Brazen Virtue

similar to ours where a young boy can call and charge the conversation to his parents’ phone bill. I happen to think that’s irresponsible and sad. We serve adults only, and our terms are explained in full up front, before any charge is made.”
    “We’re Homicide, not Vice, Mrs. Cawfield,” Ben told her. “In any case, we’ve already checked out your business and you’re within your rights. At the moment, we’re only interested in Kathleen Breezewood. It might help us if we had a list of her clients.”
    “I can’t do that. My client list is confidential for obvious reasons, Detective Paris.”
    “And murder isn’t confidential, Mrs. Cawfield, for obvious reasons.”
    “I understand your position. You’ll have to understand mine.”
    “We can get a warrant,” Ed reminded her. “It’ll just take time.”
    “You’ll need a warrant, Detective Jackson. Until you have one, I’m obliged to protect my clients. I’ll tell you again, none of them could have located her unless they had access to this machine and broke the code to the program.”

    “We’ll have to talk to your husband and sister-in-law.”
    “Of course. Short of breaking client confidentiality, we want to cooperate in every way.”
    “Mrs. Cawfield, do you know where your husband was on the night of April tenth?” Ed gave her a mild look as he held his pencil over his pad. Ben saw her fingers tighten quickly.
    “I suppose you have to ask that, but I find it tasteless.”
    “Yeah.” Ben crossed his legs. “Murder doesn’t have such a sweet taste either.”
    Eileen moistened her lips. “Allen plays softball. He had a game on the night of the tenth. He pitched all nine innings; I was there. It was over about nine, maybe a bit before. Afterward, we went out for pizza with several other couples. We got home a little after eleven.”
    “If we find we need names, you can provide them?”
    “Of course. I’m sorry, very sorry about Kathleen, but my business isn’t involved in her murder. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to take this call.”
    “Thanks for your time.” Ed pushed the door open and waited for Ben to join him on the sidewalk. “If she’s playing it straight, and I think she is, none of the clients would have gotten Kathleen’s location through the main office.”
    “Maybe Kathleen broke the rules.” He pulled out a cigarette. “Gave out her address, her real name. Maybe she met one of the guys and he followed her back, decided he wanted more than talk.”
    “Maybe.” But it was hard for him to think of his former neighbor as a woman who broke the rules. “I wonder what Tess would say about the possibility of a man who uses a MasterCard to charge sex talk committing rape and murder.”
    “She’s not in this one, Ed.”

    “Just a thought.” Because he recognized the tone in his partner’s voice, he let it ride. Ben had already had to deal with his wife being involved in a homicide investigation. “You know, it’s more likely that someone busted in, came across her, and lost it.”
    “But it doesn’t feel right.”
    “No,” Ed agreed as he pulled open the car door. “It doesn’t feel right.”
    “We’re going to have to talk to Grace again.”
    “I know.”
    H E HAD TO LISTEN again. It had been too long. As soon as his last class was over, he came home to lock himself in his room. He’d wanted to ditch school altogether that day, but knew his father would be involved if he was reported. So he’d sat through all of his classes, a quiet, bright, well-behaved boy who spoke in a clear voice. The fact was, he blended in so well none of his teachers would have noticed him if he wasn’t the son of a potential president.
    Jerald didn’t like to be obtrusive. He didn’t like people to look at him because if they looked too long they might see some of his secrets.
    It was rare that he took the chance of tapping into Fantasy’s line during the day. He liked the dark better; he could imagine so much better in the dark. But since Desiree, he’d been obsessed. He put on his headphones and cued his terminal. Sitting back, he waited for the right voice.
    He knew Eileen’s. It didn’t interest him. Too businesslike. The other one, the one who worked at night, wasn’t right either. Too young, too prim. Neither of them ever made any promises.
    He closed his eyes and waited. Somehow he was sure, absolutely sure, that he would find the right one soon.
    When he did, her name was Roxanne.

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