Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (3 page)

Angela pales. “Oh, my God, that’s exactly what
happened to Caro. And she was so pleased, she recommended him to
me. But, but it wasn’t a scam. I mean, he did the work.”

Greene looks at me. “After hours they ‘borrow’ the
offices of established plastic surgeons. Usually talk the patient
into immediate surgery. Dope them up for a few days, then demand
cash, or, as in this case, have a nice lady direct a wire transfer
to a dummy account.”

I lean forward, heart pounding. “But what about my
money?” Greene gives me a rueful look. “I doubt your insurance
covers scams.”

————

After a two-hour wait in the ER, it’s our turn. A
doctor, Angela and I are crowded behind a drawn curtain while
Greene stands just outside whistling an annoying, one-note
tune.

My sister has my hand in a stranglehold that
tightens with each snip of the scissors. The last bandage falls
away. No swelling. No bruises. No scars. Poor Angela. What do I
mean poor Angela? She’s fine, beautiful as ever. Poor me, still
plain and now broke.

The doctor draws back the curtain. “No surgery has
been performed on this subject. No sign of any subcutaneous
structural changes, nor is there evidence of laser work.”

Angela gently touches her face. “But I did have
surgery. Doctor Severeid’s on the cutting edge of this new painless
technique. Caro said he was the best.”

I touch her arm. “The man you saw is named Granger.
Remember?”

I push around the doctor and grab Greene’s arm. “My
sister can’t be a suspect. Just because she didn’t have the surgery
she thinks she did is no reason to—”

“Maybe, maybe not. After fifteen years on the force,
I’ve seen just about everything.”

Greene hustles us out of the ER and back up the
street to the precinct house.

Once we’re again settled in his office, he turns to
Angela. “Look, Miss Armington, as far as I’m concerned, the only
crime you’ve committed is being a dupe for a con man, but—”

I wave my hand. “Don’t stop with the ‘but,’
Detective. There has to be a helluva lot more to this than you’re
telling, and I need to know exactly what it is.”

He hunches between his shoulders and studies his
notes for a few seconds. When he looks up, his eyes aren’t as
friendly as they have been. “I really don’t have to tell you
anything other than your sister is part of a murder investigation
and she better not leave the city.”

Big whoops. Went too far. Demanding like a DA
instead of asking like a concerned party. I backtrack as adeptly as
I can. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your face. My curiosity
got the better of me.”

The room is silent. Angela, for once, is keeping her
mouth shut.

Greene takes out his pad and goes through several
pages, then says, “FYI, Miss Montoya wasn’t the first woman who
bought it that way—tied up, sexually assaulted, then garroted.”

He makes a tiny mark with his pen next to some
words. “There are a couple of very curious details. Number one: No
DNA. The perp must use surgical gloves as well as a condom. And
that final wipe-down with the pine-scented disinfectant is the
finishing touch. We haven’t been able to turn up so much as a
partial fingerprint in any of these cases.”

He slides a photograph from another folder in my
direction. “But the signature X tells us it’s the same guy.”

I look at a woman’s breast. Above the aureole is a
small, precise X.

“Every one of the victims has a small X on the left
breast in exactly the same location. Didn’t you notice the X on
Montoya?”

I shudder and look away. “I didn’t get that close.
The minute I realized she was dead, we were out of there.”

Greene puts the photo back in the folder. “We’ve
been compiling bits and pieces of evidence over the last ten
months; there were similar killings in January, March and May, and
now this. And another interesting fact: all the women except
Montoya were prostitutes from the same stable.”

“What about forced penetration?”

Greene glances around him, then leans forward. “Why
do you ask?”

“You mentioned sexual assault.”

“There was evidence of bruising on the victim’s
genitalia. I’d say Miss Montoya was an unwilling participant.”

We each stare the other down. If Greene thinks he’s
going to beat me on this, he’s dead wrong. Without moving my eyes,
I focus on his forehead. It’s a trick I learned in law school.

When he breaks first and looks down at his notes, I
give myself a small pat on the back. Small victories are the very
best.

“What about my sister? You inferred she might be off
the hook?”

