Death Turns A Trick (Rebecca Schwartz #1) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

by Julie Smith

  “And?”

  “He was a perfect gent.” She looked at me. “He apologized for scaring away the piano player, even though he said he hadn’t known about the prank, and he said the party was kind of dead without music. So he just announced it was over and asked everyone to leave as soon as they’d finished their drinks.”

  “How did the FDOs take it?”

  “They seemed kind of relieved. The raid unnerved them, I think. People started to drift away almost immediately, and everyone had left by a little after twelve-thirty.”

  “Let’s face it, the party was a fiasco,” said Stacy.

  “How long did you and the other hostesses stay?” I asked her.

  “About twenty minutes longer, I guess. As long as it took to pick up glasses and empty ashtrays, anyway. We weren’t getting paid, so naturally everyone wanted to get home as soon as possible.”

  I was puzzled. “What do you mean, you weren’t getting paid?”

  “We—all the co-op members, I mean, which was everybody except Kandi—were going to split the thousand dollar fee for the party.” She snorted. “A big two-fifty apiece! We were so eager to get out, we had the place practically cleaned up by the time the last guest left.”

  “Stacy never liked the idea of the party,” Elena said, as if to explain the friction between the two women. I had an idea it was more than that, though. Stacy was impressing me more by the minute as a grasping little dodo, and I suspected Elena shared the opinion.

  “Did Kandi leave with the others?” I asked.

  “She left with me,” Stacy said. “We found your purse when we were cleaning up, and Elena sent her to your house to return it. I live in North Beach—on the low-rent side of Telegraph Hill—so I asked Kandi to drop me off.”

  “Why didn’t Elena send the purse with you, then?”

  “I don’t have a car, and I was tired and I wanted to go home. We didn’t know if you’d be home or if someone would have to wait for you, or what.” She gave it one last little self-righteous shot: “Anyway, Kandi was still on duty.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The senator plunked down five hundred dollars for the pleasure of greeting the dawn with her,” said Elena. “That meant half for the house and the other half for her. But he was gone, and I figured Kandi might as well do something to earn her two-fifty.”

  “Besides,” said Stacy, “it was easier than fighting with me about it.” Her voice was unmistakably malicious.

  Elena sighed. “You got it, honey.”

  “It was a kind of special occasion for the senator,” she continued. “He spent the afternoon with Stacy and Kandi.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You mean the senator spent the afternoon with Kandi and Stacy, then wanted a whole night with Kandi? What kind of freaks have we got in Sacramento?”

  “He has a thing about being recognized and, as you have no doubt gathered, very specific tastes. He would always come in the back door and have Kandi meet him in the kitchen, which of course was always locked when he was expected. She would be wearing a costume, a description of which I’ll spare your middle-class ears, and she’d be holding a candle. Otherwise, the kitchen would be dark. We even have special window coverings for his visits.

  “I believe he and Kandi had some sort of dialogue they had to go through, the gist of which was that he was Kandi’s slave. Kandi would undress him, handcuff and blindfold him, and put him in that black robe you had the misfortune to see. Then she’d lead him downstairs to the ‘torture chamber’ and tie him up. Part of the deal was that he had to be left alone for long periods of time while Kandi was turning tricks. That was part of the ‘torture,’ if you see what I mean.

  “She’d come back at intervals and do various entertaining things for him, some fairly conventional, some a bit on the imaginative side. That armoire is full of all sorts of things you don’t want to know about. Anyhow, when we closed up for the night, he always left, because it ceased to amuse him if Kandi wasn’t making it with other men between visits. A cool five hundred dollars every time.”

  “I thought you said something about greeting the dawn.”

  “The money covered that, but he never stayed past three o’clock.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, he’d always wanted a session in the waterbed room with two women, but he never had the nerve to go upstairs when we were open for business. He tried to make his usual appointment for Friday, but I told him we’d be closed because of the party. He seemed to think that would be even more exciting than the usual routine—God knows why—and furthermore, since the house was also closed that afternoon, it meant he could go upstairs then. He offered me a hundred dollars each for Kandi and Stacy in the afternoon, then the usual five hundred dollars for the night.” She shrugged.

