Wrinkles formed across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes narrowed, and her right hand, which had moved to her chest, trembled ever so slightly. Nick felt certain that Ellen knew who had died the moment she heard it was a woman, and the woman had her business card.
Nick took the photograph from inside the pages of his notebook but held onto it. Al stood. Ellen stopped talking.
“I have a photograph of the woman I’d like you to look at. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, we’ll understand and try to identify her a different way.”
There was no protocol for telling someone about a death. There were no words that worked better than others. In fact, the old timers just said it straight out. They got it over with fast and waited out whatever happened afterwards until they could get back to business. Nick never got the hang of it, though. It was one of the worst parts of the job. He’d rather have a tooth pulled.
Ellen reached out and snatched the photograph from Nick. Her hand was openly shaking.
“Sister.” She started crying.
Ah shit, Nick thought. Then, after a few seconds he said, “Is there someone we can call?”
Ellen held out the hand with the photo, covered her mouth with the other, shook her head, and said, “No other family. Just us.” The last of it was almost impossible to make out.
Nick took the photograph from her and motioned Al towards the door with his head, but his partner looked at him without comprehension. Finally he wrote, “The lady across the street” in his notebook and showed it to him. Al headed for the door.
After more tears, Ellen asked, “How did she …I mean, what happened?”
“We’re not exactly sure yet.”
She stood with a hand still covering her nose and mouth, her eyes squeezed tight, head down, and crying. Nick got up and faced her, not sure what to do or even if he should do anything. Finally, he reached out and awkwardly put a hand on one of her arms, just above the elbow. She walked into him. He stood there for just a second, the one hand still on her arm and the other down at his side, before putting both his arms around her. She moved her hands around the small of his back and buried her face on his shoulder. Her sobs shook him. He felt sorry for her but he also felt very, very out of place. Cops don’t hug witnesses, at least this cop didn’t.
Nick thought about how easy this job was as long as you kept your emotions at arm’s length. Not that long ago he had been standing over the body of a dead woman and had little emotional response. He noted the bruising on her throat, the evidence of her struggle for survival, and the artifacts of her life as things to be later recalled in a clinical, monotone fashion on the witness stand. Holding the victim’s sister, though, while she cried over the loss of someone she loved, changed things. It was as if he’d been touched by the victim’s blood.
“Was it an accident? Drugs? Do you know anything?” she asked after a few seconds and between sucked breaths.
“It looks like someone killed her.”
She put her hands against his chest and pushed away. Staring into his face, she saw a strong, broad jaw, light brown hair smoothed into place with his hands, and a pair of sad, pale blue eyes looking back at her.
He dropped his hands to his side, and felt at a loss of what to do with them. He slipped one into his front pants pocket and immediately felt awkward about that, too, so took it out again.
“Someone killed her, why?”
“We don’t know yet, but we will.” He wondered what was taking his partner so long. Close and personal was not his thing. And why’d he make a promise he may not be able to keep?
“Was it Carl? Did he do it?” Her voice rose as she said the words.
Now Nick took a step back. He was on comfortable ground again.
“Whoa, Carl, who’s Carl?”
“He’s some guy at the club where she works …dances. I was trying to get her away from there. I wanted her to work here with me. I went there to talk to her about it, and he was with her. He told me to get out. I left but came back and listened to them talking. I couldn’t hear all of it but enough to know he had her doing something other than just dancing, something that was probably illegal. He asked her if she had told me about whatever she was doing. He said people wouldn’t be happy if she had. It scared me, for her. That’s all I heard.”
As she talked, Ellen kept sniffing, making it a little hard to understand.
“Do you know Carl’s last name?”
“No, but he works there.”
“Works where? What’s the name of this place?”
“The Rack or something like that.”
“I know the place. We’ll check it out. It shouldn’t be hard to figure out who he is.”
“I don’t want you to think …her working in a place like that …the kind of person she is, was ….” Ellen’s voice broke and she was crying again. After a couple of seconds, “She was a good person.” More crying.
Nick heard the front door open and saw his partner holding the elbow of the woman from across the street. The older woman crossed immediately to Ellen and put her arms around her.
About time, Nick thought to himself.
“Aloysius told me. I’m so sorry, Ellen.”
“It’s Al.” Al looked at Nick and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s terrible. She was so young,” the woman said.
The two women held each other for a while and then Nick said, “I know this is a bad time, but just a few more questions. We’ll save the rest until later. Where does your sister live?”
“I have the address written down. I don’t know it by heart. I only went there once. She has a boyfriend who made it hard for me to visit. That’s someone else you ought to talk to.”
“What’s his name?” Al asked.
“Frank Fontaine. He’s about Molly’s age.”
“That’s your sister’s name, Molly Banks?”
