Easy Innocence

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  “Tell me. The fish guts? Was that Derek?”

  Lauren hesitated. Then, “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “After you came to our house, I told him you were causing trouble. We agreed we had to do something.”

  “Why fish guts?”

  “I figured you’d think it was related to the Forest Preserve and the hazing. I wanted to keep the focus off us.”

  “So it was your idea.”

  Lauren kept her mouth shut.

  “Tried to outsmart me, huh?”

  She shrugged.

  “The same way you did with Monica Ramsey.”

  Lauren’s mouth opened. “How did you—”

  “It wasn’t a bad move. You had me going for a while.” And forced me to waste precious time, Georgia thought.

  Lauren tilted her head, as if she wasn’t sure whether to be proud or ashamed. Good. Keep her unbalanced.

  “Let’s get back to Sara.” Georgia polished off the rest of her burger. “Was anything strange going on with her tricks, as far as you know?”

  A sad look came over Lauren.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sara and I were—well—we weren’t close anymore. I still don’t really know why. We used to be best friends. We spent all our time together. But then, I don’t know. We drifted apart.” She looked down. “I had this Uncle Fred, you know? My mother’s brother. When we were younger he used to take us out to dinner. Sara and me.”

  Georgia smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

  Lauren nodded. “Sara liked him a lot. She used to say she’d adopted him as her own uncle. Which made us a special kind of family, she said. But then he had a stroke. And then he died.” Tears rimmed her eyes. “And then Sara did, too.”

  Georgia swallowed. She knew what it was like to feel abandoned. To feel like you’ve been cast adrift, torn from the moorings of people you loved and whom you thought loved you back. She wanted to reach out to her but didn’t. It wasn’t the right time. She waited for Lauren to pull herself together. “You were saying—about Sara?”

  Lauren cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah. Something changed. Over the summer.”

  “Your relationship changed?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know what or why. She just started to get—distant.”

  “This was how long after she’d started turning tricks?”

  “Months. She started in February.”

  “So at least four or five months.” Lauren nodded. “Did Sara ever report any abusive behavior, like the guy with Jasmine tonight?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “Would Derek have known if she had?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I should check the files.”

  “Files?”

  “Derek had me fill out notes on each girl and enter it into a file sharing system. Along with the clients and the girls they went with.”

  “Why?”

  “He said you never knew when it might come in handy.”

  Was Derek setting up a blackmail scheme—just in case? Georgia wouldn’t be surprised. Who were these johns, anyway? What kind of man takes the risk of hooking up with a prostitute he knows is a minor?

  “I do think you should check the files. For now, though, think. Are you sure there wasn’t anything strange going on with Sara?”

  The girl’s brow furrowed. Then she jerked her head up. “You know? There was something. But I don’t know if—it probably doesn’t mean anything.”

  “What?”

  “I got a text message from Derek.”

  “A text message?”

  “On my cell. The day he died. He texted me about a client.”

  “Which client?”

  “One of our regulars. Charlie.”

  “And?”

  “He asked if I’d heard from him recently.” “Who was Charlie?” “He hooked up with Sara all the time.” Georgia sat up. “Any idea why Derek would be asking about him?” “No. But Derek was killed a few hours later.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  DESPITE THE worldliness and sophistication attributed to the North Shore, its residents live in small enclaves and villages. They all walk the same streets and patronize the same shops, which, in effect, makes for a tiny, insular community. Georgia waited for Lauren the following Saturday at one of those shops, the Starbucks in Glencoe.

  Lauren had called that morning to report what she’d found in the website’s files.

  “It isn’t much,” she began. “But I did—”

  “I’d rather we do it in person.” Georgia cut her off.

  “Why? Do you think someone—” Lauren’s voice was tense.

  Georgia didn’t answer directly. “I’m going to need a print-out of what you have, anyway. Why don’t I swing by and pick it up?”

  “Not the house.”

  “Right. How about the Starbucks in town?”

  “Okay.”

  Now Georgia sipped a latte, watching the Saturday morning pulse of village life. Soccer was in high season, and harried parents with kids in tow hurried in and out. The kids wore brightly colored uniforms and socks. Other adults, past the young-children-at-home stage, relaxed over the Trib or the New York Times. Not too many Sun Times up here.

  A few minutes later Lauren came through the door. She was wearing black jeans and a tight gray sweat shirt. But her jeans had rhinestone stitching and her sweatshirt looked like silk. Georgia felt underdressed in her Costco jeans and turtleneck.

  “So what did you find?” Georgia asked when Lauren joined her.

  “Like I said, there wasn’t much.” She threw her bag on the table and extracted a large manila envelope. “Just a bunch of entries for Sara with Charlie. Including her last one.”

  “Her last trick was Charlie?”

  “I think so. It’s the last entry in her file.”

  “What about Charlie? What’s in his file?”

  “Not much.” Lauren gestured to the envelope. “Just when he first signed up.”

  “When was that?”

  “The end of May. After Derek got involved.”

  “Go on.”

  “And how many times he’d used us.”

  “Which was?”

  “Over two dozen.”

