Hot Lights, Cold Steel

by D P Lyle

  I couldn’t prevent the smile that followed. “Look, Miss . . . uh . . .”

  The woman stared at me for a moment. “Name’s Martha. Martha Godwyn. What do you want with Sin-Dee?”

  “Need to ask her a couple of questions about her roommate.”

  An ash tumbled down the front of her kimono, but she ignored it. “Which one? Crystal or the new one?”

  “Noel Edwards.”

  “Yeah. The new one. Only lived here a couple of months.”

  “I take it you know her, then?” I asked.

  Martha shrugged. “Seen her around.”

  “When was the last time?” T-Tommy asked.

  She eyed him through the smoke that swirled around her face. “Can’t say. They come; they go. All hours.”

  “You know where Sin-Dee might be?” I asked.

  “In there.” Martha nodded toward Sin-Dee’s door. “She just don’t answer at this hour. Works nights. Heard her partying until about four this morning. She’ll be up and around soon.”

  T-Tommy stepped off the porch. The gravel around the flanking shrubs crunched beneath his weight. He moved close to the window, cupped one hand around his eyes, and peered through a narrow gap in the curtain. “She’s there. On the sofa.” He rapped on the window. “She ain’t moving.”

  I turned to Martha. “Where’s the manager’s office?”

  Another ash fell. “Atlanta. Absentee owners. That’s why we can’t get a goddamn thing fixed around here.”

  From what I’d seen, this place was spotless. I suspected that Martha had pretty high standards. For everything but herself. Drinkers tend to complain a lot. “How well do you know Sin-Dee?”

  “Me and Clark know her a little.”

  “Clark?”

  “My husband. Works over at the Cadillac dealer.”

  “I see.”

  “She gave me this robe, though.” Martha flicked an ash from one sleeve. “I think maybe one of her johns gave it to her.”

  “It’s very pretty.” I glanced at Sin-Dee’s door. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key to her place, would you?”

  She shook her head and blew a stream of smoke up and to her left.

  “We should check on her,” I said.

  T-Tommy slipped a credit card from his wallet, wedged it into the gap between the door and the jamb, and began working the lock.

  Martha tugged a pack of Kools from the kimono’s pocket, shook one up, and clinched it between her teeth. She lit it with the remnant of the one she had been smoking, then dropped the dead soldier to her porch and crushed it beneath a sandal. “Think that’s a good idea? Breaking in?”

  “Not breaking in if she could be ill,” T-Tommy said. “Or dead.”

  “You can come in with us if you want,” I said.

  Martha took another long pull from her smoke but didn’t move.

  In less than a minute T-Tommy had the door open.

  Sin-Dee lay on her stomach, one arm dangling to the floor, face turned toward me. Her mouth hung slack, and her eyes were cracked a bit, showing a thin strip of white. An empty wine bottle and a mirror with a hefty mound of white powder sat on a glass coffee table. As I approached, I could see she was breathing. No signs of trauma. She was probably attractive on normal days. Not today. Then again, maybe this was a normal day for her.

  I nudged her but got no response. I gave her shoulder a shake.

  She grunted and released a stuttering sigh.

  “Sin-Dee?” I shook her again.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She looked up, confusion on her face.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’re friends.”

  A deep cough racked her as she struggled to a sitting position, wiping drool from her mouth. “Who are you?” Her voice was thick.

  “I’m Dub. This is Investigator Tortelli.”

  Sin-Dee blinked and looked around. “How did you get in here?” She tried to focus on Martha, who stood in the doorway.

  “We didn’t damage anything,” I said. “We thought you might be sick.”

  She massaged her temples. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly one thirty.”

  “Morning?”

  I smiled. “Afternoon.”

  “You got any coffee?” T-Tommy asked.

  Sin-Dee pointed toward the kitchen, and he headed that way.

  She sank back on the sofa. “What do you want?”

  I sat down next to her. “We’re looking for Noel.”

  “Haven’t seen her or Crystal for . . . I don’t know . . . a couple of weeks or so.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little unusual?”

  She shrugged.