“Yes. We’re really half sisters, though. My mom remarried after my father died. Her second husband’s name is Banks. He adopted me when I was nine. Molly came a year later. Mom died a couple of years ago. I don’t know where he lives. We weren’t that close, and I, well, moved away.” Ellen swallowed a couple of gulps of air. “I should have stayed and maybe this would never have happened.” She was crying again.
“Here, let’s sit down, dear,” her neighbor said as they moved to the couch.
They spent another fifteen minutes gathering information from Ellen, and then started to leave. As they were headed towards the door Ellen asked, “Mikolaj, I guess I need to make arrangements, who do I call?”
He took out a business card and wrote his cell number on it. “Let me look into that for you. Here’s my number if you have any questions.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Rack was in county jurisdiction where city sidewalks passed over to vaguely defined right of way, graveled and pocked in their lieu. The joint itself was square and squat and cinderblock drab, with double steel doors dead center front that, when opened, cast a soft red light and wailed lustful.
In its past life, the place first served rough dressed men who stomped fertile valley dust from worn out boots and hefted heavy sacks onto flat-back Fords, while talking weather and yield. Then later, after the tracts of prunes, and apricots, and tomatoes, and corn were plowed away, only to be replaced with tracts of a different sort, it became a paint store. And now it was a place where soft handed men, who lived prescribed, orderly, virtual lives, came to push the limits of reality and feel the raw edginess of life up close.
Just inside the front door was a foyer gated with a yellow plastic chain and guarded by a black shirted man with a four inch ponytail, a big sterling silver ring on one of his fingers, and a hoop earring.
“You here for a look or another reason?” the man asked. “You cops are always coming round for a free one.”
“Who says were the police?” Al asked.
“I marked you for cops before you even got in the door.”
“Now how exactly woul
d you manage that Sonny Boy?”
“Cameras,” he said pointing to a monitor facing away from Nick and Al. “Anytime two guys dressed like you drive up in a four door Crown Vic, it’s the cops.”
“My, my,” said Al. “Aren’t we the clever lad?”
Nick broke in, “Look, let’s just cut the crap, so you know we’re cops, great. We’re here to talk with Carl. Is Carl working tonight?”
“Maybe, what’s his last name?”
“Sonny,” Al said stepping closer, looming, “if you want us to call a couple of prowl cars over here and stand everyone in this place up against the wall, just keep on screwing around. If Carl’s here, go get him. We’ll decide if he’s the right one or not.”
Al looked over at Nick and smiled.
“Okay, okay, no need to go SWAT on me. You two just hang tight and I’ll go check to see if we have a Carl here tonight. I’ll be right back.”
“Prowl cars again,” Nick said shaking his head. “How long am I going to have to listen to this?”
“He knew what I was talking about. That just goes to prove how uninformed you are.”
As soon as Sonny Boy was out of sight, Al unhooked the chain and they both stepped through to the main room which, for a week night, seemed was fairly well seated.
The focus of this room was an eight foot wide, polished wood stage that at the moment was host to a woman in a black G-String who was provoking a brass pole to music drooling from a dozen speakers strategically placed. The stage ran maybe ten or twelve paces from back to front. On both sides of the stage, against the back wall, were fully stocked bars, and along its length were spaced a series of stools, elbow to elbow, where patrons could sit and drink and stare and think themselves to distraction. Around the perimeter of the room, against the walls, was a continuous cushioned, upholstered bench. In front of that were a series of small tables, and on the other side of these were some wooden chairs.
In a separate room, Nick could see at least one pool table that was being used by two men playing a game of eight-ball. But behind that pair were another pair of men, one of whom was none other than Sonny Boy who was in serious and dark conversation with the other, a block headed behemoth, also wearing a black shirt, only this one stretched tight across swollen biceps.
In mid conversation, Sonny Boy looked in their direction and said, “Shit,” though the word was too timidly offered to reach their ears. This caused Mister Blockhead to look as well and greet Nick’s gaze with a decidedly unwelcome expression.
Nick started in their direction, feeling competitive. “I think we found Carl,” he said.
Carl faced around on them and dismissed Sonny Boy with a string of words muttered low. When Nick and Al were yet four of five steps away, Carl said, “What’s the problem?”
“You Carl?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, I’m Carl. So what?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions, starting with your last name.”
The two guys playing pool had stopped and were now looking at them.
Carl glanced in their direction and said, “Beat it,” motioning with his head towards the main room.
The smaller of the two, sporting sideburns on a narrow face said, “Hey, we’re in the middle of a game here.”
Carl just stared.
His partner swept the balls aside with his cue stick, tossed it on the table, grabbed his companion by his shirt sleeve, and walked him into the other room.
As they stepped away, Nick heard the one with the sideburns say, “Why’d you do that?”
“Just shut-up. I’ll buy you a lap dance or something,” his partner replied.
“Nice friendly place you got here,” Al commented.
“Like I said, what’s the problem?”
“And like I said, what’s your last name?” Nick repeated.
Carl hesitated a beat or two in his answer, eventually saying, “Malone.”