  “That was nearly as much as we were getting for the whole damned party, and it meant I’d have Kandi as an extra hand at the party. The purpose of the party wasn’t for the money—one thousand dollars is about what we make in an hour on a good night—it was to get those FDOs interested in coming back as customers. And Kandi was quite a drawing card. So I didn’t see how I could refuse.”

  “The little snit,” said Stacy.

  “Don’t be jealous, dear,” said Elena. “The senator specifically requested you for the afternoon.”

  Stacy showed her sharp little teeth. “I’m flattered as hell.”

  I changed the subject. “You two had better be careful the next time you give a party. If there’s ever a real raid, you can’t count on the lights going off so conveniently again.” Stacy whooped. Even Elena couldn’t suppress a mild giggle.

  “Did I say something?”

  “My poor innocent,” said Elena. “That’s the only thing we can count on. Didn’t you think it was a hell of a coincidence? I just flipped a little switch under the mantel.”

  “Oh.” I was so put out I asked a question I already knew the answer to. “How’d the FDOs know about your place if they weren’t customers?”

  “I told you that when I called you. Jeannette arranged it.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Stacy. She just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  It occurred to me that Jeannette had done quite a bit of arranging: first the job for Kandi, then the party. Did that mean anything? Probably not. She could hardly have predicted Kandi was going to wind up alone at my house. No one could, for that matter; it didn’t seem to be a premeditated murder.

  The phone rang, affording me a glimpse of a side of Elena I hadn’t seen. She made her voice low and inviting: “Well, helLO, dear. I’ve been hoping you’d call.” Bawdy giggles. “What a MARvelous idea. You’re so inVENtive, darling. I’m getting excited just talking to you. Darling, there’s only one problem. I’m having a little work done on the house right now. How about a hotel, hm? Wouldn’t that be fun for a change? All right, handsome. I can hardly wait.”

  She replaced the receiver, muttered “asshole”, and freshened our drinks.

  “He speaks very highly of you,” I said.

  “Oh, he’s all right,” she said as she made a notation in an appointment book. “I’m just fed up right now, that’s all. In fact, I’m sick and tired of phone calls.” She took the receiver off the hook. “There. What else do you want to know?”

  “Has the senator come for his clothes yet?”

  “Oh dear, didn’t I tell you? He called about ten minutes after you drove away with him. What happened, anyway?”

  “He abandoned ship when I hit that car. I guess he must have panhandled for the call.” I giggled at the notion.

  “Anyway,” said Elena, “he said he had to get his clothes right away. Jeez, he really had a thing about being discovered.”

  “The cops don’t give a shit for johns,” said Stacy. “Especially if they’re influential.”

  “True,” said Elena, “but we had to indulge him. I told him it wasn’t really a raid and that I could put his clothes in the basement so he could get them by coming
in through the tunnel. The armoire can be moved from either side, you see.”

  “When did you do it?”

  “Right away. I mean, I asked Kandi to. I was pretty busy with the FDOs. I presume she did and that he came back for them, because they weren’t here the next morning.”

  “So he was here later on. He’s as good a suspect as anybody.”

  Stacy snickered. “Suspect! Who do you think you are—Miss Marple?”

  I lost patience. “Stacy, I wish you wouldn’t needle me while I’m trying to do my job.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Did you tell the senator he had to tell the cops he was here?” I asked Elena.

  “Yes, and he said he would. Amid much shouting and hysteria. I had to leave a message with his answering service, which wasn’t cool.”

  “Good.” I turned to Stacy. “On the ride home with Kandi, did you notice anyone following you?”

  “I wasn’t looking in the rearview mirror.”

  “But Kandi was. Did she mention anything like that?”

  “No. All she mentioned was she was pissed off she had to go clear to Telegraph Hill and wait for you.”

