K Is for Killer

around. Champagne and gifts, a gorgeous babe in tow. It looks good on the surface, and everybody thinks what a stud he is. What these men are looking for is a one-up relationship because they can't 'get it up' any other way. He's paying for the service, so if the equipment doesn't work, it's her fault, not his, and he can express his disappointment any way he likes."
    "With his fist."
    "If you want to look at it from his point of view, why not? He's paid for her. She's his. If he can't perform, he's got her to blame and he can paste her in the chops."
    "Some deal. She keeps the cash and the clothes in exchange for the punishment."
    "She doesn't always get punished. Some of these guys like to be punished themselves. Beaten, humiliated. They like to have their little fannies spanked for being bad, bad, bad."
    "Did Lorna tell you this?"
    "No, but I've heard it from a couple of other hookers on the local circuit. I also did some reading on the subject when I was getting my degree. I used to see them come in, and I'd be incensed at the way they were treated, furious because I didn't really understand what was going on. I'd jump to the rescue, trying to save them from the 'bad' guys. For all the good that did. In an odd way, I'm a better nurse if I can stay detached."
    "And that's what you did with her?"
    "Exactly. I felt compassion, but I didn't try to 'fix' her. It was none of my business. And she didn't see it as a problem, at least as far as I knew."
    "You seem to spend a lot of time at the Edgewater. Is that where the singles hang out these days?"
    "The singles in our age group, yes. I'm sure the kids would find it stuffy beyond belief and the prices astronomical. Frankly, it makes married life look pretty good."
    "Do you happen to remember any dates when you saw her? If I check with the hotel, it helps to pin it down."
    She thought about that briefly. "Once I was with a bunch of girlfriends. We get together to celebrate birthdays. That time it was mine, so it must have been early in March. We don't always manage to get together on the exact date, but it would have been a Friday or Saturday because that's when we play."
    "That was last March?"
    "Must have been."
    "Was this before the broken nose or afterward?"
    "I have no idea."
    "Did Lorna know you knew?"
    "Well, she saw me that night and maybe twice before that. Since Roger and I had separated, I was out with friends almost every weekend. Lorna and I didn't come right out and discuss her 'career,' but there were veiled references." Serena had used the fingers of both hands to form the quote marks around the word career.
    "I'm just curious. How do you happen to remember in such detail? Most people can't recall what happened yesterday."
    "The police asked me most of this, and it stuck in my mind. Also, I've given it a lot of thought. I don't have a clue why she was murdered, and it bothers me."
    "You believe she was murdered?"
    "I think it's likely, yes."
    "Were you aware that she was involved in pornography?"
    Serena frowned slightly. "In what way?"
    "She starred in a video. Someone sent the cassette to her parents about a month ago."
    "What was it, like a snuff film? S and M?"
    "No. It was fairly pedestrian in terms of the story and subject matter, but Mrs. Kepler suspects it may be linked to Lorna's death."
    "Do you?"
    "I'm not being paid to have opinions at this point. I like to keep my options open."
    "I understand," she said. "It's like making a diagnosis. No point in ruling out the obvious."
    There was a knock at the door frame and Joan peered in. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a baby over here I'd like you to take a look at. I've got a call in to the resident, but I think you should see him."
    Serena rose to her feet. "Let me know if there's anything else," she said to me as she moved toward the door.
    "I'll do that. And thanks."
    I drove back to my place through deserted streets. I was beginning to feel at home in the late night world. The nature of the darkness shifts from hour to hour. Once the bars close down and traffic dissipates, what emerges is the utter stillness of three a.m. The intersections are empty. Traffic lights are bright O's of red and sea-foam green in a dazzling string that you can see for half a mile.
    Clouds were pouring in. A dense ground fog, like cotton batting, was laid across the mountains, and the gray hills were pocked with streetlights against the backdrop of rolling mist. Most of the residential windows I saw were dark.