Snuff (28 page)

NINETY

“Hannah here was traipsing through a cemetery,
going to meet her boyfriend,” Bianca calls through the speaker.  “I think that alone broke a commandment.  Fucking someone in a cemetery?  Some people are classless.”

She must be riding a high of confidence, since she isn’t using her manly voice portal.
Or maybe there’s nobody watching this time.

“We weren’t going to—” Hannah cries at the ceiling. 

“Oh, no?  Then why would you sneak out of your house in the dead of night?  My mother always told me nothing good happens late at night.”

I wrap an arm around Hannah’s quivering shoulders when she buries her face
between her knees.  “Don’t pay any attention.  You’re going to be fine.  I promise.”

“Brooke and her promises.  I’d thought
she would have learned by now.”

The lights blink off, plunging us into darkness
.  Dread slinks through my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and a fine mist of hair standing on end in its wake.

“What’s she talking about?” Hannah’s voice wobbles,
breath hot and heavy against my cheek.

She
huddles into the crook of my neck exactly the way Abby did.

“Listen to me.”  I snap
her hand up in mine.  It’s amazing I can even find it in the dark, but then I’ve already had three weeks to learn to adjust.  “I don’t know what she’s going to do, but you need to keep it together.  Do you understand?  Don’t cry or scream or threaten.”

“Why
on earth would I threaten?”

Excellent question.  I imagine I was the only idiot who ever
bothered with threats when stuck such a hapless situation.

Who will
bear the brunt of this nightmare during my second spin through hell’s amusement park?

A wave of nausea
ripples through my stomach when I realize I hope it won’t be me.  I may be an actress, but I’ll never nail the role Abby took up.  I could never be a willing sacrifice, and I don’t possess so much as a shred of courage. 

Hannah’s a child, but I’ve got an unborn one to think about.  Not to mention a picture-perfect doctor boyfriend who’s inexplicably in love with me.

It’s supposed to be your life flashing through the movie theater of your mind before you die, but all I can see is the future I might not have. 

NINETY-ONE

“Do you believe him?” Lisette asked, the moment she fell into place by John’s side behind the one-way glass.

“I do.”  Sincerity had been all over Jacob’s face, and not strictly when inquiring about Lisette’s personal life. 

She twitched her mouth from side to
side.  “Well, who the fuck is this guy?  I find it hard to believe she’d care about the amount of money in some dude’s bank account when she’s inherited a shitload of cash.”

He crossed his arms ove
r his charcoal suit jacket.  “It’s not about money.  It’s about power.  Control.”  John bit into the tip of his thumb, staring at Jacob without really seeing. 

He
’d had the story right, the plot cemented, possibly even an accurate timeline, but he’d miscast a crucial character.  “Jacob’s only been in trouble for the escort business and this thing with Caroline McKay, right?  He doesn’t have any other offenses in his jacket that I may have missed?”

She shifted her weight to her right foot, then left, then right again
.  “I can’t comment on the Caroline McKay crimes because I was in high school when it happened, but since I’ve been a cop, he’s only been dragged in for roughing up call girls. None of those girls had major injuries, mostly just got slapped around.”

“And when you arrested
him, Sal Morgan was his counselor?”

“Always
.”

“
Did Sal Morgan ever mention Jacob’s uncle repeatedly?”

She flicked on the light switch, cringing as the overhead bulb stuttered to life.  “Not that I recall.  But then why would he?  E
veryone in LAPD knows who Leoš Ivashkov is.  Sal’s only interactions with Jacob, far as I can tell, are to clean up his messes once in a while.  And Jacob hasn’t been arrested in years.  Not counting today.”

“So why would he make such a big deal about J
acob talking to you?  I’m laboring under the assumption Jacob is something of a nuisance in the Ivashkov family, but he wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk when it might incriminate himself.  Surely Mr. Morgan knows that, too.  Yet he put up quite a fuss.  It’s a little odd.”

She snorted. 
“All attorneys are a little odd.”

