Trace of Innocence (11 page)

I
walked through the glamorous lobby as fast as my now agonizingly painful feet would carry me. I kept my face down, and skulked into an empty elevator car, which carried me up to the twelfth floor. I was sharing a room with C.C., Lewis and David were sharing, and Joe, the big spender, was in the penthouse suite.

I got off the elevator, grateful for the carpeting, and entered my room with my key card. I immediately dead-bolted my door and went into the bathroom and flicked on the light.

My face was a red, shiny mess. A nice black
eye was developing, my cheek was swollen, my mascara made me look like a raccoon, and I had scraped my forehead pretty badly. My chin also was the recipient of a nice red welt.

I rinsed my face with warm water, then washed my red, scraped feet with hot water. I undressed completely, went to my overnight bag and pulled out my sweats and the big sweatshirt I’d brought to sleep in. I was so grateful for the warmth. I pulled on a pair of thick athletic socks, sat down on the bed, and gently massaged my feet to try to warm them more.

A few minutes later, Lewis and the gang arrived. I stood and went to the door and peered through the peephole to be sure. Then I opened the door and let them in.

“Oh, Billie,” Lewis said, actually wincing at the sight of me. David came over and hugged me. Then he stepped back, winced himself, and kissed my lips ever so gently.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Lewis said.

“No!” I was adamant. “No…I’ll be okay.”

“What happened?” Joe asked.

I went though the entire story from the minute I’d spotted Marty.

“I’m going to have to turn Ripper loose on these guys,” Lewis said, trying to make me smile.

“Trust me. These guys would stomp Ripper. Hey, David…did Marty seem like he recognized you from any of the coverage?”

David shook his head. “Nah. He was sucking up to Joe big-time.”

“Good.”

We all sat down on the two beds. I leaned my head on David’s shoulder.

“So when do we go to the police?” C.C. asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“C.C.…we’re talking about two cops owning strip clubs—one of whom maybe had a dancer who was killed by the suicide king. It’s not like they’re the good guys—I mean, yes, some cops are. But in this case, we may be talking about rogue cops. And all we have are hunches—when the police are thinking David is their best suspect. We have proof of nothing.”

“So now what?”

“We go back to that club and find out who that redhead is.”

“The stripper we were talking to?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “We get her to talk to us somehow, and we find out why Lizzie was killed. She knew something.”

“Aren’t the police already doing that?” C.C. asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, they think she was killed by a random serial killer—or David. No one thinks there’s a connection beyond the killer, so nobody’s looking for one.”

“I’m not following. They didn’t cover this kind of stuff in my religion classes,” C.C. said, half smiling.

“Okay…years ago, the suicide king killed a girl. He killed again last week. The connection? The police think it’s David. Or if not David then some random killer. The connection, aside from the killer? The cops think nothing. It’s random. Both girls were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Only now we know that’s not true.”

“But they
were
in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she said.

I nodded. “But that’s not the
reason
for their deaths. Follow? There’s some other connection, but no one’s looking for a reason other than randomness. We find the reason, we find the killer.”

“I’m in this until the endgame. We get whoever did this,” Joe said.

Lewis looked at my face, then he looked at C.C. “In New Orleans,” he said, with his usual drawl making it sound like N’awlins, “we don’t back down from a fight. Let’s get the bastards. Sorry, C.C.”

“I told you, Lewis…sometimes even the Lord himself understands the value of a few choice words.”

“Well, guys, I love you all, but I’m falling asleep as I’m sitting here,” I said.

“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital,” Lewis said.

“Positive. Go on and play some slots, Lewis.” I smiled as best I could with my puffy face.

“I’m hitting the tables,” Joe said. “Help me relax.”

David said, “I’m not, I better get some sleep myself.”

Lewis, though, got a devilish look in his eyes. “Well, a few hands of blackjack never hurt a man.”

I looked at him. “Don’t come crying to me when you run through all your spending money.”

The guys left, and it was just C.C. and me. I went to brush my teeth, then sat down on my bed. She was changing into her pajamas.

“C.C.?”

“Hmm?” She slipped a nightgown over her head.

“Can I ask you something?”

She smiled. “I’ve been waiting. I knew sooner or later you and I were going to have to lay
our cards on the table—we’re in Atlantic City, so the metaphor seems appropriate.”

I smiled—which hurt my cheek. I pulled down the covers and slid under the sheets and blankets.

“Okay… You’re the first nun I ever met. So you get to answer all my nun questions.”

She laughed.

“So why’d you become a nun? I mean, you’re beautiful, funny…you’re nothing like what I expect a nun to be.”

“My grandmother was a deeply religious woman. My mother was the polar opposite. Still is. My mother married for money—she makes no secret of that. And my parents divorced when I was young…they’ve both since remarried several times, to other people. I had everything money could buy—except the peace that surpasses all understanding. And that I got at church when my grandmother visited.”

