Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

"The usual way. Some of the concierges at the better hotels are in his pocket. He doesn't pay them up front, except maybe with a free sample of the goodies." Baron flashed Amanda a knowing smile, and she wondered how often he'd sampled the goodies. "The real money is in the cut they make on every customer they refer. He has the same deal with the bartenders at the strip clubs.

"Of course, the best advertising is word of mouth, but Jon also runs ads in the singles magazines. You know, 'Spend a night with your fantasy girl.' He runs this disclaimer, 'Legal inquiries only,' but there's a nude or two in the ads in a sexy pose that's worth a thousand words. Most of the time, the customers want to date the girls in the ad. Of course, they're models, a come-on. Dupre has a girl named Ally Bennett working the phones. She diverts them. She's really special. Just listening to her is like getting laid."

"Is she a business partner?"

"Jon doesn't have a partner. And, if he did, it wouldn't be a woman. He has no use for women. He despises them. I'm surprised that he's willing to have a woman represent him."

Amanda smiled but said nothing.

"So what's his relationship with Ally Bennett?"

"She's his go-between. She fields the calls, sends out the girls, and collects the money."

"He must trust her."

Baron shrugged. "As much as he trusts anyone. Ally also handles some of Jon's heavy hitters."

"Like?"

"Now there we're getting into attorney-client confidences. Jon will tell you if he wants to. You'd be surprised at some of the names."

"What's this costing the customer?"

"There's a three-hundred dollar call-out fee just to get the girl to the room. Jon made it high to cut out the penny-ante trade. Once the girl arrives, there's a fee schedule for lap dances or artistic posing. When that's done, the girl will ask about a tip. That's a cue for the customer to spell out what he really wants. That brings another fee schedule into play."

"It sounds like it can get pretty steep."

"It is. I told you, Jon's operation is strictly high-end. There's more money that way and less trouble. The cops are going to think twice before hassling a state senator or a circuit court judge, which means that there's less chance of feeling heat. And, if some crusader does make a bust, what have the cops got? Jon has Ally record all of the incoming calls, and there she is, telling Mr. Judge that Exotic Escort girls don't do the nasty for money."

"What about the girls? They can testify."

"Sure, but they don't. If they're busted, Jon pays the girl's legal fees, and the penalties for prostitution aren't stiff enough so the girls will turn."

"So how did the DA make a case against Dupre?"

"Lori Andrews. She was a single mother and the cops threatened to take her kid away."

"She was murdered, right?"

"Yeah, that was tragic," Baron said without real emotion. "When she didn't show for Jon's trial, the state had to dismiss. Of course, after what happened with Wendell, Kerrigan probably won't need much testimony to get a death sentence in this case. Then again, you might get a jury composed of people who hate lawyers. My suggestion: Tell a lot of lawyer jokes during jury selection and choose the folks who laugh the loudest."

Chapter Eighteen.

Tim Kerrigan heard shoes tapping rapidly on the marble floor of the Multnomah County Courthouse, and someone called his name. He turned and saw J. D. Hunter, the FBI agent he'd met at Senator Travis's cabin, walking toward him.

"Your office said you'd be here," Hunter said. "I'm glad I caught you."

"I just finished arguing a motion."

"Did you win?"

"It was a push."

"You have time for coffee? It's almost three. Coffee-break time where I come from."

"Thanks for the invite, but I'm up to my neck in work and I've got to get back to my office."

"Can I walk with you?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Jon Dupre. The Wendell Hayes killing."

"Why are you interested in that? There's no federal crime."

"No, not directly, but Dupre may be connected to an international drug dealer who is financing terrorism. So it's peripheral, this interest in Dupre. Just loose ends."

"Who's the drug dealer, in case I run across something?"

"Mahmoud Hafnawi. He's a Palestinian living in Beirut. Let me know if Dupre mentions him."

"I will."

Hunter shook his head. "Dupre is one weird dude."

"Why do you say that?"

"The guy murdered his lawyer. Why do you think he did it?"

"That's a question we're all asking."

"Did Hayes and Dupre know each other? Was there bad blood between them?"

"Hayes knew Jon through his parents, but we haven't found any other connection. Dupre didn't even hire Hayes. The presiding judge asked him to take Dupre's case as a favor."

"I'd have thought he'd already have his own lawyer."

"He did. A guy named Oscar Baron, but Baron wouldn't represent Dupre because Dupre couldn't pay his fee."

"Any question about Dupre's guilt?"

"Of the Hayes murder? None. Wendell was killed in a contact visiting room up in the jail. They were locked in together. It's as clean a case as I've ever seen."

Hunter was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Considering the trouble he's in, it sure is odd he'd off his lawyer."

"Have you ever figured out why these people do the things they do?"

"You've got a point. Still, Hayes was one of the best, no?"

Tim nodded.

"You'd think Dupre would want a guy like Hayes running his defense, creating reasonable doubt, saving him from death row. If I was in Dupre's shoes, Wendell Hayes would be the last guy I'd kill."

"But he did. We have an eyewitness, a jail guard. He saw the whole thing. Poor guy was shaken up so badly that he's on administrative leave."

"I'm not surprised. Watching someone get sliced up like that and not being able to help. What did Dupre use?"

"A piece of jagged metal," Tim answered. "It looks like the lever they use to open and close the air vents in the jail. It had been sharpened to a point."

"Where did he get it?"

Kerrigan shrugged. "It's your typical jailhouse shiv, homemade. We're checking Dupre's cell and the rest of the housing unit to see if he made it himself, but Dupre could have bought it from someone."

They arrived at the elevators. Kerrigan pushed up and Hunter pressed down. The up arrow turned green.

"You heading back to D.C.?" Kerrigan asked as the doors opened.

"In a bit."

"Safe journey."

"Hey, I forgot," Hunter said. He handed Kerrigan one of his business cards. "In case anything comes up."

Hunter was smiling when the doors closed, like he knew some secret. Something about the agent bugged Kerrigan. He remembered feeling the same way when they'd first met at the Travis crime scene. There had been something about Hunter that had bothered him then. Suddenly he realized what it was. The cleaning people had discovered the senator's body only a few hours before Richard Curtis had called Tim and told him to go to the cabin. J. D. Hunter had told Kerrigan that he was picked to investigate Travis's case because the FBI wanted an agent from Washington involved in the murder of a senator. How had Hunter gotten to Portland so quickly? It would have taken time for Washington to learn about the senator's death. Even if Hunter flew to Portland on an FBI jet, there was no way he could have gotten to Travis's house as fast as he had.

Kerrigan was still mulling over this thought when he walked into the reception area of the district attorney's office and found Carl Rittenhouse waiting for him, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, looking worse than the last time they saw each other. Tim's first thought was that he was taking his boss's death extremely hard.

Rittenhouse stood as soon as he spotted Kerrigan. "Tim, do you have a minute?" he asked anxiously.