I, Alex Cross

missing girls, Katherine Tennancour."

Chapter 74

    JUST LIKE EVERY other escort we’d pulled in today, Lauren Inslee was slender, well-endowed, and absolutely gorgeous. She was a former model in New York and Miami, a graduate of Florida State University, an escort for men with a taste for perky cheerleader types. Nicholson obviously had a variety of tastes to satisfy, but his general aesthetic was "expensive."
    "Katherine’s dead, isn’t she?" That was the first thing Lauren asked when I sat down with her. "Nobody will tell me anything. You want
us
to talk, but you people won’t say a word about what happened."
    "That’s because we don’t know, Lauren. That’s why we’re talking to you."
    "Okay, but what do you
think?
I don’t mean to be morbid. I just want to know. She was a friend of mine, another Florida girl. She was going to be a lawyer. She’d been accepted at Stetson, which is a really good school."
    Lauren played with a paper napkin the whole time she spoke, tearing it into tiny pieces. A slice of the pizza we’d brought in sat untouched on a plate next to the torn shreds of napkin. I believed that all she wanted to hear was the truth. So I decided to give it to her.
    "The police report says there’s no indication that she packed a bag at her apartment. Given the amount of time it’s been — yes, there’s a good chance she’s not coming back."
    "Oh, God." The girl turned away, fighting tears, hugging herself tightly.
    It was getting more depressing in here by the second. We were in one of the larger interview rooms, with graffiti burning right through the latest paint job on the walls and scorch marks on the floor from years of cigarette butts.
    "Detective Pontano says that you mentioned something about a specific client at Blacksmith? And maybe Katherine. Lauren, tell me about the client."
    "I don’t know," she said. "Maybe. I mean — I know what Katherine told me. But that place was all rumors all the time."
    I kept my voice even and as calming as possible. "What did she tell you, Lauren? We’re not going to arrest you for anything you say in here. You can believe me on that. This is a big homicide case. I don’t give a damn about vice."
    "She said she had a private scheduled with someone, a big hitter she called Zeus. That was the last time I ever talked to Katherine."
    I wrote it down.
Zeus
?
    "Is that some kind of alias? Or was it Katherine’s code for the client?"
    She dabbed at her eyes. "An alias. Almost everyone uses booking names. You know — Mr. Shakespeare, Pigskin, Dirty Harry, whatever strikes their fancy. It’s not like you don’t end up face-to-face. But it does mean nobody’s real name gets written down anywhere. Believe me, it’s safer for everybody that way."
    "Sure it is." I nodded. "So Lauren, do you know who Zeus is? Any idea?"
    "I don’t know. Honestly. This is what I’m saying, trying to say.
Supposedly,
he had something to do with the government, but Katherine could be gullible that way. I didn’t even think twice about it when she told me."
    My mind was racing ahead a little now. "Gullible how? Can you expand on that for me? What do you mean?"
    Lauren sat back and pushed both hands through her hair, away from her face. I think finally talking about Katherine was a relief for her — if not for me.
    "This is the thing you need to understand," she said, and leaned in closer. "Clients lie about what they do all the time. Like, if you think they’re more important than they really are, you’ll work harder, or let them go bareback or whatever crazy shit it is they’re fantasizing about. So I never believe half of what I hear. In fact, I just assume that the ones who talk about their lives
are
lying. The men with the real power? Those are the ones who keep it all to themselves."
    "And Zeus?"
    "Honestly, I don’t even know if he exists. It’s just a name. The name of a Greek god, right?
Greek?
Maybe that’s a clue? His sexual preference?"

Chapter 75

    I NEVER GOT to make up my own mind about what I thought of Lauren’s story — because the next morning, it was made up for me.
    I was gassing up my rental at a 7-Eleven on L Street near home, mostly thinking about how I missed my own car. It was in the shop for new glass after the shootout in Alexandria, and I wanted it back —
yesterday
. There’s just no substitute for familiarity, the old faithful comfort zone, even the cup holder in just that spot where you automatically reach.
    When the cell phone