Laura kissed Quinn. 'I've been a bad wife. I promise not to mention the case or anything even remotely connected to law for the rest of our stay.'
'Good. Because even a single slip of the tongue will be severely punished.'
'Oh? What might you do?'
'Hmm. Ravishing comes to mind.'
Laura fluttered her eyelids. 'You mean that I'll be ravished if I say anything connected with law?'
'You betcha.'
Laura smiled seductively and whispered, 'Habeas corpus.'
[3]
Lamar Hoyt, Jr., lived on the eighth floor of a brick and glass condominium near the Vista Bridge. Anthony flashed his badge at the security guard and told him not to announce the arrival of the detectives and the four uniformed officers who accompanied them. When they arrived at Junior's apartment, the officers stationed themselves on either side of the door and Dennis rang the bell. He had to press the button five times before an angry voice, thick with sleep, asked, 'Who is it?'
Anthony held his badge in front of the peephole and said, 'Open up, police.'
The door swung open, revealing a huge living room decorated with low-slung, modern furniture of polished metal, glass and smooth woods. Anthony saw the lights of Portland through a floor-to-ceiling window that stretched across the outer wall of the apartment. The other walls were decorated with framed posters or paintings with a skiing theme. The top of a glass coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles, a half-filled bottle of red wine and an open pizza delivery box containing only the half-eaten remains of a slice of pepperoni and cheese.
'Real class, Junior,' Anthony said.
'Ah, shit,' Junior replied when he recognized the detective.
Junior was wearing a dark blue silk bathrobe belted loosely at the waist. The robe hung open a little, exposing Junior's hairy legs and torso and a pair of bright red bikini underpants.
'May we step inside, Mr. Hoyt?' Dennis asked.
'No, you may not.'
'I'm afraid we have to insist,' Dennis responded patiently.
'I'm calling my lawyer.'
'Maybe you'd better do that,' Anthony said. 'Tell him to njieet you downtown.'
'Down . . . It's the middle of the night. I'm not going anywhere unless you've got a warrant.'
Dennis smiled and handed Hoyt his copy of a search warrant.
'What's this about?' Junior asked nervously.
Why don't we talk inside?'
Junior backed away from the door. Dennis noticed a dining area in front of the picture window that was relatively clean. He motioned Junior toward it. Anthony took a seat at the head of a large dining table and Dennis sat beside him. Two policemen stationed themselves near Junior and he eyed them anxiously.
'We have a new lead in your father's death and we need your help, Mr. Hoyt,' Dennis said.
'What kind of new lead?'
Anthony took an autopsy photograph of Marie Ritter out of a manila envelope and handed it to Junior.
'Jesus!' Junior said, dropping the picture the moment he saw what it was.
'That's a curious reaction for someone who works in a funeral parlor,' Dennis told Junior.
'You didn't happen to know this woman, did you?' Anthony asked.
Junior forced himself to look at the picture. He looked confused at first, then his expression changed. When he looked up, Junior's eyes shifted nervously between the detectives.
'You are two sick fucks, you know that?'
'Not as sick as the person who did this,' Anthony answered, pointing at Marie Ritter's mutilated body. 'This is a call girl named Marie Ritter. She was murdered a few nights ago at the Heathman. I understand that you were one of her customers.'
Junior twitched. He cast another anxious glance at the autopsy photo.
'Look, I'll be honest with you. I, uh, I knew this woman, but not down here. I knew her in Seattle. And not as Marie Ritter. She called herself Crystal. All these whores have whore names.' Junior forced a smile, but Anthony and Dennis did not respond. 'But I didn't know that she was dead.' Junior fidgeted nervously. 'This isn't my normal thing, you understand. A friend of mine turned me on to her. Said she was, uh, exotic. I usually don't pay for sex, if you know what I mean.'
'I'm sure you get lots of pussy, Junior,' Anthony said. 'But we're more interested in the last time you saw Marie Ritter than we are in your love life. When was that?'
'Uh. Let's see. It would be sometime in January. Late January.'
'So soon after your father's death?' Dennis asked.
'So much for a period of mourning,' Anthony added.
'Hey, I don't have to take this shit,' Junior said, half standing and glaring at Anthony. 'Especially from the person who blew the investigation of my father's killer.'
Anthony paled and he started to stand, but Dennis put a restraining hand on his partner's arm.
'Why don't you relax, Mr. Hoyt?' Dennis said. 'I'm sure it just seemed odd to my partner that you would be cavorting with a high-priced call girl so soon after your father passed away.'
'Yeah, well, it happened,' Junior answered sullenly. He settled back onto his chair. 'I was in Seattle on business and I called her.'
'Directly?'
'No. She works for an escort service. I arranged it through them.'
'I bet Crystal didn't come cheap, Junior. No pun intended,' Anthony said.
'You think you're funny?'
'Where do you get all the money for these expensive toys, Mr. Hoyt?' Dennis asked.
Junior barked out a harsh laugh. 'You are two pathetic civil servants. For a guy like me, a couple of hundred a night is nothing. I'm making a bundle from the mortuaries.'
'You must be spending a bundle, too,' Dennis said casually. He didn't sound the least offended by Junior's outburst. 'Wine, women and song, heh, heh. You know, the credit check I ran on you has you maxed out on just about every credit card there is and your bank balance ...' Dennis shook his head sadly and Junior turned pale.
'Do you remember where you were on Wednesday evening?'
'Wednesday?' Junior asked nervously. 'Why do you need to know that?'
'That's when Ms. Ritter--Crystal--was killed.'
'Hey, I didn't have anything to do with that.'
'Of course,' Dennis said soothingly, 'but it would help if we could eliminate you as a suspect. See, so far, you're the only person connected with this case who knew Ms. Ritter.'
'I . . . I'm pretty sure . . . Yeah, Wednesday, I was by myself. I stayed home alone.'
'No one called you or dropped in to visit?' Dennis asked.
'No.'
'That's too bad. You're certain you were home and not at the Heathman with Miss Ritter?'
'Absolutely.'
Dennis smiled. 'Well, we'll know soon enough. The lab reports are expected back soon.' Dennis shook his head sadly. 'You know, it just isn't fair anymore. A good crook used to be able to beat the rap by just wearing gloves so he didn't leave fingerprints. But now with this DNA if you spit or leave a teensy-weensy head hair or an itsy-bitsy drop of semen, you're doomed.'
'You won't find any of my prints or DNA on that woman.'
'Mr. Hoyt,' Anthony asked, 'do you think you can remember a little more about that argument you had with your father? The one at Hoyt Industries headquarters. You were pretty vague about what made you and your father so upset.'
'I've had enough of this. First, you drop a picture of a dead woman on my table, then you suggest I killed her, now you're asking about some argument I already told you about ...'
'Let me help you out here. You know Jack Brademas, the head of security for Hoyt Industries, don't you? Probably heard all about his getting killed on the TV.'