  T-Tommy reappeared with a cup of coffee and passed it to Sin-Dee. “It’s instant. Not exactly steaming. I made it with hot tap water.”

  Sin-Dee took several sips. “Who are you guys?”

  I gave her our names again.

  She looked at T-Tommy. “You a cop?”

  “HPD.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Then she seemed to notice the pile of cocaine on the table for the first time. Her eyes widened.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We won’t roll on you. We’re only looking for Noel.”

  “Why?”

  “Her mother’s worried about her. Asked if I’d try to find her. Apparently no one’s seen her for a couple of weeks.”

  Sin-Dee took another sip of coffee. “Look, Crystal does this all the time. Girl’s got a knack for picking a guy that’ll pay her thousands and take her away for a week or two. Hawaii, Europe. Greece for a month once. She has a gift.”

  “You think she and Noel are on one of these trips?”

  “I did. Except her mother kept calling, looking for her. Then I thought maybe she might be in trouble or something.”

  “You didn’t call the police?”

  “Like they would help.” She glanced at T-Tommy. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” he said.

  “They went to meet some guy. A double.” Sin-Dee drank some more coffee. “I think some place over on Adams. A hot-shit attorney. Was going to pay them double the usual. That’s all I know.”

  “They drive themselves?”

  She nodded.

  “What kind of car?”

  “They took Crystal’s. A white Lexus.”

  “You know where her car is now?”

  “I’m not her garage attendant.” Sin-Dee set down her coffee cup, then pushed her blonde hair back. I waited her out. “Maybe they took off in it.”

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “I’m legal. The rest don’t count.”

  Maybe twenty, I thought. Already with a hard-on for the world. Don’t fight it; go with it. “Did they have any other dates set up for that night?”

  “Not that I know.”

  I stood and walked around the room, noticing that Martha was no longer at the door. Probably needed to refresh her drink.

  The condo was tasteful, with expensive furnishings, a stone fireplace, plush white carpeting, and, like Weiss’s office, numbered and signed serigraphs on the wall. All forms of prostitution paid well, I guessed. At least Noel had had a nice place to hang. Not Patrice’s place nice but nice.

  “Where’d Noel stay?” I asked.

  Sin-Dee gave me a sideways look, sniffed, and dragged the back of her hand across her nose. “Upstairs.”

  I glanced at the oak stairway. “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe find something that’ll lead us to her.” I attempted a benign smile.

  Sin-Dee picked up the coffee cup and started to take a sip, then realized it was empty. She handed it to T-Tommy as if she expected more. “Sure. Go ahead. Second room on the left.”

  T-Tommy mixed another cup of instant and passed it to Sin-Dee before he and I climbed the stairs.

  The room was clean, nothing out of place, bed made, no clothes lying around. A jewelry box and two perfume bottles sat on top of a three-drawer chest. A gold necklace
and two brightly colored scarves hung from the corner of a framed mirror.

  T-Tommy rummaged through the drawers, while I slid back the mirrored closet door. Noel had few clothes, but they were neatly hung. Several pairs of shoes were arranged on the floor. A New York Yankees baseball cap perched on the upper shelf.

  “Nothing here,” T-Tommy said as he closed the last drawer.

  I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Where are you, Noel? I got no answer. “Let’s go.”

  As I followed T-Tommy down the stairs, I saw Sin-Dee leaning over the coffee table and heard the sound of her snorting the coke. Hair of the dog.

  She looked up. “You guys want some?”

  “Not my drug of choice,” I said.

  Sin-Dee nodded toward the mirror. “I get it for practically nothing. “ She massaged her nose with the heel of her hand. “I blow a couple of guys once a week, and they give me the blow.” She laughed.

  “That’s funny. Get it? A blow for some blow.”

  We left.

  CHAPTER 16

  THURSDAY 2:21 P.M.

  ROSALEE KENNEDY LIVED IN THE HIGH-DOLLAR ENCLAVE OF Promontory Point that draped over the rolling hills along the eastern edge of Jones Valley just south of Monte Sano Mountain. Most of the seven-figure homes bore an antebellum feel with front columns, shutter-flanked windows, and perfectly manicured lawns. A broad circular drive led us to Rosalee’s abode, a columned, two-story affair with views across the valley.