True enough
.  “Does Leoš Ivashkov make appearances in the club?”

“Fuck if I know, but I’d guess yes, since he owns the joint.  I’d put in face tim
e now and again if I were him.”

“Married?”

“I think so.”

“Have you seen him?”

She ran a fingertip beneath her lower lashes, removing a smudge of mascara.  “Couple times.”

“Is he a tall
white guy with dark hair and expensive shoes?”

She nearly poked her eyeball out
, and glared up at him as if he were responsible.  “You think he picked up a prostitute just to torture her?  He isn’t that stupid.  Plus, there was no sexual assault. Makes more sense Bianca did that.”

She
had a point.  Prostitutes picked up by johns with intentions of murder didn’t often die without signs of sexual deviance.

But then maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t have an interest in rape.
“Runs sex clubs and brothels, if I remember correctly,” John mused, though there was no question he remembered correctly.  “And you weren’t surprised to hear about a connection between Bianca and the Ivashkov family.  Has to be a reason you connected those dots.”

She pointed at the one-way glass, behind which Jacob still sat. 
“Because I thought
this
dipshit was involved.  Remember him, the guy I’ve hauled in for roughing up hookers?  Those chicks weren’t raped, either.  Could just as easily be him who did that hooker.  Uncle Ivashkov isn’t the type to get his hands dirty.  Maybe he was once upon a time, but that ship set sail a long-ass time ago.  He doesn’t need to fuck around with the little people, and it’s a safe bet he’s a hell of a lot smarter than his nephew in there.  You don’t get that kind of cash and power by being an idiot.” 

“You don’t get there by being nice, either.
  He leaves every three
weeks.  It could be coincidence, but it’s a rather large one.”

She folded her arms over her wife beater.  “
If you think Leoš Fucking Ivashkov is involved, your profile is all wrong.  He isn’t a loner who keeps to himself.  He’s got adult children and businesses, and more money than either of us can imagine.  He hasn’t had a personal upheaval or a death in the family, or I would have heard the entire LAPD celebrating.  We love when bad things happen to him.”

If he were a less confident man, John may have been stung. 
Since he’d shouldered more than his share of rude comments and name-calling, he took it in stride. “For being
all wrong
, it’s surprisingly accurate, considering at the time I wrote it, I had no idea we were dealing with a pair.  It’s a mesh of both of them.  Their ages fall within my limits.  Ivashkov holds a position of power.  Killing Aunt Melinda was Bianca’s stressor, and it happened around the time the abductions began.  Right after the pair of them met in that club.  Maybe his sudden change was meeting her.”

“He’s in his
late fifties.  Girls who date men that much older have what we commonly refer to as Daddy Issues.  But Daddy never hurt her.  Daddy gave her everything she wanted, until he croaked.”

“Yes.  Daddy took care of her.  Remember her father was much older than her mother.  Maybe
Uncle Ivashkov made her feel better, became that safe place her father used to be.”

She pressed her hands into her face
, and spoke between her fingers.  “Wouldn’t Jacob have seen them together?  It’s his uncle and his ex.  The two of them don’t have a whole hell of a lot in common.”

Except their sadistic tendencies
.

“Not if they were trying to keep it to themselves.  Maybe they communicated through
email when they weren’t in each other’s company.  Nobody would see them together, or link them to one another.  Stacy says there’s a contact form on the blog.  What would she need it for, if not to communicate with the ‘viewer’ Brooke mentioned?”

NINETY-TWO

I
t’s dark, but I can see it all.  Everything I’ll miss out on once I’m dead.

A white dress of hypocrisy to wear on my walk down the aisle.  I may not be a whore, but I’m no virgin.  Prince Charming knocked me up before the ball. 

A theoretical pink little baby with Jack’s black Irish looks.  I wouldn’t wish mine on our child.

A simple life, I’d hope.  Quiet.  No more acting
. I’m sick of it, wearing the skins of other characters because I can’t stand the thought of being Brooke.  I thought if I played certain roles long enough—really committed—they’d become real.  They never did. None fit right.

