Hooked

haven’t been on this very long. Our guys took pictures in shifts, doing their best to identify the women. We recognized some of the johns, regulars on the club circuit. Rich guys with too much money and overactive libidos. We’re not interested in them right now, only the ladies. Busiest time ranges from early evening to late at night for both men and women.
    “This gal―” he swapped Melody’s photo for a younger, thinner girl, with an eager quality― “went to the townhouse a few times, but we haven’t seen her in over a week. She’s not in our files, so we have no idea who she is. She could be on a week-long cruise somewhere or decided she didn’t like the life.”
    Tawny knew women like these. Pretty, good figures, thought life in the fast lane was exciting. But perceptions differed from reality. Some learned how to deal with it, some didn’t. Some got out; some liked the life, others got in too deep and couldn’t get out for a variety of reasons, drugs being primary.
    “Cooper’s not there all the time, but two other men are,” Walsh continued. “Tax forms say the smallish fellow, Colin Harwood, is the building manager; and the doorman, Charles Higbee, lives in the basement apartment. Neither has a record. One other guy showed up once in the last couple of days. Not the usual customer. T-shirt and jeans. His picture matched a man by the name of Richard Hansen, or Dirk, according to his sheet. Domestic violence and battery, so not a nice guy. He might be a boyfriend. We’re doing a deeper check.” Walsh took his picture from the two he kept in front of him. “Know him?”
    Tawny studied it. “Not a very good picture, but no. Never saw him before.” She examined the photo closer. “Pretty boy. Model or actor, I’d guess. His hair’s professionally streaked, and he works out, which means he probably goes to a gym.”
    “Hmm, sure you weren’t a profiler in another life?”
    “I’m observant. Trick of the trade.” Tawny expected a snort. Walsh let the remark pass with little more than a glance.
    “Well, you’re right. He calls himself an actor, but we can’t verify he’s had any work recently. Might model, but nothing on that either. Since we haven’t been on to Cooper until the last couple of weeks, we don’t know how long these ladies have been working for him. And like I said, we haven’t been there every night, so there may be more women.”
    Walsh slid the last photo in front of her. “If this were your kid they pulled out of the river, wouldn’t you want to see justice done? Sarah’s mother does.”
    The picture almost made her gag. The bloated body lay naked on a stainless steel table, waxen and otherworldly. Sarah Marshall was definitely a victim. Tawny drew a couple of deep breaths and managed to choke out a few words. “Yes, I would.”
    “Then stop regarding this as an act of treason.”
    She bit her bottom lip, eyes riveted on the poor creature’s picture staring back at her. Walsh had a purpose for showing her the picture, and it worked.
    “How…how do I report to you? You can’t call my cell phone. It’d be too suspicious, and I’m not a good actress.” She caught his slight blush. Probably thinks I fake orgasms.
    “Give me your phone.” She did. “Since I’ve called you, my number’s in here. I don’t want you to access it.” He pulled a small notebook from his back pocket and wrote his number, then tore out the piece of paper. “Memorize it, toss the paper, then whenever you call make sure you delete the number from your phone bank, like I did.”
    “This is all so cloak and dagger.”
    “You’re in the spy business, Tawny Dell. You’re hooked.”
    “Interesting analogy. I’m that all right.”
    “Remember, you might be saving a young girl’s life. Maybe even one of your kids, down the line.”
    “Not mine, Walsh. No kids in my future.”
    “Don’t bet on it. One day you’ll get tired of being alone, feel your biological clock ticking down, and turn into everything you think you’d never be. I’ve seen it happen more times than not.”
    His words hit deep in her gut. “Don’t you bet on it.” She got up and opened the dishwasher, set the dishes inside, but not before tears filled her eyes.
    Walsh followed her to the sink. “Hey, what is it? What’d I say?”
    “Nothing. I’m tired. This is more of a strain than I thought.” She closed the dishwasher. “I guess I wasn’t prepared for dead bodies and young hookers,