Killing Jane: An Erin Prince Thriller

by Stacy Green

  “Hate’s a strong word.” Erin walked so hard every stomp ricocheted up her legs. “And it was that obvious?”

  “You seriously could have cut the tension with a knife.” Beckett stood next to the passenger door of her car.

  “I’m sorry,” Erin said. “Lisa loves making everyone else feel uncomfortable.”

  “I noticed. But I admire you standing up for Merritt.”

  “I know what it’s like to be helpless in her line of fire.” She spat out her next words. “Do you feel the same way as Lisa?”

  “About what?”

  “My inexperience.” Exhaustion and stress made her blunt. “You’re working with a handicap on this case.”

  “Of course not. That article was ridiculous. The media’s looking for the juiciest angle.” He braced against the chill. “I’m lucky you got stuck with me.”

  Erin cleared her throat. “All right then. Let’s go to the strip club.”

  “You know, I’ve only been to a strip club once.” Beckett said as they parked across from Sid’s Gentleman’s Club on K Street. “Back during my vice days.”

  Erin raised her eyebrow. “Isn’t going to a strip club some kind of rite of passage for men?”

  He shrugged. “My dad never told me things like that.”

  Erin caught the disdainful tone but didn’t push it.

  “And strippers never interested me.” He glanced around. “I can see the top of the White House from here.”

  “Because it’s basically around the corner. Less than a ten-minute walk.”

  Sid’s made no attempt to hide its identity. A large, burgundy umbrella guarded the entryway, the name of the club in bold white script. A sandwich shop sat right next door.

  “Nice,” Erin said as she opened the door to Sid’s. “Get your fill of the girls dancing, get drunk, and go have a sub. Perfect single guy’s night out.”

  She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She hadn’t been in one of these places since college, and Sid’s was certainly nicer. A full bar with a large mirror took up most of the back wall, with the stage to the right. Sultry jazz music played over the speakers, but the stage stood empty. “I guess two in the afternoon is a slow time.”

  Beckett murmured in agreement as a curvy young woman dressed in black dress pants, a white shirt, and a red tie approached them. Her silken black hair hung around her face in thick waves, and her full lips were every man’s fantasy. Her olive skin gleamed with the perfection of youth. Erin felt pasty, old, and chubby next to the young hostess.

  “Can I help you?” The woman’s husky voice bore a hint of an alluring Middle-Eastern accent, the lilt perfectly matching the mysteriousness of her green eyes.

  But this girl looked barely legal enough to serve alcohol.

  “I’d like to talk to the manager or owner. Both if possible.”

  The brunette cocked her head. “They usually only talk to people by appointment.”

  Erin unzipped her windbreaker to show her badge. “It’s urgent.”

  The girl’s eyes widened.

  Erin envied her ability to use eyeliner without making a mess of it.

  “I’ll be right back with the owner.”

  Erin and Beckett stood awkwardly between the tables and the stage. Sid’s appeared to be cleaner than any of the clubs she’d gone to, but she still didn’t want to sit in one of the booths.

  The waitress returned with a man Erin would have never imagined as a strip club owner. He wasn’t much taller than Erin, but his presence demanded attention, his jet black hair cut in a trendy style made to look messy. Rich, olive-colored skin contrasted perfectly against his white Oxford shirt. He’d left the first three buttons undone, revealing a smattering of chest hair and what appeared to be a Sanskrit tattoo on his collarbone.

  His eyes met hers, and he smiled—the kind of smile that invited a woman to confess her darkest secrets.

  “I’m Yari Malek, owner of Sid’s.”

  His slight accent confirmed Erin’s suspicion the man was of Persian descent.

  “How can we help the police? And before you ask, I’m a United States citizen. I was born here. The accent is from growing up surrounded by my family.”

  Behind his smile, Erin recognized the edge to his tone. He’d probably had to defend his citizenship to countless people since the 9/11 terrorist attacks on Washington, D.C. and New York City. She didn’t condone the hatred or the generalization of an entire religion, but she also didn’t have time to soothe any bitter feelings Yari Malek might hold.

