Lynne Heitman - First Class Killing

I scrolled down, getting more excited with each page. By the time I reached the end, I was downright gleeful, primarily because it took so long to get there. There were more than thirteen hundred names in this file.

I picked up the phone and dialed Harvey.

“It’s me,” I said when he picked up. “I’m back, and I know how we’re going to get her.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been going about this all wrong, Harvey. I know how we’re going to get Angel.”

“How?”

“Angel has a big problem, and I’m going to be her solution.”

HARVEY ’S HOUSE INBROOKLINE WAS LIKE THE suits he wore-formal for the rest of the world but comfortable for him. Also like his suits, if you looked closely, you could see the seams coming apart or the creases fraying from too much wear.

We were in his office, which was the only room in which I ever felt comfortable. That wasn’t because it was so cozy. Harvey ’s office was like an elegant reading room in a venerable old library-darkly paneled, highly burnished, and plush with an overstuffed wingback chair, a thickly upholstered couch, and a deep burgundy and blue rug. I always had the urge to whisper there. But I liked it better than his kitchen or his bath or bedroom, because that’s where he kept all the trappings of his illness-pill bottles, heating pads, and walking aids-that he didn’t want anyone to see.

The only personal item he seemed to want anyone to see was the lovingly framed picture in his office of the dark-eyed woman with the luxurious auburn hair. She sat on his desk with a sweet smile, looking like the loving wife who would come through the door any minute to fix his favorite dinner and tend to him in his illness.

She wouldn’t.

It was a picture of his ex-wife, Rachel, and though he might have thought of her often, he talked about her rarely. It took him a long time before he would tell me their story.

He’d met her years before when he traveled to Boston on an insurance fraud case. Rachel was his contact at the insurance company. He fell in love, they married, and she dumped him seven years later, because, he insisted, he snored and enjoyedDiagnosis Murder. She had moved out, leaving him in the duplex in Brookline they had shared. When I asked why he didn’t go home to his people, especially since he was bound to need more help at some point, he said he couldn’t bear to leave the city, the neighborhood, the very house where he’d passed his happiest years. But I knew the real reason he stayed. Rachel lived nearby, and on a good day, he caught a glimpse of her. On a very good day, he saw her without her new husband.

“This list is extraordinary.” He leaned back in his executive swivel chair. I had printed out a hard copy of the master list from LA and laid it out for him on his big desk. Even with a small font, it made for a thick stack of pages. “All of these men are patrons of prostitutes? Is that what you believe?”

“Patrons or potentials. According to the column headings, they’re either clients of Angel’s or clients and potential clients of the LA crew. Look, there are even notes showing which of Angel’s clients have already been converted.”

“Where did you get this?”

“The party was put on by the LA women. They were taking names at the door on a computer. It must have been one of theirs, because the lists were in it.”

“It is fascinating, but what value to us and the case? I know I need not remind you that these clients are no doubt passengers and therefore-”

“Off limits. No, you need not. I have a different idea. I want to use Angel’s adversity to our advantage.” I was pacing around Harvey ’s furniture, trying to burn off the nervous energy that comes from the birth of a bright new idea.

“How?”

“Angel was not at that party last night to expand her horizons. She was there protecting her interests. She wasn’t there to recruit. She was there to scope out the competition.”

“Please do not suggest to me that you want to open a new front on this investigation.”

“No, I want to finish this one. What I learned last night was that Angel has a business problem.”

“It would seem so.”

“People with business problems need business strategies to solve them.”

“Ideally.”

“Where do you get a strategy if you can’t think one up yourself?”

“Consultants.”

“Exactly.” I stopped and presented myself for inspection. “You’re looking at Angel’s new management consultant.”

“Oh.” He leaned all the way back in his chair. “Oh, my.”

I never seemed to get the reactions I expected from Harvey. This idea had rejuvenated my confidence about the case, but he seemed intent on being ambivalent. I came around the couch and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “That’s how I’ll get close to her. I’ll pitch myself as someone who can help save her business, and I’ll use these names as a teaser. She’ll want those names, Harvey.”

“Dare I ask, what do you know about her business?”

“All businesses are the same when it comes down to it. She’s losing market share to a start-up that is offering promotional rates and discount services to undercut her pricing structure. A problem,” it occurred to me, “not unlike one of the many currently roiling the airlines. That’s how I thought of my strategy.”

“You have a strategy?”

“A frequent fucker program.”

“Excuse me?”

“A frequent fucker program. That’s the solution to Angel’s problems and to ours. It will revolutionize her business.”

“I thought our goal was to destroy her business.”

“Yeah…well, it is. But I have to make her think I’m helping her. I’m a consultant. I have to come up with a strategy, which I have. I just need your help in fleshing out some of the details. I was hoping we could brainstorm. Also, we need to put it in a PowerPoint package so I can present it to her.”

“Oh, my word, you must be joking.”

“Let me explain it to you before you reject it outright. Angel needs a way to retain her women, especially the top earners, and a way to keep her clients loyal to her. The frequent fucker program solves both problems at once.”

“Could we perhaps refer to it as something else?”

“Okay, the FFP. We create a loyalty program with tiers, just like the airlines. Clients will earn points in the program by buying services. The more they buy, the more points they earn. The more points they earn, the more hooked in they are to the provider of those services. It’s like crack. Once you start, you’re in.”

“What are the points for?”

“Free stuff. Prizes. Same as any other program.”

“What sorts of prizes did you have in mind?”

“What do you think? Providers of air service offer free trips. Providers of sexual services offer free f-”

“What would keep the women in LA from just copying it?”

“That’s the genius of this plan, if I do say so myself. Angel has something they don’t have: history.”

“History?”

“She has records of all her clients’ activity to date. She can award points and status retroactively based on prior transactions. She’ll lock in the current customers so they won’t leave, and she might get back some who have left her. She can throw up a limited-time offer. Come back within the week, and get credit for all your prior activity. I love this plan.”

“The LA group could create history, could they not?”

“It’s not the same. Harvey, you have no idea how much people like the concept of a loyalty program. It’s like Dan said: don’t fuck with market forces. Use them.”

“This was Dan’s idea?”

“Sort of. He started me thinking about it.”