William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

“Of course I do. I was with her when she got it. I was against the whole idea. Suzie’s only been on the streets about six months. I’ve been sort of her—well, I dunno, sort of her mother, I guess. I think tattoos are gross, but she’d met this guy, and he was a butterfly freak, and she thought—”

“The tattoo was a butterfly?”

“Oh, yeah. With lots of roses and stuff all over it. This John told her he loved her and he was coming back for her, and she believed him. When he didn’t come back, she was all torn up. And she was stuck with the tattoo.”

“Can you tell me…what part of the body she had tattooed?”

“What are you, some kind of tattoo freak?”

“No…I’m just trying to make a positive ID.”

Trixie’s face turned ashen. “Oh, my God. She’s not… She isn’t—”

“I’m not sure.”

Trixie’s lips did not move for a long time, as if she could not bring herself to speak the words that might clinch the identification. “It was on her boob. This one, I think.” She touched her left side.

Tomlinson reached out to her. “I’m sorry….

“Oh… no !” Trixie bit down on her fist. “Oh, God! I should have been there.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is! I promised her! I promised I’d take care of her! I promised all of them!”

“All of them?”

“Oh, my God.” She kept repeating the words, over and over. “First it was Angel. Then Suzie and Barbara. They say Bobbie Rae disappeared a few nights ago. That means I’m the last one.”

Tomlinson was puzzled. “The last—what?”

“Don’t you see? This can’t be just a coincidence. One, even two of them—maybe. But not all. Not every one.”

Tomlinson grabbed her by the shoulders. “Trixie, please calm down. You’re not making any sense. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

She swallowed deep gulps of air. Her face seemed to go a million ways at once. “They’re killing us all.”

“Us all? Who? What do you have in common?”

She looked at him blankly. “The Kindergarten Club.”

A sudden shout erupted from an open window in the building across the street. Tomlinson couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was distinctly angry.

“Damn,” Trixie muttered. “I’m in trouble now.”

“What?” Tomlinson asked. “Who is that man?”

“That’s my…boss.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s pissed because I’ve been standing here talking to a potential John for ten minutes, and we’re still out on the street talking. As far as he’s concerned, that’s long enough to turn the trick and be back on the street waiting for the next one. Look, you need to get out of here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You have to.”

“Trixie, if you’re right, and someone is systematically killing people, and you’re the only one left, you’re in tremendous danger.”

“If Sonny gets mad at me, he’ll beat the shit out of me. Which is worse?” The tough facade melted away; a sad, pleading tone permeated her voice. “Please leave.”

“I could arrest you.”

“Sonny would have me out in two hours. And then he’d really beat the shit out of me.”

“Fine. Then I’ll, uh, hire you. Let’s go upstairs.”

“We charge thirty dollars, minimum. That’s for just the basic service. Have you got that much on you?”

Tomlinson checked his wallet, embarrassed. “No.”

“Then Sonny would beat the shit out of you.”

Tomlinson stepped back and glared at the angry man across the street. Frustration seethed from his pores. “Trixie, I have to talk to you.”

“Then come back tomorrow, when I have some time off. I have to work till morning, then I crash till the sun sets. Meet me at nine.”

“Where?”

She pointed to a Denny’s across the street. “There. We’ll eat, we’ll talk.” She winked. “You’ll buy.”

Tomlinson bit down on his lip. He didn’t like this arrangement at all, but it seemed to be the only solution. “Promise you’ll be there?”

“Promise. Now clear out. You’re blocking the window display.”

Tomlinson slowly backed away. He found his car, then parked near a corner across the street from Trixie’s post. He watched her for some time, maybe half an hour, until a tall man in a green flak jacket approached. She linked her arm through his and led him inside the building behind her. Half a minute later, a light came on in a small room on the second floor.

Tomlinson threw his car into first and drove away, disgusted and sick. Sick to his stomach, sick in his heart.

He’d have to get someone to cover for him on the switchboard tomorrow night, but he would definitely be here at nine.

In fact, he would be early.

27

BEN WAS SITTING AT his desk trying to make his computer do something—anything—when Christina popped her head into the office.

“Shouldn’t you be in the main conference room for the staff meeting?”

Ben put down the mouse, irritated. “No. Staff meeting was canceled.”

“Staff meeting was postponed , while Crichton visited his doctors again about his back. The meeting starts at ten o’clock sharp.”

Ben checked his watch, then jumped out of his chair. “Hokey smokes. How did you find out?”

“I try to stay au courant . After all, one of us has to, and you’re usually busy playing Sam Spade.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Christina. I’m out of here.”

“Bon voyage . ”

Ben raced out of his office, down the corridor, and through the main conference room. Fortunately, he had some time to spare; the other lawyers (sans Crichton) were still milling about.

“Hey, Kincaid,” Herb said. “Glad you could make it. We were beginning to think you were going to stand Crichton up. Boy, would he have been ticked off.”

“I didn’t know we were meeting.”

“Really?” Rob said. “Herb sent us all memos.”

Herb’s brow furrowed. “That’s right—I sent one to every lawyer in the department. Gosh, Ben, I don’t know why you didn’t get one.”

Ben wondered.

“Ben, you have anything you want to take out of staff notes?” Chuck was standing behind him, holding another of his agendas. “We’re trying to streamline the meeting.”

“If you really want to streamline the meeting,” Ben said, “teach Crichton how to pour his own coffee.”

A smile played on Candice’s lips. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially if he doesn’t want to learn.”

“I wonder what he would do…” Ben picked up the coffeepot on the credenza and filled the empty mug in front of Crichton’s chair. “This may spoil his fun.”

“By the way, Kincaid, I understand you were at Howard Hamel’s house yesterday.” It was Doug Gleason, perched safely behind his computer. “What on earth were you doing?”

“I was…helping the police search for information that might tell us what happened to Howard.”

“Indeed. That’s a novel approach. Make the prime suspect the detective.”

“I am not a suspect.” At least not officially, Ben thought. Yet.

Doug inhaled deeply on his cigarillo. “Well, if Howard had been found in my office, I bet the police would’ve had a few questions for me. Guess it pays to have friends in high places.”

“What are you insinuating, Doug?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“How the hell did you find out I was at Hamel’s house, anyway?”

He blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. “A little birdie told me.”

“You know, Gleason,” Candice said, “you are really an obnoxious twerp. I don’t even like Kincaid, but I still think you’re being a butthole.”