  “We’re not here about your citizenship, Mr. Malek.” She matched his edge. “I’m sure you’re telling the truth.” She made a point to take a long, lingering look around the club. “Since you’re a reputable businessman.”

  He grinned, his dark eyes twinkling. “All right. Please, call me Yari. How may I help you?”

  “We’re here about Bonnie Archer. She’s one of your employees.”

  Malek nodded. “Part-time, evenings. She’s due in tonight, actually.” His wonderfully shaped, dark eyebrows knitted together. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  Evidently, Malek didn’t watch any more than the first few minutes of the news. “I’m sorry to tell you someone murdered Bonnie in her home last night.”

  Malek’s attractive face sank into an appropriate shocked expression. His glossy eyes darted between Erin and Beckett. “My God. Do you have any leads?”

  “People of interest,” Beckett said. “Did you know Bonnie well?”

  “As well as anyone else here, I suppose,” Malek said. “She was a private girl. Not rude or antisocial, understand. She came in, did her job, and went home.”

  Sid’s might cater to a higher end clientele, but human needs all came down to the same basic things. “Her job ended at dancing?”

  Malek’s full mouth slanted up, but his tone stayed firm. “We don’t charge for sex here. Of course, I can’t control what the girls do after hours. But that’s their business.”

  Erin wanted to tell him she didn’t care whether he had a side business as long as it didn’t affect her case. Instead she asked another question. “How many nights a week did Bonnie work?”

  “Two to three,” he said. “She went to school as well.”

  “About how much did she make?”

  “Depends on the day,” Malek said. “Easily $700 per night on the weekend, less during the week.”

  “In cash tips?” Erin asked. “I assume you’re only paying a few bucks an hour.”

  “No,” Malek said. “I pay my girls ten dollars an hour. We cater to a higher standard of clientele, so I want to provide my customers with more professional girls. I need to pay them well to ensure high standards.”

  Only in the service industry would ten dollars an hour be considered decent pay. “So Bonnie could have been bringing home $1400 a week in cash plus, what, another $200 in hourly pay?”

  “Sounds about right.” Malek nodded. “Why do you ask how much money she made?” He looked at Beckett as though he expected Erin’s male counterpart to jump in at any moment.

  Beckett said nothing, and Erin decided to change tactics. “I’m trying to learn all I can about her. Did she have any specific admirers? Guys who bothered her?”

  Malek walked to the bar and waved off the beautiful hostess, who’d been watching their exchange with wide-eyed interest.

  She obediently nodded and hurried out of sight.

  Malek reached over the shining wood counter and retrieved a bottle of bourbon. “Since you’re on duty, I won’t offer you a drink.”

  His silky voice held a teasing tone, and his dark eyes shined with a look Erin imagined made most women melt.

  He grabbed a glass, poured two shots, and then downed them one after the other. “First off, an admirer and a man who bothers the girls are two different things. Admirers come back during the same girl’s shift and give great tips. The creeps try to follow them home.”

  “Did that ever happen to Bonnie?” Beck
ett asked.

  “Not that she told me.” Malek set the glass on the counter with a thud. “I have security to keep an eye on my ladies. I think if anyone had been a problem, I would have heard about it.”

  “Did you or the other dancers notice bruises on Bonnie?” Beckett asked.

  Malek shrugged. “As long as the girls look good on the stage, I don’t pay any attention. Several of the ladies are excellent with makeup. Bonnie likely covered any marks. You’d have to ask the other dancers.”

  “What about admirers?” Erin pressed.

  “Bonnie didn’t really have anyone specific.” Malek looked down at his empty glass, his tone growing soft. “Certainly not because she wasn’t beautiful. She had an ethereal quality that made men want to watch from a distance. Almost like she stood on a pedestal. She didn’t have to fully disrobe to keep their interest.”

  “So she was a snob?”

  “No!” Malek shook his head. “She just seemed kind of ... too sweet and delicate for this, which draws a certain man. Those men tip nicely, but they are looking for a different experience.”

