“I guess it’s time to come clean. I’m afraid I got you up here under false pretenses. I’m a reporter, and I want to talk to you about Dorothy Crispin.”
Cindy’s facade dropped and she looked stricken. “That’s the girl who was murdered.”
Dana nodded. “She worked for Executive Escorts. Did you know her?”
“Look, I’m not paid to talk to reporters.”
“I did pay for several hours of your time.”
“I’ll make sure you get your money back.”
Dana took out her phone and snapped a picture.
“Why did you do that?” Cindy asked anxiously.
“I thought some of my friends at the DA’s office might like to see what a high-priced call girl looks like. They can probably figure out your real name, maybe even ask you out on a date to a real live grand jury.”
“Shit. Give me that phone.”
Cindy took a step forward. Dana tossed the phone behind her onto the bed to free both hands.
“I hope you’re not thinking of resorting to force, Cindy, because I have a history of very violent behavior. Make one aggressive move and I will break your nose and jaw and make you look so unattractive that no one will want to date you for some time.”
The escort hesitated.
“That’s better, and you can trust me to delete your picture after we chat.” Then she smiled. “I’m also serious about dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Suit yourself. So, Cindy, did you know Dorothy Crispin or Jessica Koshani?”
“I’m not talking about Koshani.”
“Why not? She’s dead. She can’t hurt you.”
“The people she was fronting for can,” Cindy said.
“Who are they?”
“Look, I’ll tell you what I know about Dorothy, but I’m not going to discuss anything else. I don’t want to end up dead. If what I know about Dorothy isn’t good enough, it’s too bad. You can do your worst. It’s nowhere near what these people can do.”
Dana studied Cindy for a moment. She looked frightened, and Dana was pretty sure she wasn’t faking. Dana asked Cindy what she knew about Crispin.
“There’s another girl. We work together if the customer wants a threesome. One time she got sick. She was in a bad way. There was no way she could date. So she called Dorothy and she did it with me. That’s the only time I met her.”
“What was your impression?”
“She was smart, nice.” Cindy shrugged. “We really didn’t talk much. This guy kept us busy.”
“Give me the name of the woman who hooked you up with Dorothy Crispin, and I’ll delete the photo and forget we ever met.”
Cindy hesitated.
“I’m just going to talk to her, Cindy. I might not even use her name,” Dana lied.
“Elsie Teller. She lives in a condo in the Pearl.”
“Condos in the Pearl are pricey. She must do okay.”
“She has family money.”
“Then why work as an escort?”
“Elsie likes to live on the edge.”
“And you?”
Cindy blushed and broke eye contact. “I’m not smart like Elsie or Dorothy.” She ran her hands down her body. “This is all I’ve got to work with.” She looked up and embarrassment was replaced by determination. “And I do okay with what I’ve got.”
E lsie Teller lived in the Pearl, a former warehouse district that had been redeveloped into an upscale section of Portland populated by people with enough money to afford the restaurants, art galleries, and six- to seven-figure condominiums that had sprung up overnight. When the door to Teller’s apartment opened, Dana was expecting to see another glamorous version of Cindy Crawford, but Teller looked like hell. She was barefoot and dressed in a faded Stanford sweatshirt and a pair of equally faded jeans. Her hair looked as though she’d run a comb through it haphazardly without looking in the mirror, she wasn’t wearing makeup, and there were dark circles under red- rimmed eyes.
Teller stood aside and ushered Dana into the living room of a spacious corner apartment. While she waited for Teller to close the door behind her, the investigator admired Teller’s breathtaking view of the city. Then she studied the apartment. The modern decor looked like something conceived after much thought by an interior decorator who had been told that money was no object. Either the escort business paid really well, or Cindy had hit the nail on the head when she said that Teller’s family was wealthy. Colorful abstract oils hung on stark white walls, glass-topped coffee and end tables stood before or next to furniture upholstered in soft pastels. It wasn’t Dana’s taste, but she knew enough to know that the apartment was decorated in very good taste.
“Francine said you wanted to talk about Dotty,” Teller said. Dana guessed that Francine was Cindy’s real name and deduced that Teller was too upset to care about call girl protocol.
“I do. I met Dotty. We talked for some time. She seemed like a good person.” Dana paused. “I also discovered her body.”
Tears welled up in Teller’s eyes, and she wiped them on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
“Was it bad? Did she suffer?”
“Do you want me to be honest?”
“Please.”
“You’ll get this from the papers eventually. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. She would have suffered.”
Teller threw her head back and wailed. Dana helped her to a sofa and held her while she bawled. It took a lot to touch Dana, but Teller was doing it. She wished there was some way she could absorb Teller’s pain.
“I’m sorry,” Teller said when she could finally speak.
“No need to apologize.”
Teller stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
Dana watched her disappear around a corner. When she came back, she looked as though she had splashed water on her face, and there was a telltale trace of white powder under her nose.
“You two were close?” Dana asked when Teller settled back on the sofa.
“I loved her,” Teller answered defiantly.
“I’m so sorry.”
Teller seemed to have run out of words. She looked around for a moment. Then her eyes came to rest on the wet bar.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, fighting her sorrow by morphing into the role of host.
“I’m fine, but feel free,” Dana answered.
Teller opened a liquor cabinet and poured a healthy glass of very good scotch.
“Why are you here?” she asked when she was seated.
“Have you followed the news stories about Senator Carson’s disappearance and reappearance?”
“That pathetic pig!” Teller answered vehemently.
“You know Carson?”
“Dotty did. She used to tell me what she did with him.”
“Let me get this straight,” Dana said. “Dorothy Crispin knew Senator Carson in a professional capacity?”
Teller laughed harshly. “Jesus, you can say that again. He hired her to fuck him, only that’s not what they did, according to Dotty.”
“I’ve heard that Carson had odd sexual needs.”
“If I tell you things, I want a promise that my name won’t be mentioned and you’ll try to keep Dotty’s name out of it. It would kill her folks if they learned she was hooking and she was a lesbian.”
“I’ll try to keep Dotty’s identity hidden, but I won’t promise I won’t write about the senator’s sexual habits.”
