Page List


Font:  

Remains.

That was the single word, or maybe the concept, that I couldn’t get out of my head, couldn’t shake if I wanted to.

Chapter 13

I FELL ASLEEP hard that night and woke up the same way, diving into sleep and having to be ripped out of it. I ate breakfast with Nana, Bree, and the kids, but when I left the house I still wasn’t completely awake. It didn’t augur well, if you believe in auguring.

The one appointment I needed to keep that day was my meeting with Marcella Weaver. Three years earlier, the breakup of her high-priced escort service had made national headlines and earned her the nickname “Madam of the Beltway.” An alleged client list had never surfaced but still had power brokers all over town shaking in their Florsheims.

Since then, she’d bounced back Heidi Fleiss–style, with a syndicated radio show, a couple of lingerie boutiques, and a speaking fee reported to be five thousand. An hour, ironically enough.

I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted her insight into the possible murders of escorts. Once I’d agreed to have her lawyer present, she said she’d meet with me at her apartment.

The place was a gorgeous duplex not far from Dupont Circle. She answered the door herself, looking casual and refined in jeans and a black cashmere sweater. She also wore diamond earrings and a diamond-studded cross.

“Is it Detective or Dr. Cross?” she asked.

“Detective, but I’m impressed that you asked.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess. I’m careful. I do my research.” She smiled easily, way more laid back than I’d expected her to be. “Come on in, Detective.”

In the living room, she introduced me to the lawyer, David Shupike. I recognized him from a couple of high-profile cases around town. He was a dour, balding stereotype of a lonely guy; it was easy to imagine how he and Marcella might have met.

She poured me a tall glass of Pellegrino, and we sat down on a leather couch with a view of the city.

“Let me get this out of the way.” I slid a picture of Caroline across the coffee table. “Have you ever seen her before?”

“Don’t answer that, Marcella.” Shupike started to push the picture back, but Ms. Weaver stopped him. She stared at it, then whispered something in his ear until he nodded.

“I don’t recognize her,” she said to me. “And for whatever it’s worth, if I had, I wouldn’t have taken David’s advice. I really do want to help if I can.”

She seemed sincere to me, and I chose to believe her.

“I’ve been trying to figure out who Caroline was working for when she was killed. I wonder if you could point me in any direction,” I said.

She pulled her small bare feet up onto the couch while she thought about it.

“How much rent was she paying?”

“About three thousand a month.”

“Well, she certainly wasn’t making that on the street. If you haven’t already, you should check and see if she had a profile with any of the services. Almost all of them are posted online now. Although, if she was truly higher end, it will be that much harder.”

“Why is that?”

She smiled, not impolitely. “Because not everyone caters to the kind of clientele who u

se Google to find their girls.”

“Point taken. I’ve checked out the services already, though.” I liked this woman, in spite of her job history. “What else?”

“It would help to know if she was working in-call, out-call, or maybe both. Also, if there was any kind of specialty that she had. Dominant, submissive, girl on girl, massage, group parties, that sort of thing.”

I nodded, but this wasn’t easy for me, and it was getting worse. Every turn of the case reminded me of something else I didn’t want to know about Caroline. I took a sip of mineral water.

“What about the girls themselves? Where are they coming from?”

“I’ll tell you this—college newspapers were my gold mine. These kids think they can handle anything. A lot of them already despise men. Some just want an adventure. I advertised in a lot of places, but you’d be surprised.” She pointed at the pocket where I’d put away Caroline’s picture. “She might have been paying her way through law school. Even medical school, believe it or not. I had a future surgeon as one of my very best girls.”


Tags: James Patterson Alex Cross Mystery