  “They want to see a real dancer as opposed to some bump and grinding?” Beckett asked.

  “Yes, these men are looking for more mystery than flash. Bonnie showed less skin than the others, but she matched their earnings.” His gold ring glinted beneath the yellow bar lights. “Wait, I almost forgot about Tori.”

  Erin’s pen paused. “Tori?”

  Malek’s soft lips inched into a smile. “An older gentleman who prefers to dress like a woman. He used to come in every week, but there was an issue with Bonnie a couple of months ago.”

  “You’re saying Tori is a cross-dresser?” Erin could hardly grasp the significance of Malek’s information. Jack might have dressed like a woman to avoid detection.

  “A very skilled one. Always elaborately made up, dressed impeccably, with a stylish black wig. A real gentleman. Or lady. I’m not sure of the politically correct term.”

  “And something happened with Bonnie and Tori?” Erin asked.

  “She danced for him once—a lap dance. He must have said something she didn’t like, because she grew angry, yelling at him. My security asked him to leave. He never returned, and Bonnie never mentioned him.”

  “She didn’t say what they argued about?”

  Malek shrugged. “She only said she couldn’t believe the balls on him.” He smiled wryly. “Her phrasing, not mine.”

  “What about friends?” Erin asked. “Did Bonnie ever talk about anyone staying with her? Her boyfriend?”

  A muscle in Yari Malek’s jaw twitched. He reached again for the bottle of bourbon but didn’t pour another glass. “Bonnie never talked about boyfriends, but we all had the impression school kept her too busy. As to your first question, no. She didn’t have anyone staying with her that I’m aware of.”

  “Bonnie was pregnant,” Beckett said.

  Malek’s face darkened. “I wondered.”

  “Why?” Erin asked. “I don’t think she was showing yet.”

  “She stopped having drinks. She always needed a cocktail before her shift to loosen up. But a few weeks ago, she stopped. And she quit smoking. She said she needed to get healthy, but I sensed she wasn’t being honest.”

  “And you have no idea who the father might be?”

  Malek’s dark eyes flashed, his chin jutting out. Had she pushed him too far? “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”

  Erin glanced at Beckett. The frustration on his face matched her own. Bonnie kept to herself, and no one knew a damned thing about her. The broken record grated, and it wasn’t going to help them catch her killer.

  “I’ll need a list of your employees. Please tell them all to call me, especially if they know anything about Tori.” Erin handed him a card and watched him pocket it.

  “Why do you need a list?”

  “Background checks,” Beckett said. “No offense to your establishment, but women in this line of work tend to have a different social circle. We need to make sure everyone checks out.”

  “I run background checks on all of my girls.” His jaw muscles flexed, his tone hinging on unpleasant.

  Beckett smiled. “I assure you the police department will be more thorough.”

  Malek nodded stiffly and then called for the girl who’d greeted them. He told her to make a list of employee names. “But I can’t give out personal information.”

  “Of course not,” Erin said. “Make sure you give them my number.”

  “I’ll gather them all tonight and let them know. Most of them are working since it’s Thursday. That’s when Sid’s gets busy.”

  He sagged against the bar. “I don’t understand why this sort of thing happens to good people like Bonnie.”

  Beckett stared at him for a long time without saying anything, but Erin sensed a question brewing. Beckett didn’t disappoint her.

  “What about her cousin Sarah? Did Bonnie ever mention her? Or a friend named Jane?”

  Malek smiled and poured another drink. “Jane? I don’t know anyone by that name. But Sarah’s the one person Bonnie talked about. They seemed close.”

  “I thought so,” Beckett said. “What can you tell us about Sarah?”

  “She’s a student at American University, getting her master’s, I believe,” Malek said. “Surely, you’ve informed the family?”

  “We have,” Erin said, “but Sarah hasn’t returned our calls.”

  “There is some family discord,” Malek said.

  Erin perked up. So Bonnie confided in this man but not Will Merritt? “Bonnie told you about her family issues?”

  “Only briefly,” Malek said. “She and Sarah came in shortly after they reunited. Bonnie mentioned it when I gave them drinks on the house.”