He slowly closes the spiral notepad, places it in
his jacket pocket and gives me a cautious smile. “I’d say it looks
good. But I’m willing to bet your sister knows a lot more than
she’s telling. Since you were an Assistant DA, you should remember
the drill. If you find out anything, give me a call.”

I HEAR ANGELA STIR. The bathroom door quietly snaps
shut, and a red glow brightens the room. It’s the light on the
phone between our beds. Why is Angela making a call at three in the
morning? And from the bathroom?

I tiptoe over and press my ear against it.

“Cliff? It’s Angela. There’s been some trouble. No,
I can’t speak up. Allie’s in the next room.”

The hole in my stomach grows with each word I
hear.

“Caro’s dead. Raped, beaten, strangled.” Her voice
breaks. “Oh, God, Cliff, what are we going to do?”

Cliff Danes. Damn. I had met him only once and
instantly disliked him. Patrician and pushing fifty, he was a
third-generation heir with, according to Angela, hardly any money
left. Still, he was a major player in the Upper East Side Crowd
besides being well connected in the modeling world.

Angela once lived and breathed Cliff ’s every word.
I wasn’t surprised when she confided he was her lover. Everything
was peachy-keen until her modeling gigs dried up and the bastard
dumped her.

When she creeps out of the bathroom, I say, “What’s
Cliff Danes got to do with this? I thought you were through with
him?”

Angela flicks on the lamp between our beds. “I was
going to tell you everything in the morning, but looks like neither
one of us is going to get any more sleep tonight.”

She sighs and scrunches into her pillow. “I should
have told you sooner about the parties—the parties in New Jersey. I
think that’s how Caro got into trouble.”

I perk up. “Parties? You never mentioned
parties.”

“That’s because I only went to one. But Caro was a
regular.”

“And that’s what got her in trouble?”

Angela gives me one of her
“are-you-too-stupid-to-comprehend” looks and goes into instruction
mode. “These weekly parties—they’re billed as Stag Poker Nights,
but they’re anything but. Each man is required to bring a date.
There’s dancing and drinking and I guess some carrying on, but at
the end of the evening the man has to trade her for another woman.
After the trade it’s anybody’s guess.”

The attorney in me snaps to attention. “Is there
money involved?”

“Not that I know of. As I said, I only went once.”
She gives me a half-smile. “I have to admit the place is pretty
cool. It’s a waterfront estate in Jersey near Sandy Hook Bay, but
everybody calls it ‘The Castle’ because it looks just like the ones
you see in fairy tale books.

“Cliff ’s been trying to join this group ever since
he heard about it. All the members are financially successful, have
inherited wealth or are descended from the Four Hundred.”

“And so you went to New Jersey with Cliff last
week?”

She nods. “But Cliff asked Caro to be his date when
he was initiated in February.”

“Caro? Your Caro? How did he meet her?”

“Through me.” Tears well. “When I introduced them,
he took one look at her, and I knew it would never be the same
between us. They were inseparable.”

I start at that. After he so callously dumped
Angela, it’s hard for me to believe the Cliff Danes I remember
could become besotted over anybody other than himself.

“But you were over Cliff by then, weren’t you?”

“I thought I was. When Caro moved in, we spent a lot
of late nights sharing our hopes and dreams. I told her everything
about Cliff and me. How he discovered me at the Lampasas County
Beauty Pageant and signed me on the spot. How he persuaded me to
freelance with him instead of joining a reputable agency, saying
I’d make more money. How in the beginning he got me on all the
major fashion covers, but when the offers began drying up he lost
interest.”

She sighs. “You know, I actually thought we might
get married someday.”

I want to tell her how happy I am it didn’t work
out, but I see the anguish in her face and bite my tongue.

“I can’t blame Caro. She went out of her way to make
it easy on me by going to his place. Then in May, things changed.
Caro started seeing someone else on the sly. I never found out who,
but she would tell me when he was coming by so I could
disappear.

“That’s about the time she started doing drugs. When
I called her on it, she laughed. Said they were just doing a few
recreational hits out at The Castle and that she could handle it.
Then she told me I should loosen up.”