  She showed her teeth again, as if she was delighted to have said something personally offensive.

  “Okay, look,” I said, “does either of you know of anyone with a motive to kill Kandi?”

  “Only everyone,” said Stacy.

  “She means,” said Elena, “that Kandi was such a pain that most anyone might have wanted to wring her lovely neck. But real motives, no, so far as I know.”

  “Stacy?”

  “No.”

  “Well, how about alibis—did either Renee or Hilary leave with anybody?”

  Both women shook their heads. “They left separately, before Kandi and I did,” said Stacy. “Even before Elena asked Kandi to return your purse, so they didn’t know where she was going. But of course they could have waited, and followed her. Elena’s the only one with an alibi.”

  “How did you get that?”

  “She was picking you up at the Hall of Injustice. And that makes me the most likely suspect, since I’m the only one besides her who knew where Kandi was headed.” Her voice was bitter.

  “She could have stopped by my place on the way,” I said. If I hoped to get a guilty reaction, I was disappointed. Stacy continued looking sulky. Elena only laughed.

  “So no one has an alibi,” said Elena. “Not even me or Jeannette or the senator. Where does that get us?”

  “I’m not sure. But let me try something else on you. The night of the party, did either of you meet a guy named Frank? Big, beefy guy—kind of red-faced?”

  Both said no. Stacy looked at her watch. “I gotta go,” she said. “Got a date. Thanks for the bloody.”

  “What’s with her?” I asked when she was gone.

  “Oh, she’s not such a bad sort. We’re just annoyed with each other at the moment.

  “She was one of those kids who got batted about from foster home to foster home, and I guess she grew up poor and unloved. So she got married at sixteen to some older guy who was going to save her, but it turned out he beat her. She left him and a series of dreary file clerk jobs until someone propositioned her and she learned how to make easy money.”

  “So she’s insecure about being poor and upset about having to close the house.”

  “Yes, and angry with me, but it’s not serious. What she was doing here today was—well, seeking comfort, basically.”

  I still wasn’t exactly in love with Stacy, but I did like Elena’s maternal, tolerant attitude. She was much too fine a woman for a life of crime.

  “I have to go myself,” I said, “but I want to ask you one last thing.” I hoped she’d had enough booze to loosen her tongue.

  I told her about my conversation with Jeannette; how I’d learned Elena thought Kandi might have been blackmailing clients; how I thought this might provide a motive for murder. Elena’s eyes widened.

  “So I’m going to ask you to give me their names,” I finished quickly.

  “No. Oh no. I can’t give you the names of clients, even to you. My God, especially not these two. No. Christ. No. I just can’t do it.”

  I thought about Jeannette’s homily on ethics. You couldn’t say Elena didn’t live by the code. I respected her for it and said so. But I added this: “Listen, if push comes to shove with my client, I’ll have to tell the police. And then they’ll ask you.”

  “I understand,” she said, nodding. “But look, Rebecca, aren’t you kidding yourself? If Kandi was killed by someone she knew, she must have let him in. Why would she open the door to someone she’d been blackmailing? It must have been someone she knew well and trusted. And I can’t think of a more likely candidate than her own brother.”

  The words sounded as if they were meant to hurt. But maybe they weren’t. Maybe Elena just meant to wake me up.

  Chapter Twelve

  I left wondering where all that got me. I now had detailed and unwelcome insight into the sex life of a senator, and I had the senator himself for a suspect. But no motive for him. And no names for the two men who might have had motives. But wait a minute! If Kandi was blackmailing other clients, might she be blackmailing the senator? I decided against it. He might like torture games, but amorous flights of the imagination with a blackmailer were out of that realm. If she was shaking him down, he'd have dropped her like the other two did.

  So far as I could see, I had only one solid piece of information: confirmation of the time Kandi left Elena’s. Elena had said ten minutes of one, which more or less agreed with my estimate. That meant Parker must have arrived at my place much later than Kandi did.