  “Did Bonnie ever mention spending time with a friend who had a young daughter?” Erin asked.

  “No,” Malek said. “But I told you—”

  “You weren’t close,” Erin finished.

  The brunette returned with a list of about twenty people—all women, including the bartenders.

  Beckett made a humming noise, looking at Erin. “I’m good here if you are.”

  “For now.” She nodded to Malek. “Don’t forget to get the message to the girls.”

  Erin’s mouth watered at the scent of fresh bread coming from the sandwich shop. The dreary day had stretched into late afternoon, and in the chaos after the phone call, they had skipped lunch.

  She checked her watch. “The director at the Adult Learning Center leaves at five. If we want to talk to her about Bonnie’s interaction with the staff and students, we need to hurry.”

  Beckett stopped near the sub shop’s door. “Do we at least have time to grab a sandwich?”

  Erin’s stomach issued a growl worthy of a hungry grizzly. “Absolutely.”

  While their sandwiches were being made, Erin made a few phone calls and then joined Beckett at the table.

  “So Sarah’s at AU. I called in a favor and got her roommate’s name from the registrar. Fowler found the address. It’s about six blocks away from the university. He stopped by, and the roommate said Sarah’s been staying at her parents’ house the past few days.”

  “You’ve got a contact at American University?” Beckett asked.

  “My alma mater, and my parents still contribute to the alumni fund. Sometimes you have to wade into the muck to get results.”

  Beckett chewed slowly, clearly savoring his ham and cheese. “Sarah’s lack of response bugs me.”

  “Yeah, but think about it,” Erin said. “Bonnie’s parents didn’t know they reconciled, so it’s safe to say Sarah’s didn’t either. If she’s hunkered down working on her thesis, maybe she didn’t hear about it until this morning. And she’s trying to find a way to talk to us without alerting her father. Trust me, I know the exact kind of cloth someone like Simon Archer is cut from. The Republican Governors Association wouldn’t approve of his niece—and that’s high priority for someone
like him.”

  She took a swig of Diet Coke. “You know what bugs me? Everyone talks about Bonnie being this nice, private girl. Her boss at the strip club says she wasn’t the sexually promiscuous type. And yet she’s filming porn. No one really knew her at all. And now we’ve got a cross-dresser who pissed Bonnie off in the mix.”

  “Jack the Ripper’s alleged way of escaping,” Beckett said. “But cross-dressing isn’t that uncommon. Tori may be a coincidence.”

  Erin rubbed her aching head. “I feel like we’ve got a bunch of threads and no way to tie them together.”

  “Things aren’t always so neat,” Beckett said. “Sometimes you have to keep grabbing at the threads until the right one sticks out.”

  Charlie paced, no longer able to stay in his hiding spot. He pointed his finger at Mina. “You shouldn’t have called her.”

  Mina’s eyes turned liquid. “The Princess can help us.”

  “No one can help us, Mina. It’s just you and me together like it’s always been.”

  The little girl sniffled. “But I saw her on T.V.”

  Charlie wanted to bang his head against the wall. Why did he get saddled with the kid again? He felt bad for thinking it. Mina didn’t have anyone else. “Just because you saw her on T.V. doesn’t mean she can help us.”

  Mina’s cherub lips trembled. “Then what do we do? I don’t want it to happen again!”

  “Be quiet,” he hissed. “There’s nothing we can do but lay low and hope it’s over soon.” He didn’t believe that. But he wouldn’t scare Mina.

  He mustered his silly smile, the one that always made her laugh. “Close your eyes and rest now, little girl.”

  The sky remained the color of steel, but the mist stopped by the time they arrived in the Edgewood neighborhood of northeast D.C. Nestled between Rhode Island Avenue and Michigan Avenue, Edgewood was yet another area struck by gentrification. Many of the 1900s row houses had already been renovated, and young professionals gave the area a hip, up-and-coming vibe. New shops and restaurants had popped up since the last time Erin came out here on one of her first sex crimes cases.