Hannah’s voice is nails-on-a-
blackboard awful, clawing through my daze.  “Please, can you turn the lights back on?”

I think it goes without saying the answer is
no
.

“Please,” she chokes through a sob.  “Just let me go.  I won’t tell anyone.  I swear.”

“But of course you won’t tell anyone,” the PA answers.  “You won’t live to.”

Hannah lets loose a string of incoherent, tear-muddled words. 
Her body vibrates in an all-consuming terror.  It’s a safe bet to assume it’s the same thing I felt when Bianca did all those horrible things to Abby; a fear that consumes everything in its path. 

I do
n’t attempt to decode what Hannah’s saying, because I’ve heard this song before.  I know all the words, but I can’t feel the music.  

And I also don’t bother looking up
as that familiar rush of air bites through the granite cell when the door swings open. 

NINETY-THREE

“
No dice from AT&T,” Stacy said in John’s ear as he stood in Lisette’s office. “On the nights in question, Jacob was either miles away, or home.  He’s got one phone for personal, one for work, and the other for God knows what, but its position never changes—it’s always in his home.”

“Goddamnit.
” Lisette threw her hands up.  “I let him hit on me for nothing.”

“
No, not for nothing,” John told her.  “We’ll still need his cooperation.”

“Who hit on who?” Stacy interjected.  “The least you do is conference me in or put me on speaker if there’s going to be gossip.”

“It’s not gossip.  Did you run full background on all the employees from the club?”

“Nothing but the usual suspects.
” She scarcely masked her glee.  “I’ve always wanted to use that line.  Only a few hits on dancers—expired Visas, nothing major.  All male employees are clean, except Jacob.  I spoke with the owner of the security company who installed the equipment.  He confirmed he’d done the jobs in all clubs under Leoš Ivashkov’s name, and they were businesses, nothing basementy and dungeony.  The setup on those feeds wouldn’t be that hard to replicate.”

“I’m sure he’d lie if there was enough money in for him,” John said.  “If alibis can be bought
, so can testimony.”

“I’m wonderful, but I’m not a human polygraph.  He said what he said.  Didn’t sound like a liar, just grumpy.  I think I woke him up.”

“Dig into his financials. Business and personal.”

“I will, but don’t expect a smoking gun.”

Lisette bolted from her chair and headed for the exit.  “You’re sure Uncle Ivashkov’s the guy?” She wrenched the door open. “It couldn’t be anyone else?”

John covered the receiver. 
“That’s my best guess.  Any warrant I file will be buried under injunctions and motions.  We won’t get anything in time, unless I find information illegally.”

She chewed her bottom lip, and it was bright red when
it slid from between her teeth.  “Does it even matter at this point, when Brooke’s going to die?”

He wanted to give her some bold and br
azen comment like
I won’t let that happen
, but John had learned the hard way to never make promises he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep. 

So he said nothing.

She blew out a sigh and stomped out the door.  In the interest of curiosity, he followed.

“What’s going on?” Stacy said.  “You think she’ll shoot him like she did the pedophile?”

John sidestepped swaying swivel chairs Lisette skirted.  “Stacy, we’re in a police station.  There’ll be no shooting.  Run a search for unoccupied or abandoned buildings with the same parameters you used for contract jobs, and call me back if you get any hits.”

He
slid his phone back into his back pocket and continued to follow the winding path Lisette blazed through the hallways, back to the interview room Jacob sat in. 

She slammed her
hand into the door.  It swung open, and John trailed her inside just as it slammed shut. 

“Problem?” a
bemused-looking Jacob asked, straightening from his slouch. 

She dropped a thick stack of file folders on the table.
  “How often does your uncle come to the club?”

He squinted, eyes rolling to the right. 
“I’m not sure.  Every few months, I guess.  I take care of the business.  He just looks in from time to time to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“Did he ever look in when Bianca was on the clock?”

“Maybe...” the bemusement switched gears into suspicion.  “You think my uncle’s her sugar daddy?  That’s crazy. She’s hell on wheels.  He’d never get involved with her.  He’s been married twenty years.”