  Georgia whistled. “That’s some ‘regular.’”

  “He was one of our best customers.”

  “Do you know who he is or where to get hold of him?”

  Lauren shook her head. “He was Derek’s john.”

  “You have his email?”

  “I have the email he uses to contact us. It’s probably not his real one. Most johns have anonymous or secret emails when they deal with us.”

  “But they check them regularly.”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s nothing in the files that would indicate whether he was a crazy?”

  “Sara wouldn’t have been seeing him if he was,” she said confidently.

  “And you know that because…”

  “Because of what I said before. Most of our johns are just family guys who aren’t getting any at home.”

  “What about the asshole last night?”

  Lauren didn’t reply for a minute. “There is one thing.”

  “What?”

  “In the file, it says he only wanted to see girls who were seventeen.”

  “Really? Why would he do that?”

  “Because seventeen is the age of sexual consent.”

  “Of course.” Georgia shifted. In Illinois a john caught with a minor under seventeen could face statutory rape charges. But if the minor was over seventeen, the penalties were less severe. Which meant that Charlie knew the law. Although that might not be significant. Wouldn’t most professional men check before engaging in this kind of sport?

  Lauren handed the envelope to Georgia. “Look. I answered your questions. Now, I need you to answer mine. Do you think I’m in danger?”

  Georgia stowed the envelope in her lap. “The truth is, I don’t know.” An anxious e
xpression came over Lauren. “But I’m going to do my best to protect you.”

  Lauren threw her a look that said she wasn’t sure her best was good enough.

  Georgia shifted. “So that’s it? From the website?”

  Lauren nodded.

  Georgia was about to ask another question about Charlie when Lauren’s purse started to vibrate.

  “That’s my cell,” Lauren picked up the purse, fished inside, and pulled it out. “Oh.” Relief flooded her face. “It’s just Claire. On the personal line. I’ll call her back.” She put the cell on the table and smiled, then leaned back against her chair. She seemed much more relaxed today.

  Georgia pointed to it. “You have more than one cell?”

  Lauren dug into her bag and pulled out a second phone. “This one’s for business. The other is personal.”

  “Your parents don’t know about the business phone.”

  She slipped the business cell back into her bag and shot Georgia one of those disdainful glares that told Georgia that despite her sophistication, Lauren was still a teenager.

  Georgia sipped her coffee. It was cold. “Lauren, you know how I told you to close everything down on the website?”

  “I—I haven’t had the chance,” she stammered. “But I will. Today.”

  “I’ve been rethinking it. I think we should keep it going for a while.”

  “But—”

  “Not you. Me.”

  “You’re going to run the business?”

  “I want you to give me the passwords and talk me through whatever I need to know.”

  A sly look came over Lauren. “You’re gonna fake Charlie out, aren’t you?”

  Georgia didn’t answer, but Lauren’s expression said her opinion of Georgia had just gone up. “Let me help. I can—”

  Georgia cut her off. “No. You’re out of it. But I will need you to help me delete the whole thing when it’s over.”

  Lauren’s face scrunched into a frown. “At least let me—” Suddenly she stopped and slouched deep in her seat. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  Lauren’s chin jutted toward the door.

  Georgia turned. Andrea Walcher had just walked in and was heading to the counter. She was perfectly dressed in a pair of corduroy slacks and a plum sweater, but her expression was grim. Did the woman ever smile?

  Lauren shot Georgia a panicked look and started to squirm. “Shit on a stick. I’m not supposed to be in the same state as you. What do I do?”

  Georgia sucked in a breath. There was no way to prevent what was coming. “I’ll do what I can,” she said quietly.

  It was another few seconds before Andrea wheeled around and saw Lauren. Her eyes flicked over to Georgia, then narrowed. She was at their table in three angry strides, her body so tense she was almost quivering.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she barked in a voice that carried through the coffee shop.

  Lauren seemed to shrink.

  Andrea glared at her daughter. “How dare you meet with this—this—”

  “Private investigator,” Georgia finished. “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Walcher.” She smiled coldly. “How are you?”

  “Don’t you dare suck up to me.”

  Georgia marveled at the woman’s fury. It took enormous energy to be so hostile. “Mrs. Walcher, your daughter was a friend of Sara Long’s. I’m investigating Sara Long’s murder. Lauren could have valuable information.”

  “My husband’s warning was clear. You are to stay away from us and our daughter. I should call the police right now. I’m quite sure I could have you arrested for stalking, or trespassing or—”

  People from other tables shot curious glances their way. Georgia put on her game face. “Mrs. Walcher, I understand your animosity. And I know you want to protect your daughter. But I have a job to do.”

  Andrea frowned, her behavior seeming to waver for an instant. She faced her daughter. “Did she force you to talk to her? Did she threaten you in any way, baby? Because if she did…” She looked angrily at Georgia.

  The girl looked at Georgia, then her mother. After a pause, she said, “No. She didn’t force me.”

  Georgia felt the knot in her gut loosen a notch.

  “Are you sure?” Andrea’s voice was rich with doubt.

  “I’m sure.”