Angela’s eyes fill. “If only I could have stopped
her.”

I wait until she calms. “You said Cliff took you to
the last party.”

“Some date. He kept looking around for Caro. When I
called him on it, he got all funny. Said he didn’t care what she
did. But I could tell he was really bothered.”

“Is it possible that Cliff murdered Caro?”

Angela stares away for a few seconds. “There are a
lot of things about Cliff that are strange, but I can’t see him
killing anybody.”

“Maybe he really was in love with Caro.”

Angela shrugs. “All I know is he was desperate for a
date last week and called me at the last minute.

“The evening was totally weird. All the men wore
full face masks.”

“Are you saying no one knew who anyone else
was?”

“Oh, no. Most of the men knew each other. At least
Cliff seemed to know quite a few. But no one called anybody by his
right name, and they spoke in some kind of code.”

“What kind of code?”

“They had different names. Like Cliff is Jay Three.
Oh, and they rated the women. One to ten.”

“Did you see Caro that night?”

“When Cliff left me in the hallway for a few
minutes, I heard my name being called. It was Caro. She was leaning
over the upstairs railing. She looked so happy.”

I move to Angela’s bed and put my arms around her.
“I know you feel horrible about what happened to Caro, but it was
her life. She made the choices.”

“Yes. She made the choices, but I don’t think she
expected to be murdered. Nobody would.”

“Okay, so this new guy gets her upstairs. Did she
tell you what happened there?”

“A couple performs while everybody watches.”
“Performs?”

She gives me a “you know” look.

“You mean they have sex? In front of everybody?”

“Caro said it was really about the man. That it was
a test to prove a man’s ‘savoir faire.’”

My mouth must drop open because Angela gives me an
agreeing smirk. “Worse than that, Caro told me if another member
likes the way a woman responds, he can ask to try her out. That’s
the rule. No man can refuse. Refusing is considered bad
manners.”

“Hey, wait a minute. Doesn’t the woman have anything
to say about it?”

“Why should the women complain? They get paid—and
plenty.”

“Are you saying Caro wasn’t?”

Angela shrugs off my question. “Two other men had
her that night and there were others standing in line when the bell
rang.

“Caro was devastated. Said this guy promised her the
time of her life. Said she didn’t expect to be treated like a
common whore. She swore she was never going back.”

A black hole in my stomach starts to grow. Does
Angela know names? If so, she could also be in danger. “Did Caro
ever name names?”

“No. And I never asked.”

————

Detective Greene pulls out the tape, scribbles
something on the label and throws it into a large carton on the
floor next to his file cabinet. “That’s even wilder than your last
tale.”

Angela sniffs. “And every word is true.” “And guess
what? I believe you.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what
seems like an eon. “Then, she isn’t a suspect?”

“I didn’t exactly say that.” He turns to Angela.
“Who’s Cliff?” She shakes her head. “No. I won’t—I can’t involve
him.”

“You may have to.”

Greene grabs his notebook. “This is what we’ve
learned so far. About two years ago a couple of high-profile,
well-heeled chums decided to expand their sexual opportunities.
Each recruited a friend who introduced a new woman at each party.
Sort of like a pyramid scheme.

“Sounds like Boys’ Night Out, but we know for a fact
they’re dealing in prostitution and drugs. The DEA has corroborated
this info. There’s an undercover agent planted pretty high up in
the ranks.”

I jump in. “Pardon me, but why are you even involved
with this? Seems like that’s a job for the cops in Jersey.”

He eyes me a few seconds then says. “Under ordinary
circumstances we wouldn’t be. Except that the three murdered
prostitutes who frequented the parties in Jersey all resided in the
nineteenth. And now Miss Montoya makes four.

“The DA has just authorized me to form a small unit
to see if we can establish what the connection might be between the
estate out in Jersey, these women and their pimp. That is, if you
call a woman a pimp.”

My sister’s icy hand tugs at my arm. “Is that all?
Can we go?” Greene shakes his head. “Not quite yet.”

“But I’ve cooperated. What more do you want?” “We
want you to go to the next party.”