose.
Zerr set the Coke in front of her. They waited as she blew her nose a second and third time. The gasping stopped.
They leaned back and waited. Zerr slid a file folder over. Steele opened it. Just a note—No Record Found.
Finally, she grabbed the Coke and took a long drink. Over the next few minutes, she finished the Coke, but remained silent and never made eye contact.
Steele asked, “What is your name?”
Head down, she whispered, “Tatiana.”
Steele understood he was talking to someone young and terrified.
“Tatiana. That’s a lovely name.” He tapped his chest. “I’m Sam.”
She glanced up and sniffled. “Sam?”
“Sam.”
Tatiana nodded toward Zerr.
“My friend,” Sam said. “Charlie.”
“Militsiya?”
Steele glanced at Zerr.
“Eastern bloc name for police.” Zerr nodded to Tatiana. “Militsiya.”
Steele’s head swung toward Zerr, his eyes wide.
Tatiana’s eyes widened and her lips quivered. She wrapped her arms around her body and began rocking.
“Friend,” Steele said.
Zerr leaned over and whispered in Steele’s ear, “Droog.”
Steele tapped his chest again. “Droog.”
Tatiana shook her head. “Zloy.”
Zerr suppressed a smile and leaned toward Steele. “Wicked, sinister.” Then he faced Tatiana.“English?”
“Dah. Podsobit, um, help.”
Zerr nodded. “Yes.” He pointed to Steele, then himself. “Help.”
“Bring Martina,” Tatiana said.
Steele and Zerr stood outside the first interview room, occasionally glancing through the window in the door. Martina held Tatiana close, her arm around Tatiana’s shoulders.
“What the hell was with the Russian?” Steele asked.
“I learned a few words. I’m better at Vietnamese.” Zerr grinned.
“Maybe we should ask for a Russian interpreter,” Steele said.
Zerr
rolled his eyes. “Sure, we’ve got hundreds of Russians on the job.”
“You’ll have to do, then,” Steele said. “Bella is a hardened woman. I got the feeling she’d kill me if given a chance. Although she liked you, quiet one.”
“Did you see her eyes?” Zerr asked. “Dark and dead. What the hell did they do to these girls?”
“You already know,” Steele said.
“Ah shit.” Zerr closed his eyes and groaned.
Steele peered into the room. “Martina knows more English than she lets on.”
Zerr snorted. “More law, too. How many people would ask for the prosecutor, not a lawyer?”
“That was an interesting request,” Steele said. “Martina has been in Canada for at least a few years. Tatiana is a recent arrival.”
“What does Martina have to deal?”
Steele shrugged. “We’ll find out when Blighe gets here.”
The door at the end of the hall opened and the desk sergeant escorted a lady toward them. Steele almost didn’t recognize Crown Prosecutor Jenni Blighe. He was used to seeing her in court, dressed professionally with her hair immaculately styled. Tonight, she wore a university T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. As she approached, she gave Steele and Zerr the ‘this better be worthwhile’ scowl.
“Why am I here at four in the morning?”
Steele started with the pimp killing to the tattoo parlor murders, and then that the evidence suggested Coulter was the killer.
“Are you kidding me? I saw the news, but even you guys think Coulter is behind the murders?”
“We don’t think he committed them,” Steele said. “But the evidence is more than circumstantial, it’s damning.”
“To be clear,” Zerr said, “we know Coulter didn’t do it. That’s why we tracked down these ladies. We don’t believe their statements.”
Blighe shook her head. “That’s a … I don’t know what the word is … a fantastic story. Major motion picture quality.”
“Except a career is on the line,” Steele said.
Goddess of Justice Page 23
