Philip Margolin - Capitol murder

“What was your impression?”

“She was smart, nice.” Cindy shrugged. “We really didn’t talk much. This guy kept us busy.”

“Give me the name of the woman who hooked you up with Dorothy Crispin, and I’ll delete the photo and forget we ever met.”

Cindy hesitated.

“I’m just going to talk to her, Cindy. I might not even use her name,” Dana lied.

“Elsie Teller. She lives in a condo in the Pearl.”

“Condos in the Pearl are pricey. She must do okay.”

“She has family money.”

“Then why work as an escort?”

“Elsie likes to live on the edge.”

“And you?”

Cindy blushed and broke eye contact. “I’m not smart like Elsie or Dorothy.” She ran her hands down her body. “This is all I’ve got to work with.” She looked up and embarrassment was replaced by determination. “And I do okay with what I’ve got.”

E lsie Teller lived in the Pearl, a former warehouse district that had been redeveloped into an upscale section of Portland populated by people with enough money to afford the restaurants, art galleries, and six- to seven-figure condominiums that had sprung up overnight. When the door to Teller’s apartment opened, Dana was expecting to see another glamorous version of Cindy Crawford, but Teller looked like hell. She was barefoot and dressed in a faded Stanford sweatshirt and a pair of equally faded jeans. Her hair looked as though she’d run a comb through it haphazardly without looking in the mirror, she wasn’t wearing makeup, and there were dark circles under red-rimmed eyes.

Teller stood aside and ushered Dana into the living room of a spacious corner apartment. While she waited for Teller to close the door behind her, the investigator admired Teller’s breathtaking view of the city. Then she studied the apartment. The modern decor looked like something conceived after much thought by an interior decorator who had been told that money was no object. Either the escort business paid really well, or Cindy had hit the nail on the head when she said that Teller’s family was wealthy. Colorful abstract oils hung on stark white walls, glass-topped coffee and end tables stood before or next to furniture upholstered in soft pastels. It wasn’t Dana’s taste, but she knew enough to know that the apartment was decorated in very good taste.

“Francine said you wanted to talk about Dotty,” Teller said. Dana guessed that Francine was Cindy’s real name and deduced that Teller was too upset to care about call girl protocol.

“I do. I met Dotty. We talked for some time. She seemed like a good person.” Dana paused. “I also discovered her body.”

Tears welled up in Teller’s eyes, and she wiped them on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Was it bad? Did she suffer?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Please.”

“You’ll get this from the papers eventually. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. She would have suffered.”

Teller threw her head back and wailed. Dana helped her to a sofa and held her while she bawled. It took a lot to touch Dana, but Teller was doing it. She wished there was some way she could absorb Teller’s pain.

“I’m sorry,” Teller said when she could finally speak.

“No need to apologize.”

Teller stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

Dana watched her disappear around a corner. When she came back, she looked as though she had splashed water on her face, and there was a telltale trace of white powder under her nose.

“You two were close?” Dana asked when Teller settled back on the sofa.

“I loved her,” Teller answered defiantly.

“I’m so sorry.”

Teller seemed to have run out of words. She looked around for a moment. Then her eyes came to rest on the wet bar.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, fighting her sorrow by morphing into the role of host.

“I’m fine, but feel free,” Dana answered.

Teller opened a liquor cabinet and poured a healthy glass of very good scotch.

“Why are you here?” she asked when she was seated.

“Have you followed the news stories about Senator Carson’s disappearance and reappearance?”

“That pathetic pig!” Teller answered vehemently.

“You know Carson?”

“Dotty did. She used to tell me what she did with him.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dana said. “Dorothy Crispin knew Senator Carson in a professional capacity?”

Teller laughed harshly. “Jesus, you can say that again. He hired her to fuck him, only that’s not what they did, according to Dotty.”

“I’ve heard that Carson had odd sexual needs.”

“If I tell you things, I want a promise that my name won’t be mentioned and you’ll try to keep Dotty’s name out of it. It would kill her folks if they learned she was hooking and she was a lesbian.”

“I’ll try to keep Dotty’s identity hidden, but I won’t promise I won’t write about the senator’s sexual habits.”

“ ‘Sexual habits.’ ” Teller laughed harshly. “The senator begged to be treated like a slave, a dog. He was into leashes, obedience training.” Teller shook her head and laughed again. “Can you believe, the same guy that’s deciding our nation’s fate likes being told to roll over and sit up and beg?”

Dana listened to a detailed description of Dorothy Crispin’s sessions with the senator. She felt queasy by the time Teller finished.

“Is there any way you can prove anything you’ve told me?” Dana asked.

“There might be. Dotty never met a date at her apartment. Executive Escorts owns a condo a few blocks from here where we meet tricks who have special needs. There are hidden cameras in all the rooms.”

“For blackmail?” Dana asked.

“No, Executive doesn’t go in for that. It makes too much money playing it straight. If it ever got out that we were blackmailing our clients, no one would use us.”

“Then why the record?”

“Protection. If a john doesn’t want to pay or gets angry and threatens to go to the cops, one look at the way he looks in a hood and dog collar is usually enough to dampen his enthusiasm.”

“And there’s a record of Senator Carson’s sessions with Dorothy?”

“Definitely, only I don’t know where it is. The equipment was voice-activated. As soon as anyone entered the apartment, the camera and sound equipment would turn on, but Dorothy had no idea where it was. Neither did I. On the occasions I used the place, I always left with the customer. I’m sure someone got the tape or DVD or whatever they use, but I never saw it, and I don’t know where they’re kept.”

“If you never saw the equipment, how do you know it was there?”

“We were told about it. We were also instructed to make sure the john was facing in a certain direction in each room so his face would show up on camera.”

“I would love to get my hands on the recording of Carson’s session.”

“I can’t help you.”

“And there’s no other way you can think of to prove he had a professional relationship with Dorothy?”

“I’m not testifying or talking to the cops, if that’s what you mean.”

“Without the tape or DVD, your tale of what Dorothy told you would be inadmissible hearsay.”

“A professional call girl wouldn’t make much of a witness, anyway,” Teller said with another humorless laugh.

Dana talked with Teller a little longer. Then she told her again how sorry she was about Crispin. Teller nodded. Dana guessed that she was too choked up to speak.

The next morning, Dana called Brad at work.

“I’ve found a link between Jessica Koshani and Dorothy Crispin,” Dana said as soon as Brad took her call. “Koshani is rumored to be the owner of Executive Escorts, an upscale call-girl service. Dorothy Crispin was a law student, but she was also a prostitute who turned tricks for Executive.”