  Heavy wooden double doors parted as we got out of the car. A slab of beef stepped out. Black. Shaved head. No neck. Barrel chest. Single gold earring. No smile.

  “Miss Rosalee don’t see no one without an appointment,” he said after we asked for her. I told him it’d only take a couple of minutes, but he didn’t budge, saying no appointment meant no way.

  T-Tommy flipped open his badge.

  The slab didn’t flinch, but his brow furrowed. “Miss Rosalee won’t see no cops.”

  “Just a few questions.”

  “About what?”

  “We’re looking for a girl,” T-Tommy said. “Works for Rosalee. Name’s Noel.”

  “What about her?”

  “Seen her lately?”

  “Not since she skipped. A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Skipped?” I asked.

  “She and Crystal. That girl’s a real flake. Crystal, not Noel. Fact is, I like Noel.”

  “So, you know Noel?”

  He nodded. “Seen her a couple of times. When she and Crystal drop by.”

  “Chat with her?”

  “Yeah. Seems to be in a good place. Know what I mean? Got it screwed on real tight.”

  I didn’t mention that her mother saw it differently. “Any idea where they might have run off to?”

  “No. Crystal does this shit all the time. Why you looking?”

  I explained that Noel’s mother was concerned.

  The block of muscle grunted but didn’t comment.

  “What’s your name?” T-Tommy asked.

  “Max.”

  “Well, Max, we don’t want to cause Rosalee any trouble. We’re just looking for a missing girl.”

  He rotated his neck as if working out a kink.

  “Maybe ask her if she’ll talk to us?”

  “Hang here. I’ll see if Rosalee’s in the mood.” Max walked inside and returned in a couple of minutes. He led us into a comfortable, wood-paneled room with a stone fireplace and big sofas. He offered us a drink. We declined.

  “Welcome,” Rosalee said as she came into the room.

  Not what I expected. Maybe forty tops, curly red hair piled on her head, pale skin, and a diamond nose stud. She wore designer jeans and a dark green open-collar silk shirt. A pear-shaped diamond hung from a gold chain and nestled in generous cleavage. We introduced ourselves and sat down.

  “Max tells me you’re looking for Noel,” she said, getting right to it.

  “That’s correct. We hoped you could help us.”

  “Don’t know what I can tell you.”

  “Crystal and Noel work for you, don’t they?”

  She eyed T-Tommy. “Can’t say.”

  “We know you run girls. Everyone knows. Not a big secret.” I nodded toward T-Tommy. “He ain’t vice, and we ain’t overly concerned about how you make a living. We do care about finding Noel.”

  Rosalee hesitated and then said, “Yeah, they do. And when you find Noel give her a kick in the ass for me. I expect this crap from Crystal, but I thought Noel was different.”

  “We hear Crystal’s done this before.”

  “All the goddamn time. She makes a ton of money. Can up sell better than anyone. Has a knack for squeezing the lemon. Otherwise I’d have fired her ass a long time ago.”

  “Any idea where they might be?”

  “Timbuktu or Kalamazoo. Take your pick. I’d bet she hauled Noel off on one of her adventures.”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll be back. Dude’ll get tired of them or run out of money.”

  “Crystal work for anyone else or just you?”

  “Just me. She does dance at High Rollers from time to time.”

  “I take it you know Rocco Scarcella?” I asked.

  Her gaze darted away, back again. “Everybody knows Rocco.”

  “You have any kind of arrangement with him?”

  “No.”

  “Just that some of your girls work there?” I said.

  “Only Crystal. As I said, she has a mind of her own.”

  “I understand Noel dances there, too.”

  “Maybe once or twice. Not a regular, though.”

  “You and Rocco friends?” T-Tommy asked.

  Rosalee laughed. “Rocco doesn’t have friends.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He likes to put his fat fingers into everything.”

  “Like your business?” I said.

  “I don’t have any partners, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So none of your money finds its way into his pocket?” I asked.