“How did your mother turn out so different from her own mother?”

C.C. shrugged. “She just has a love of
things.
Cars, clothes…and she doesn’t scratch the surface or look too deeply. But with my grandmother, I would see this beautiful example of faith. And I knew, from the time I was a little girl, that I wanted that. I wanted that faith, that peace.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. I’ve had, I think, fifteen stepsiblings over time—by different spouses of my parents. But no blood siblings.”

“Your mother must have had a cow when you said you were going to be a nun.”

“She blamed it all on her mother. They still don’t speak. I don’t hold out much hope for a reconciliation.”

“And you’re really celibate?”

“Yes. I’m really celibate.”

“C.C., I can’t even imagine. I mean, I’ve never thought of sex as something casual. Sex, for me, has always meant something. I’ve gone months and months without meeting someone I thought was worthwhile enough. But give it up entirely?”

“That’s just one part of my life.”

“And Lewis?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I love him. I love him in the most profound way, with all of my heart and soul. And I love him in
that
way. I mean, being a nun doesn’t take away the capacity to fall in love. You just choose to forsake that life for the love you have with God. But…I don’t know. I’ve often wondered if I could have my faith and have a family and a different life. Or if, indeed, this was my destiny. Whatever
happens, Lewis will teach me something deep about myself. I don’t mean to hurt him. I’m as confused as he is, I suppose.”

“Lewis is my best friend,” I said. I rolled over on my side and looked at C.C. in the other queen-size bed. “He’s the smartest man I’ve ever known, the most eccentric and the most loyal. I just want you to know that he loves you…and if you love him, too, that’s all I need to know. What you two figure out is your own business.”

C.C. looked at me. “Thanks, Billie. I pray each day for God to let me know his plans for me. And as soon as I know, I plan on letting Lewis know.”

“Could you pray to God for David, too?”

“Of course. I pray for him daily. I pray for you, for Joe, for all the men in my prison ministry. Do you pray for David?”

“I don’t pray.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I feel like God’s too busy to listen to me. I guess the conversation feels pretty one-sided. And I have so many questions.”

“You’d be surprised. He answers. It just may not be the answer you want. But if you’re still, if you’re open to it, he will speak to you, Billie.”

“But what if more women die before we can catch the suicide king? What if David is framed? What if we do all this and we can’t save him? Where is God in that?”

“I choose to think God is there in the new friendships we have. If the worst happens and David goes back to prison, he’ll have the four of us fighting forever to free him. He won’t be alone.”

I punched at my pillow and rolled onto my back.

“Maybe.”

I tried to fall asleep, but I tossed and turned all night. I waited for the whisper of God, but instead all I heard were the sounds of drunken gamblers returning to their rooms, and the soft drone of the heat coming through the vents in our room.

“H
ello?” Lewis said into the phone. “Listen…I just got into town, and last time I was here, I met the most beautiful redhead at your club….

“Yes, Ginger. Yes…that was her name. Yes, well, I was hoping to perhaps have dinner with her while I was in town and was wondering if I might be able to leave a message or get her number or…

“Um, yes, sure.”

Lewis’s eyes widened. I tried to lean in closer to him to hear the other end of the conversation.

“Yes…um, sure. Three o’clock then.”

He hung up the phone. C.C. and I, and David and Lewis had checked out of our rooms, and we were all in the penthouse, which Joe had taken for a second night so we would have it for the day.

“Well?” I demanded.

“She’s coming here on an out call. She’s a hooker.”

“The plot thickens,” I said. “Like Rick told me, these cops own places fronting prostitution.”

“So maybe the killer was an angry john,” David said.

“Maybe. Do you think Cammie was a hooker? Did she give off that vibe?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve spent ten years of my life reliving a night over and over again, with a half-fuzzy memory of a woman I didn’t know too well. I have no idea what kind of vibe she gave off. It was too long ago.”

“It’s okay,” I soothed. I thought of the nights I lay awake trying to remember my mother’s voice, or the smell of her perfume, and only ended up with the faintest whispers. Were those the whispers of God?

“So what do we do when she gets here?” C.C. asked.

“Lewis,” I said, “you greet her. Agree on the price and so on. Get her to sit there,” I gestured toward a sofa that was the farthest from the door. “Then C.C. and I will come out. We’ll try to talk to her. Those girls were scared.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joe said.

“David, you stay in the other room,” Lewis said. “We don’t need the man whose face is synonymous with the murders to be questioning her. It could spook her if she recognizes you.”

David nodded.

Joe ordered room service lunch and the five of us played cards for a couple of hours. Out of deference to C.C., who said she felt a little guilty being in Atlantic City, let alone waiting for a hooker, we played rummy instead of poker.

