Lust and Lies 04 - Pretty Maids in a Row

conversation with Tim and Tim's murder, he assumed Tim never had the chance to contact a reporter as they'd discussed. Otherwise, the news would be full of suppositions about the women somehow being involved in the two men's deaths.
    Was he next on the list? For his own protection, he thought it might be best if he stepped forward and told the whole story himself.
    Then again, the public was so fickle, he couldn't predict how they'd react to learning that Ziegler had set Wallace up to be raped and that he'd been one of the men who'd used her, as well as others. Advertising in Jock or even actual sales of the magazine, could be affected. Nor could he predict how the senators would respond to having their poor judgment exposed—his magazine could suddenly be labeled pornography and pulled off the general newsstands.
    For the time being, he decided to keep what he knew to himself, but to beef up security around his estate. No one could kill him if they couldn't get to him.
    * * *
    Bleary-eyed but surfacing, David scanned the interior of the airport coffee shop and wondered how long he had been vegetating there in his alcoholic fog. He popped three more aspirins into his mouth, swallowing them with a huge gulp of black coffee. He judged the state of his intoxication by how many seconds passed before he realized the scalding liquid had burned his tongue. The flight to Miami had been piloted by a character out of a Stephen King novel. He didn't care how long it took—when it was time to return to D.C., he was taking the train.
    It took one hour and two more cups of coffee to clear his head enough to leave the airport. Guessing in advance what his condition would be, he had made arrangements to pick up a rental car at his hotel, which was only a short cab ride from the airport.
    As a reporter, he probably would have had little trouble getting an interview with Jerry Frampton, but the man was not going to hand himself up just because someone had taken a picture of him with an ex-convict. David knew he needed more than that, and Mick D'Angelo was the source that could provide it. As was his way, David didn't have a specific plan. He would just follow his nose and see where it took him.
    By late afternoon he was refreshed and ready to check out his first lead: the Hon Choi restaurant on Miami's South Beach. Tommy Li Chen, the proprietor for twenty-three years, was not only in, but very available for an interview by a reporter. When he realized the questions did not involve the quality of his cuisine, however, he shed a considerable amount of his Oriental charm.
    "I tell you same thing I tell other man. Jerry Frampton, big shot now. No come here some time. But I remember and tell people big shot eat here. They come back again to see. No harm. Good for business."
    "Wait a minute. You said another man was asking about Frampton?"
    "Yes. Private investigator, he say."
    That would make sense. Someone had unearthed the facts that had been passed to him. The question was, why? "What about Mick D'Angelo? I understand they used to meet here."
    "Yes. Some years ago. Mr. D'Angelo still come in once in while." Li Chen glanced furtively around him before speaking. "He different kind of big shot in Miami. Bad kind."
    "Did you tell the other man who was here anything about D'Angelo?"
    "Same thing I tell you. He good buddy of big shot Frampton. I hear him bragging to lady friend last time he here."
    "Any idea how I could find D'Angelo?"
    Li Chen's straight eyebrows arched slightly. "Better you ask girls on Seventy-Ninth Street. They not charge much to talk to handsome boy like you." He gave David a wink, then excused himself to supervise the dinner preparations.
    David spent most of the night cruising the street Li Chen suggested. Although he would have willingly parted with some cash in exchange for information, the only expense he had thus far was for the overpriced drinks in the various pickup joints he stopped in. Most of the women he met denied knowing Mick D'Angelo, but one suggested he try a few places on Biscayne Boulevard, another area known for its abundance of flesh for sale.
    Part of the next day he spent sleeping and reading the local newspapers. A few more details had been revealed about the O'Day and Ziegler murders, but not enough to encourage any copycat killings. And not enough to make any guesses as to what they had in common besides being famous.
    David couldn't forget how Holly had reacted to the news of O'Day's murder,