  “That’s not how my business works.” Her pale blue eyes seemed to dance and deepen in color, and a smile lifted a corner of her mouth.

  “Men usually give me the money.” She laughed again. “I supply the pussy, and they pay for all this.” She waved a hand.

  I liked her. Didn’t yet know why, but I did. “Rocco doesn’t get a cut?”

  She shook her head. “Not a chance.”

  I stood. “If you hear from Noel or Crystal, could you give us a call?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I wrote down my numbers, home and cell. We thanked her and made our exit. As I twisted the car back down the hill, I said, “Bet she buys protection from Rocco.”

  T-Tommy grunted. “And Rosalee gets his political muscle in the deal. Which is a lot of rhythm.”

  “At HPD?”

  “Rumor has it.”

  I accelerated the Porsche through its gears as we climbed over the hill and out of Jones Valley. “Wonder who.”

  “Someone up the food chain a bit. That’s usually how it works, ain’t it?”

  CHAPTER 17

  THURSDAY 6:21 P.M.

  MIRANDA, CLAIRE, T-TOMMY, AND I SAT IN MY LIVING ROOM AND watched the prerecorded broadcast of the interview Claire and Miranda had filmed this afternoon. A tearjerker. Miranda pleaded for Noel to call if she could and if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, for someone, anyone, to call and tell her where she could find her daughter. It was punctuated with several photos of Noel. Powerful stuff.

  It was obvious that watching herself on TV, begging for her daughter’s return, tweaked Miranda. She said she needed to lie down, so I took her to the spare bedroom and closed the door, leaving her to her thoughts.

  Claire and I then settled on the deck with glasses of wine, while T-Tommy made a pot of his famous Bolognese sauce. We asked if we could help, knowing the answer. He shooed us outside.

  Kramden and Norton, my two pet crows, showe
d up, begging for a handout. Not really pets. I had rescued them from a nest after their mother disappeared and nursed them to health. Once they could fly, I turned them loose. Now they roamed all over the city but still showed up on a daily basis. Often bringing me shiny presents—bits of metal, rings, pens, anything they could steal or scavenge. Mostly they came for food. And to annoy me. I dumped a handful of corn from the bag of kernels I kept in the kitchen into a bowl, took it out into the yard, and let them fight over it.

  “What do you think?” Claire asked when I sat down across from her. “About Noel?”

  “I think it won’t be pretty.” I took a sip of wine and looked out over the valley. The setting sun painted the streaky clouds near the horizon a deep orange. They looked like torn streamers. A squadron of chimney swifts performed aerobatic maneuvers as they fed on an invisible cloud of bugs, their wings catching the fading rays of the sun. “Seems like it’s always that way.”

  We sat quietly, each of us inside our own thoughts. That was one of the many things I loved about Claire. We didn’t need to talk or entertain each other. We just couldn’t share the same roof. We learned that, survived it, and moved on. Right now I liked where we were. I knew she did, too.

  I thought about Noel. Maybe she did simply run off. Atlanta. New Orleans. The West Coast. Without taking her stuff? Didn’t settle well. I pictured her raped, tortured, murdered, and stuffed into a car trunk or tossed into a ditch. Or being held in a secluded dungeon by some drooling psychopath. Sometimes I hated how I knew so much about the bad guys. About what they could do. The thought that we might never find her did a couple of laps in my head, too. Like my sister, Jill.

  We never found her. I pictured the parking lot where a single shoe and her purse, the flotsam of her abduction, laid on the rain-slicked asphalt. I pictured my parents slowly dying before a drunk slammed into their car, taking them both. I pictured Miranda descending into that same desperate spiral that nearly choked the life out of me. The only thing worse than knowing was not knowing.

  T-Tommy gave us a five-minute warning, so I woke up Miranda and opened two bottles of Biale Black Chicken Zin. When we gathered at the deck table, T-Tommy served up plates, and I poured wine. The food was great, and the wine helped lighten the mood. Soon even Miranda was laughing. But the black cloud of Noel was never far away, and inevitably the talk turned to her.