At two forty-five, David hid in the other room, Joe hid in the bathroom with C.C. and me, and Lewis poured himself a straight bourbon from the minibar to steady his nerves.

“I never paid for it before…and frankly, doing it in the guise of hunting for a murderer is giving me the creeps.”

“This from a man with a pet tarantula,” Joe teased.

In our hiding spot, I cracked the bathroom
door a hair, and when a knock at the door came, I peeked out. It was her all right, but she was dressed beautifully. My guess is she didn’t want to tangle with security at the hotel and had to look like a guest.

I heard murmurs as she and Lewis discussed price. He offered her a drink, and she went to sit down on the couch. That was our signal. C.C. and I stepped out from the bathroom.

“What the fuck!” she said, standing up.

“Wait.” I held up my hands. “We just want to talk.”

“Look…I’m not into any weird shit. You want the rough stuff or whatever, you call Serenity.”

“No…it’s not that,” C.C. said softly, sadly. “Honest. We just want to talk.”

“About what? You’re the two women from last night. And what happened to your face?”

I reached up a hand involuntarily to touch my bruised cheek and chin. “My guess is maybe the same thing that happened to Lizzie.”

“What the hell would you know about what happened to Lizzie?”

“We were hoping you might help us,” Lewis said. “We don’t want to scare you or alarm you.”

I took a few steps toward her, slowly.
“Please, Ginger. Please help us to find out what happened to your friend.”

She looked me in the eyes. “Mind if I have a cigarette?”

“No.”

She rummaged around in her bag, and then suddenly emerged with a can of Mace pepper spray.

“Easy,” Lewis said. “We don’t want to hurt you. You don’t want to hurt Billie.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But I will unless you crazy people let me out of here.”

I saw her finger was on the button that at any minute could release toxic chemicals right into my eyes. This had
so
not gone as I intended.

I looked at Ginger and said, “Maybe we can help you.”

“Help me? What makes you think I need help?”

C.C., Lewis and I were frozen in our places. I was taking a risk trying to get her to talk to me, but I figured I didn’t have a lot to lose. I had to get her to put down the pepper spray. I knew I’d survive it. I also know I’d be in agony—and I’d had enough pain the night before.

“I don’t know. Something about when we were talking about Liz…you looked scared.”

“Someone gets his freak on by killing her
and they haven’t caught him? You’d be scared, too.”

“It was more than that, Ginger. I mean, you can mace me, but it was more than that and hurting me won’t change anything.”

“I’m C.C.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched C.C. approach her. Ginger’s finger twitched on the release button on the pepper spray.

“And this is Billie,” C.C. said. “I’m a nun. My whole life is dedicated to helping people. I’d like to help you.”

“A nun?” Despite the tense situation, Ginger smiled. “A friggin’ nun? You’re kidding me, right?”

C.C. shook her head. “Now, maybe you aren’t scared and don’t need help. But I don’t know any little girls who say ‘I want to be a prostitute when I grow up.’ Lives change, events happen, and we all follow different paths. If you need help, we will give it. We can keep you safe. We can get you away from here. Far away. Help you start somewhere fresh.”

“You’re really a nun?” Ginger asked, this time softer and more fragile.

C.C. nodded.

“Shit.” Ginger put down the hand with the pepper spray in it. Lewis and I still stayed
where we were. “A nun? What are you two? FBI agents?”

“No. Just a couple of people caught up in this case. I’m a criminalist from the crime lab in Bloomsbury. Lewis is my boss. We want to figure out what really happened to Liz.”

“Good luck,” Ginger said derisively, less scared but no less defensive. “Listen…you can’t beat these guys.”

“Why? Just because they’re cops?” I said.

She shook her head. “Because they’re hunters. They’re serious fucking psycho hunters.”

C.C. moved toward her. When Ginger didn’t whip her pepper spray arm up, C.C. moved closer and closer, then wrapped an arm around her. “Come sit down,” she urged.

I marveled at how gentle C.C. was, and yet how brilliantly she zeroed in on a way to get through to Ginger. She had a real gift.

“What do you mean by hunters?”

Ginger sat on the couch, and now I could see that she was visibly trembling. “I gotta go. And I gotta have money with me when I go back.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Lewis said. “But maybe you don’t have to go back.”

“Look…these guys, the girls who work this side line for them…we all have something to lose. We’re handpicked.”

C.C. looked at me and I opened my eyes wide and gave a slight shrug to my shoulders to say I didn’t understand.

“Handpicked?” C.C. asked.

“Yeah. Brothers who have a record that maybe these guys made go away, sisters headed for prison, parents in trouble, children that might grow up without you. Lately, a lot of Eastern European girls with no passports and all kinds of problems. They find out your weakness, make you an offer, and then you’re in until they get tired of you.”

“So what’s your story?” I asked.