  I headed my gray Volvo toward Eighth and Bryant streets, and the Hall of Justice, but I noticed with surprise that I did it reluctantly. I wasn’t eager to see Parker. My feelings for him were very confused. Trying to pin them down did no good; I felt like a sea anemone, reaching for something I couldn’t grasp. I knew that I disliked the mother role I’d been forced into. Yet I felt guilty about that. Here was a human being in genuine trouble who needed me; I should have been glad to help. And I was glad, on one level; it was by all odds the most interesting case I’d ever had. But I didn’t like being a support system; I distrusted it. I didn’t know if Parker and I would be able to resume our previous relationship when this was all over, and I didn’t know if I wanted to.

  My next shrink appointment was Wednesday. I’d have to sort it all out then.

  * * *

  Parker had shaved, but he was still looking pale, and his forehead seemed permanently creased. He held me for a long time. I can’t explain it, but I felt rather used. We didn’t really know each other well enough to be going through this together.

  “I talked to your mom,” I said when we broke the clinch. “We didn’t exactly hit it off.”

  “I should have warned you. She has a tendency to behave like a dowager duchess.”

  “Yes, well. She cast doubt on my professional expertise. Seemed to think you’d be better off with the famous Isaac Schwartz for a lawyer.”

  “Your father?” Parker actually laughed. Perhaps the shock was wearing off and he was beginning to feel more himself. “I hope you gave her the well-known piece of your mind.”

  “I wasn’t the soul of politeness.”

  “Good for you.”

  I told Parker things were looking better, without going into much detail. I let him know about the times, of course, but I thought it better to spare him the nuances that cast Kandi in an unflattering light. He had had enough hurt on that score, and he was bound to be in for more eventually. He had good news for me, too; he’d decided to take the polygraph the next morning.

  I left feeling better, feeling more as if I could depend on him to call on his inner resources and not expect to draw his strength from me.

  In fact, I felt damn good. It was a beautiful day, and I was going to a party that night. Not just any party, either—a celebration of thirty year
s of marriage. An astounding accomplishment.

  I had nothing to do but think of frivolity for the rest of the day. Murder just wasn’t on the program. It was a good afternoon for Scarlatti.

  For once that weekend, my parking space was empty. A good omen. I parked, went in, performed the now-familiar rug-squeezing, feather-picking ritual, and settled down at the piano. As my fingers tripped lightly over the Scarlatti, I looked out my window at the financial district. The sun glinted playfully on its windowpanes, seeming almost to keep time with me, performing its own glad, baroque Sunday afternoon dance.

  The dance slowed, though, as evening fell, and finally stopped. I felt some sober Bach would be appropriate, though better on an organ. “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” was just the thing. Sober, yes, but always accompanied by tingles and goose bumps—the result, no doubt, of too many viewings of The Phantom of the Opera. Perhaps, even as I played, someone else was playing the same piece, a few blocks southwest at Grace Cathedral.

  I have no idea what time Episcopalians hold evening services, but for some reason that thought made me look at my watch. It was 5:30, and Mickey was picking me up in an hour. I just had time to read a bit and get ready.

  The reading I did in the bathtub. That accomplished, I was able to apply myself, clean of body and enlightened of soul, to the fascinating details of my toilet.

  This I did with much pleasure, though vanity is not something to which we intellectual, ambitious types are supposed to aspire. Perhaps this quality of indulging myself in the forbidden is one of the reasons for my ambivalent attitude toward prostitution. In fact, I know it is. But be that as it may, I am much better able to accept vanity in myself lately. Now that I have done well in college and law school and am starting to make it in the professional world, I don’t worry so much that people will think me frivolous. I know that I can cope, and I don’t need to prove it by neglecting my appearance.

  For this occasion, though, false eyelashes and carmine lipstick were best forgotten. Just a little make-up, the sort that’s supposed to make you look “natural,” and a good fluffing-up of the workaday hairdo. That would do it.