“I don’t know what the fuc
k I think, Jacob.  All I know is she’s been killing people for three months, and I’m getting pretty goddamned sick of dead girls piling up in my unresolved case files.  You said you saw her with a big-ass diamond around that same time.  And if I’m to believe you when you say it didn’t come from you, who does that leave me with?  Her only friend is a fucking unemployed necrophile, so I know he wasn’t shopping in Cartier. 
You
could afford it.  So could your uncle.  I’ve heard plenty about his whorehouses.  Customers do whatever they damn well please so long as they have enough money, and the videos I watched aren’t far from those stories.”

Jacob’s dark eyes darted between Lisette and John. 
“I’ve never been to those clubs.  And what goes on there isn’t illegal overseas.  America’s behind in the times when it comes to prostitution.”

Lisette flipped open a folder and passed a photograph to Jacob.  “Her name is Brooke, and she’s going to die unless I find her soon. She’s pregnant, and scared, and alone with that crazy bitch you were banging.
”  She shook the contents of the folder, scattering the tabletop with still-frame green-and-black images of Abigail’s broken, burned corpse.  “If you think those scars Bianca gave herself were creepy, you don’t want to know what she’s done to her victims.  She burned this girl so badly, you could see her bones.”

Jacob
handed Brooke’s photo back, carefully avoiding the others.  “You know I’d try to help if I knew anything.  I don’t.  My uncle wouldn’t get involved in anything like this.”  He waved his hands the images.  “He just wouldn’t. I mean, yes, everything you’ve said about the sex clubs is true, but they’re prostitutes.  They interview for the jobs; they’re not forced.  They sign contracts willingly.”

“They’re girls who’ve grown up desperate and destitute, Jacob,” John said.  “They’re seduced by money, and all they have going for them are their bodies.  There’s a point during every prostitute’s career when she’s forced into doing something she doesn’t want to do.  Your uncle isn’t the innocent party.  It’s not like he’s running a housecleaning service and hiring them as maids.
  He turns them out to violent johns for a quick buck.”

Jacob scratched the back of his ear, something John had come to realize he did whe
n judiciously choosing his words.  “All I can tell you is that those clubs are legitimate businesses over there.  My father and uncle aren’t as horrible as you’re making them out.  They’d never be involved in the kind of shit Bianca’s been up to.”

“Oh, right.”  Lisette rolled her eyes.  “I forgot how upstanding the drug and whore trade is.”

“Look, what can I say?  They’re not saints, but they’d never do those things.”

John
slid into the seat Lisette hovered near.  “You seem pretty sure about that.”

“I am sure.
”  Jacob slashed both hands through the air.  “Beyond sure.  My father and uncle were kids when they saw my grandfather murdered, and my grandmother gang-raped.  The way my father’s explained it, it went on for hours.  Those men didn’t kill her, but they should have.  She committed suicide a few days later.  My father’s never hurt a woman in his life.  How could he, after seeing that?  He’s had his share of affairs, but not one of those women were mistreated.  If anything, they were better off after things ended.  My father made sure they were compensated.”

Did she,
now?  And how did that happen? 
“How?”  Lisette shot John a
do shut up
look, which he ignored.  “How did your grandmother kill herself?”

Jacob
massaged the beginnings of his five o’clock shadow.  “She drank rat poison and cut her wrists for good measure.  It’s obviously not something my father likes discussing, so that’s all I’ve been told.  It happened a long time ago.”

“How old were they?  Your father and uncle?”

Jacob cast a dark glance at Lisette, as if willing her to jump in and save him. 

“Is this necessary?”
She knotted her arms across her tank top.  “Jacob wasn’t even alive then.  All this would have happened in Czechoslovakia.”

“
Yes, it’s necessary, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”  He tore his dark eyes from her blonde ones and turned back to Jacob.  How old were they?”

“
Small. My uncle’s four years older than my father.  I think they were six and two.”