“How old do you think I am?”

I looked at her closely. “Twenty-eight?”

“Good guess. And I have a little girl. She was born deaf. And she goes to a fancy boarding school for kids who can’t hear. I get to see her weekends. She has everything she needs. And if I don’t behave, then…she enters the foster care system. I had one positive urine test at the club. No judge is going to give a kid to a mother with a record and a job as a stripper who tested positive for cocaine, which I did with the fucking owner, by the way. At school my girl is so happy. She signs, and she can type on the computer. She writes me an e-mail every day. She thinks I work as a concierge.”

I realized my mouth had gone completely dry. I had no saliva, and I could barely swallow. What sort of men were these guys? Blackmail, abuse…murder.

Suddenly, Joe walked out from the bathroom.

“Wait a minute. He’s the NFL guy from last night. What’s going on?” Ginger asked, recoiling.

C.C. wrapped her arm tighter around Ginger’s shoulders. “He’s my dear friend. He’s okay.”

“Look,” Joe said. “Your child is not going to enter foster care. You’re not going back to that club. And your daughter is going to get the schooling she needs. You got that?”

“I don’t have any money…I don’t have anything but what I came here with. I was so in debt when I first started at the club. I couldn’t make ends meet. I couldn’t afford private care for her. I knew a few signs. That was it. Now we can talk—you know…signing. But I got nothing.”

“That’s enough,” C.C. said, “if you have your dignity.”

Ginger snorted. “Dignity. That doesn’t go too far in this town.”

Joe came over to the sitting area and said, “I
will personally pay for your daughter’s boarding school. You tell me more about your daughter.”

Ginger, broken a second before, now seemed to glow a little. “She’s the most beautiful little girl you ever saw. Her name’s Harper. After Harper Lee.”

I arched an eyebrow at Lewis. Ginger saw me.

“Just ’cause I strip doesn’t mean I don’t try to better myself. I read.”

Joe smiled at her. “Want a drink?”

She nodded. “Vodka on the rocks, if you have it.”

Joe went to the next room and got David and then poured her a drink.

“Who’s this one now?” Ginger asked.

“Another friend,” C.C. said. “Go on…about Harper.”

“Well…when I had her, I had a boyfriend. We were planning on getting married. I was twenty-one. He was twenty-three. Worked in construction. I was a secretary. The pregnancy was really hard. I had really bad morning sickness—well, morning, noon and night sickness—the whole nine months. I couldn’t work. So before she even got here, we were pretty desperate. In a lot of debt. But she came out all
adorable with these red curls. Cutest baby you ever saw.”

“Do you have a picture?” Joe asked.

She nodded. She put the pepper spray back into her purse and pulled out a wallet. She showed us a picture of a beautiful little girl.

“Here’s her baby picture,” Ginger said, passing the wallet around.

“Very pretty,” I murmured.

“Anyway, when she was, I don’t know, maybe six or seven months old, she didn’t babble. She wouldn’t turn her head when you talked to her. She didn’t turn her head if I put music on. A couple months after that we found out for sure she was deaf. My boyfriend left. I tried to go on welfare. But she needed early intervention. Some was available through the state. But not much. Not what she needed. So…I started dancing. But with paying a babysitter, and a therapist for Harper, and rent, and all the rest of it, I was barely making ends meet. So when they came to me to offer me a spot as a call girl, I jumped at the chance.”

She looked around at us. “You ask any mother, if it’s between her child and herself, she’ll always put the child first.”

“Of course she would.” Joe said. “Who made you this offer?”

“Marty. And Charlie.”

“Who’s Charlie?”

The other partner. One is Acey, the other Deucey. Charlie is a cop. A detective. And he’s the real bastard. Marty sometimes seems a little sympathetic. But not Charlie.”

“Where is Harper’s school?” Joe asked.

“Bergen County… Look, um, who
are
you guys?”

“Ever hear of the Justice Foundation?” Joe asked.

She shook her head, and then he told her about David’s case and the new murder.

“We don’t think Lizzie was a random victim. We think she was killed because of her connection to these cops.”

Ginger nodded. “Look…you all seem like you really want to do the right thing, but I need to go back. I have Harper to think of.”

Joe came closer and knelt down in front of her. “You think I’m bullshitting you? We’re going to your place now, getting a few things. Then we’re going to Harper’s school and taking her out of it—just until this thing is settled. I’m taking the two of you someplace safe. We’re shutting down these clubs, and we’re figuring out which of these bastards is a murderer.”

“How?”

“DNA…’cause as my friend Billie tells it, we all have a personal bar code.”

Ginger looked from Joe to C.C. to me, to Lewis, and finally David. “I’ve never been so terrified in my whole life. I don’t even know you people.”

“Sometimes,” C.C. said, “you have to make a leap of faith.”