“We’re investigating a death.”
There was no change of expression on Carl’s face. Nick was sure at that point that Carl knew what death they were referring to.
“So?”
“So aren’t you wondering who?”
“Okay, I’ll play along, who died?”
Nick decided to string it out to see how he reacted.
“One of your dancers.”
Still no reaction, his eyes held evenly on Nick’s.
“Which one?”
“We’ll get to that. You the owner here?”
“I manage the place. What difference does that make?”
Nick ignored his question. “Where were you last night and early this morning?”
“Last night, I was here until two in the morning. There are plenty of people who saw me. Ask ‘em. After that, I went home and stayed there until I went to the gym about ten or so. Who’s dead?”
“Was anyone with you after you left here?”
“Nope.”
“Call anyone, watch any movies, download any child porn?” Al asked.
“Fuck you.”
Al chuckled.
“You the one who manages the dancers?” Nick asked.
“And orders the booze, and counts the money, and does the books, and sees to it the place is clean at the end of the night, and makes sure we follow all the rules so guys like you don’t pull our license.”
“When did you last see Molly Banks?”
“Misty. The night before last. She danced. She the one?”
“She’s the one, and you seem all broken-up about it.”
“What am I supposed to do, cry? She was an employee. Now I’ll have to replace her. What I do regret is she was a good draw. It’s going to cost me money, at least until I find another one just like her; and there’s always another one.”
The guy with the long sideburns paused near the door and looked in. He moved off.
“She a good employee? Any problems with her?” Nick continued.
“She was a real girl scout. Look, she showed-up on time, danced well, got a lot of tips, sold a lot of booze, that’s about it.”
“Anyone here close to her, as in friendly?”
“Oh yeah, she organized our Wednesday night socials and Friday pot lucks. We’re all real close here. A regular fucking family. …Hey man, they’re strippers. They take their clothes off for a living so these fools,” he nodded towards the main room, “can go home and beat-off. They don’t hang out with one another. They barely get along.”
“She ever complain about anyone bothering her, especially in the last few days?”
“She and her boyfriend were always at it. Once she showed-up with some bruises. His name is Fontaine. That’s about all I know.”
Nick wondered why, after all the smartass remarks and evasive answers, Carl would give up Frank Fontaine so quickly?
“I need a list of everyone who works for you and the names of anyone who worked last night,” Nick said.
“I have it in the office. I’ll get it for you.”
Carl started to walk off.
“We’ll go with you.”
“You got a search warrant?”
“No, you got something you don’t want us to search for?” Al asked.
“No, but you still don’t have my permission to search.”
“You sound like you’ve done this before”, Al said.
“You cops are always screwing with people.”
They followed Carl to a small room with a solid, locked door.
“If you’re not the owner, who is?” Nick asked.
“A guy named Ramon Forney.”
“How do we get a hold of him?”
“The phone book.”
As Carl was copying a list of employees and their schedule, Nick asked, “Do you know what Molly Banks was doing last night?”
“What she does on her own time is her business.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you know what she was doing last night or who she was with?”
“No. That’s an answe
r for you.”
“Did she ever meet with any of your customers after work or on her days off?”
Nick framed the question without suggesting Carl was involved in any of Molly’s liaisons in the hope that it would make it easier to answer.
“What are you asking? Was she hooking?”
“Look, we’re not vice, and we’re not trying to make anyone on a prostitution beef. We’re investigating a death. We want the name of the person she was with last night, got it? And we have reason to think you may know who that is.”
Nick watched Carl’s face harden.
“Yeah, says who?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just answer the question. Who was she with?”
“I already told you, I don’t know and if someone says different they’re lying.”
He handed the work schedule and list of employees to Nick.
“Was the guy guarding the door working last night?” Al asked.
Nick looked at the work schedule.
“Yeah, he was here, and he will say that I was here, too,” Carl said.
Nick nodded to Al, and Al left to talk with Sonny Boy.
“Your schedule here shows Molly Banks was supposed to work last night, but there’s a line drawn through her name. How come?”
“She called-in sick.”
“Who’s Nona? The schedule shows that they were both here, at the same time, on the day that Molly last worked.”
“That’s her stage name, Nona Pantz. Her real name is Edna Faulk. It’s on the employee roster.”
“She here?” Nick asked.
“No, she was, but she left.”
Nick spent the next fifteen minutes going over the schedule, making sure he had all the information he needed to find each of the employees, and recording Carl’s own personal information.
Al returned from talking with Sonny Boy and said, “He confirms that Carl was here until closing, which was at two in the morning.”
“Disappointed?” Carl asked.
“I still need Ramon Forney’s address and phone number.”
Carl stared at Nick for a couple of seconds, wrote a phone number and address on a Post-It pad, pulled the page off and handed it over.
Nick put his business card on Carl’s desk but Carl didn’t make a move to pick it up.
Touched By Blood Page 4
