Lisa Scottoline - Dirty Blonde

“This man has a criminal record, Your Honor. Ag assault, extortion, attempted rape. He’s a thug, a knucklehead.”

“Stop it!” Disgusted, Cate rushed to the VCR, then froze. On the screen, the man turned to the camera and winked. He had dark hair and dark eyes. It was the man from last night, at the pink motel. The dead man. Jim Partridge. Elvis .

Russo started laughing as Cate pounded the POWER button. The TV screen went black.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Cate demanded, horrified.

“You might answer that same question, Your Honor. See, yesterday, after you took my future away, I had to go back to work. I was on duty last night. I caught this case. Some poor slob fell offa balcony. They’re not sure if it’s a homicide. So I go check it out.”

Oh my God.

“I found the videocamera in the closet, next to the bed, but I guess you knew that. The motel owner was in business with your young boyfriend, making amateur videos, but I guess you knew that, too. They sold quite a few. Is that your gig? Did you take a cut, Your Honor?” Russo grew angry, and Cate backed away toward the front door.

“Get out of my house!”

“You gonna tell me you didn’t know about that, Judge? That you’re not in on it? What, do you take a piece ?” Russo sneered. “Oh, I wish you could see your face right now! Maybe you didn’t know. Is that it? Why’d you throw all that money at him? Was he blackmailing you? What’d he have on you? Did he have a tape on you, already?”

“Get out!” Cate shouted, opening the front door and grabbing her cell phone from the table. “Get out or I’ll call the cops.”

“You saw what-correction, who -Mr. Partridge did the night before last, and you know what he did last night. You’re next on the tape, but you don’t get laid like the other girls. Why not, Your Honor?” Russo headed for the door, grinning. “I’ll go, I don’t want you callin’ the po -lice. But answer me this, what’s a federal judge like you doing in a place like that? What ? Paying off a thug, for what? You tell me. You, so high and mighty, who sits in judgment of me and my friend!”

“Get out or I’ll scream!” Cate yelled, and Russo burst into laughter, his dark eyes flashing with a reckless glint she hadn’t seen before, or in court.

“Admit it was you. It was you on that porn tape.” Russo leaned over and drilled a finger between her breasts, and Cate smacked his hand away.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Admit it. It’s you. You’re a crook.”

“GET OUT!” Cate shoved him out the door, and Russo let himself be pushed, but stopped on the threshold, so close she could feel his spit on her face.

“I know what a phony you are. What a hypocrite you are. I’m gonna find out what he had on you, Your Honor. And what you had to do with his accident !”

Cate slammed the door, swallowing her scream. Then she closed all the curtains in her living room and rushed back to the TV.

She had to see that tape.

Cate pressed the ON button on the remote, her fingers trembling, and the TV came back on. The naked couple were having sex, and she fast-forwarded through it with disgust, then slowed to a stop. They were still having sex, so she sped it up again, then stopped. The date on the bottom of the screen had changed to yesterday’s date. She sank into one of the chairs to watch and pressed PLAY.

The TV screen showed a man whose face was too close to be in focus, but he didn’t look like Partridge. He appeared to be fiddling with the louvered slats on a door, permitting the camera lens to peek out.

There had been a closet next to the bed.

Then he passed in front of the lens, a short shadow, and the scene showed an empty bed. Cate pressed REWIND and watched again, confirming what she had seen. The man must have come in to turn on the camera. Maybe while she’d been waiting in her car, the motel owner had run upstairs. No . Partridge had called him from his car, alerting him that he was coming ahead, with a girl.

Ugh.

Cate returned to the TV screen. The slats from the louvers on the top and bottom made a black border, giving the impression of peeking through a keyhole, spying on an empty bed. She didn’t even want to think about how many women had been on tape without knowing. She could have been one. As Gina would have said, serves you right.

Cate checked the bottom of the screen. The time read 10:05, in white numbers. She thought a minute. That would be about when she and Partridge got to the room.

Against the door.

Cate remembered her own words, sickened now by them. He had wanted to have sex on the bed, and now she knew why. In the end he’d given up on the bed and acceded to her request; he wanted the play more than the tape. Or maybe he figured he’d get her there, sooner or later. Next she heard voices on the tape, indistinct but sounding like a man and a woman. Cate played it back with the volume higher, to try to make out the words, but she couldn’t.

On TV, the scene showed the empty bed, with talking in the background interspersed with silences. She figured they were kissing at the door in the hallway, out of the shot. Then she heard the word wait distinctly. She rewound to make sure. “Wait!” Cate heard herself say it, unclear, but she knew it was her. She must have been struggling with the Tiffany bracelet, trying to get it off at this point.

Then she heard her voice louder, but she couldn’t understand what she’d been saying. It must have been when he’d been walking her backwards toward the bed. He’d wanted to get her in camera range, but she’d been fussing with the bracelet. Then Partridge walked backwards into the TV picture, his back to the camera, and fell onto the bed, throwing up his arms. The view was upside down, with the top of Partridge’s head to the camera and his legs stretched out on the bed, hanging over it at the knee.

Cate rewound to watch it again and hear what he’d said. He was laughing, and she caught “Damn” and then “Hurry!” Suddenly he sat bolt upright, and Cate knew he must have been listening to her say she wasn’t staying.

She watched herself walk into the frame-almost. She recognized her legs and the black Blahniks she’d worn yesterday, and the edge of her trench coat showed. In the next second she stepped closer, and the following frames showed her upper body in her raincoat, a flash of white silk blouse, and then her chin. But no more of her face.

Cate held her breath, then exhaled in relief. She had stopped there in the motel room, just out of camera range. She hadn’t walked far enough into the room to get her whole face. Thank God! Still her gut tensed, watching. She knew what would happen next. On the TV screen, Partridge was still sitting up with his back to the camera, and Cate could see her hand offer him a wad of bills, which he slapped aside, sending the cash flying. Next came words, indistinct until he shouted, “You can’t pay me!”

Cate played it again, and it came through almost understandably. Had he said that? She couldn’t remember.

On the TV, Partridge leapt off the bed and ran out of frame. He was coming after her. He’d shoved her against the door now. She tried not to think about his rough hand or the raw terror she felt. Then the screen went still, and there was a shot of the empty bed again, the bedcovers wrinkled slightly.

Cate watched the bottom of the screen. 10:13, 10:14, 10:15. Partridge would have been outside on the balcony now.

Cate edged forward in the seat. She didn’t know when he’d fallen. The tape could tell her something about his death. She watched, engrossed, the empty bed, and then Partridge came back into the room, staggering slightly. He stopped, faced the camera, then gave it the finger and burst into laughter. Then he fell face forward on the bed.