  Andrea Walcher threw up her hands. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. I come in here to get coffee and I find you cozying up to a sleazy investigator who’s trying to get a murderer off the hook.” She spun to Georgia. “How much are they paying you?”

  Georgia stood up and folded her arms. Protection was one thing. Abuse was another. “Not nearly enough to deal with the likes of you.”

  Rage poured into the woman’s face. “If I ever find out you and my daughter have been in contact again, whether by phone or email or even smoke signals, I’ll have you put in jail. You can count on it.” She turned to her daughter. “Lauren, come with me. Now.”

  A stubborn look came over Lauren. She shook her head.

  Georgia made a quick decision. She wanted the girl to trust her, but she couldn’t insinuate herself into a mother-daughter relationship. Andrea Walcher could cause serious problems. She waved her hand dismissively. “Go ahead. She had nothing to say, anyway.”

  Lauren shot Georgia an uncertain look and stood up. Georgia frowned and lowered her eyes. Meanwhile, Andrea Walcher grabbed her daughter’s arm and steered her toward the door. Lauren looked back as they pushed through. Georgia shook her head.

  Once they exited, Georgia ran a shaky hand over her face. People like Andrea Walcher enjoyed making waves. And there was nothing she could do about it. Andrea’s reactions, and any repercussions from them, were beyond her control. She just hoped the woman had something more important to do with her time. She started to clean off the table, willing herself to stay focused on the case. But as she pitched napkins and cups into the trash, she still felt disturbed, and she realized it wasn’t all because of Andrea Walcher.

  Georgia had dealt with prostitution as a cop. Underage prostitutes, too. But Lauren’s breed was different from the whores she was used to. The hookers she picked up as a cop, whatever their motive—usually money for drugs or their pimps—would avoid looking her in the eye. They might gape at the male cops, even come on to them, but woman to woman, they knew. Despite their tough exteriors, Georgia could see that kernel of guilt.

  Lauren, though, showed no remorse. For her, and Sara too, apparently, prostitution was as legitimate a way to make money as any other. Better, since you raked in so much more. Nonchalant, almost arrogant, they refused to think that prostitution was self-destructive, demeaning, or even dangerous. And for what? To impress their peers—mostly other girls—with designer clothes, purses, toys. It wasn’t just Lauren and Sara, either. Lauren was running other girls. Georgia wiped down the table, with rapid, vigorous strokes. Lauren claimed it was a win-win: the men got laid, the girls got money. Maybe Lauren was right. Maybe she was the only one with a bad taste in her mouth.

  She grabbed her bag off the back of the chair, almost enjoying her anger—it was a good, clean anger, directed outward for a change—when she noticed Lauren’s cell phone on the table. In the commotion, the girl had forgotten it. Georgia picked it up and dropped it into her bag.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  GEORGIA DROVE the few blocks to the Walcher home, planning to leave Lauren’s cell phone in the mailbox. She wasn’t eager for another encounter with either Walcher. She parked on the road at the edge of the stand of evergreens that shielded the house from view. Grabbing the phone, she climbed out of the car and looked around. The houses up here were huge, and many of them had private drives, which meant the mailbox could be hundreds of yards from the house. She checked both ends of the semicircular driveway, but didn’t see it.

  She started to trudge through the trees, enjoying the crisp, snappy scent of pine and juniper. It must have rained overnight, because the ground was soft, and chu
nks of dirt clung to her shoes. She was about to break through the cover of trees when she stopped. A black Jaguar was parked in the driveway, its engine running. A man was in the driver’s seat, and Andrea Walcher was leaning over the driver’s side window.

  Georgia stared at the man behind the wheel. She could only see his profile, but he had curly gray hair, and he was wearing a warm-up jacket. He looked familiar. She ducked behind a tree.

  “I need to talk to you,” Andrea said to the man in the car. “Is everything kosher with the land deal?”

  Georgia saw the man’s head bob up and down.

  “Then why did Fred say it wasn’t?” Andrea’s voice was tense.

  The man cocked his head. Georgia could just make out his reply. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  Andrea straightened up and folded her arms. “Look. I know he was upset about something. But he didn’t have time to get into it before he died. Tom won’t talk to me about it, so I’m asking you what’s going on.”

  His response was so low Georgia had to strain to hear him. “Everything’s fine, Andrea.”

  “Don’t patronize me. He was my brother, Harry.”

  Harry Perl. The real estate developer she’d seen at North Shore Fitness with Tom Walcher and Ricki Feldman.

  “I would never do that.” Suddenly his tone oozed empathy. “It’s just that—well, Tom took care of the details. We’re almost ready to start construction. Things are proceeding nicely.”

  Andrea cut him off. “Then why did Fred say he wanted to go to the authorities?” Her body language spoke anger, but something else was there too. Worry. Maybe a touch of fear.

  The man’s shoulders hunched. “I wasn’t aware of that. Ask your husband.”

  Andrea stared into the car for a moment, then turned on her heel and went inside.

  Perl rolled up his window and pulled away from the house. Georgia waited until the Jag was out of sight. The mailbox was in front of the house just to the right of the goldfish pond. She quietly placed Lauren’s phone inside.