Sin City

Greg offered her a palm, to accompany the only halfway interesting information he had: 'She's got the carpet fibers on her stuff too.'

'Hmmm. She's our other good suspect.'

Greg brightened. 'She is?'

'Yes…but she used to work at Dream Dolls, herself.'

'Oh. Her DNA's in the mix, too, by the way.'

'Could be the same reason. You get anything from the mattress or the sex toy?'

Another sigh. 'Doing that next. I believe this is the first time you've brought me a vibrator.'

She smiled a little but, heading for the door, said only, 'Don't go there, Greg.'

Sanders managed his own little smile, before his expression turned serious as he returned to his work.

Sara, on her way to the office, had the nagging feeling she'd missed something, that the puzzle pieces were all before her now, and she wasn't quite putting them together.

Detective Erin Conroy and Pat Hensley sat on metal folding chairs in the dressing room at Dream Dolls, a few of the dancers in various stages of undress milling about, applying expensive makeup and cheap perfume. Pat's alter ego, Belinda Bountiful, didn't go on for another half hour, and she was relaxing, enjoying a cup of coffee; so was Conroy, keeping it casual, not even taking notes.

Her back to the dressing table, almost plain without makeup, the garishly redheaded Hensley wore a low-cut lime top that shared much of her ample cleavage with the world; her jeans were funkily frayed and form-fitting, and she was barefoot, her toenails blood red. But it was the Dolly Partonesque cleavage that kept attracting Conroy's attention.

Catching this, Belinda said good-naturedly, 'If you got it, honey, flaunt it. I paid good money for these and I intend to get a whole lotta mileage out of 'em.'

The refreshing bluntness of that made Conroy laugh. Then she said, 'We were talking about Tera Jameson.'

'Right. What else can I tell you?'

'Is Tera's sexual preference widely known in your circles?'

Hensley shrugged. 'She don't advertise it, but she doesn't hide it, neither.'

'What about Jenna?'

Hensley sipped her coffee. 'She didn't advertise it.'

'That she was a lesbian?'

'No. Anyway, like I told that other female dick, the other day-Jenna liked both flavors.'

'She was bisexual, you mean.'

'Yeah, I said that before. What are you getting at?'

Conroy chose her words carefully. 'Another friend of hers claims Jenna was strictly straight.'

Hensley smirked. 'Couldn't have been somebody who knew Jenna very well.'

Conroy sat forward conspiratorially. 'What if I told you it was Tera Jameson herself who made that claim?'

'I don't care if Oprah told you: it's a crock. Tera's lying. Why, I have no idea.'

'Were Tera and Jenna having an affair?'

'Well, they did have one…'

'Right up to the time of Jenna's murder?'

'No-it was over months ago. They still roomed together, but Jenna told me, in no uncertain terms, that she and Tera were history. Still friends! But history.'

'Because of Ray Lipton.'

Hensley nodded. 'Jenna fell hard for the guy…. You mind if I start putting on my makeup?'

'Not at all.'

Hensley turned her back to the detective, began applying her makeup, and talking to Conroy in the mirror. 'I can see why Tera didn't like Ray, though.'

'Because he stole Jenna away?'

'Well, yeah, I guess, but…'

'Because he was a hothead?'

'That, too-though Lipton was mostly talk. I saw him do stuff like grab Jenna, by the wrists, y'know? But never hit her or anything.'

Conroy kept trying. 'What else didn't Tera like about Ray Lipton?'

'He looked down on Tera…he was very, what's the word? Provincial in his thinking. To him, it was perversion, girls with girls.'

In the dressing room mirror, Pat Hensley was turning into the garishly attractive Belinda Bountiful. Conroy asked, 'Pat…Belinda-this is important. Are you sure Jenna and Tera were involved, romantically? Sexually?'

A laugh bubbled out of the stripper. 'Oh, yeah-I know for a fact!'

'Are you saying…'

Now the stripper turned and looked at the detective dead on. 'Don't spread this around, okay? I got a husband, and two kids. But I work in a kinda bizarre line of business, you might have noticed, and I don't always see things, or do things that…conventional society would put their stamp of approval on.'

Knowing the answer, Conroy asked, 'How do you know Tera and Jenna were involved, Belinda?'

And Pat was Belinda now, when she said, ''Cause one horny drunken afternoon, girlfriend, I let the two of 'em make a Belinda Bountiful sandwich…that's how I know.'

Taking a long swig from her coffee, Detective Erin Conroy smiled.

'You like our Dream Dolls coffee, huh? It's not bad, for a dive.'

'Not bad at all,' Conroy said, rising, placing the empty coffee cup on the dressing table. 'Delicious, in fact.'

Almost as good,Conroy thought, as catching Tera Jameson in another lie.

In the dimly lighted, smoke-swirling cathedral of skin that was Showgirl World, Catherine Willows-in a black leather coat, canary silk blouse and black leather pants-stood at the mirrored bar and waited, her silver field kit on the floor next to her.

The music pounded and a blonde pigtailed dancer in a schoolgirl micro-mini-skirt outfit was up on stage, toward the start of her set, and a few other girls in lingerie were meandering through the audience, even though the place was barely a quarter full, an early evening lull.

The bartender, a fiftyish guy in gray-rimmed glasses, came back from the telephone. 'Mr. McGraw will be right out.'

'Thanks.'

A blade of light sliced into the darkness from the left, bouncing like a laser off the mirrors, and then as quickly disappeared. Stocky Rick McGraw-in a dark blue suit and lighter blue shirt without a tie-emerged from his office.' 'What can I do for you, Detective?'

'Crime scene investigator,' she said, handing him the search warrant. 'I'm here to search the dressing room.'

The stocky club manager slipped the folded paper into the inside pocket of his suit without a glance. 'Sure.'

Catherine lifted one eyebrow and showed him half a smile. 'You told Detective Conroy you wouldn't let her search the place without a warrant.'

A small shrug. 'And you brought one.'

'Tera Jameson been in today?'

'Here now, but doesn't go on for a while. Wasn't scheduled-filling in for a sick girl.' He gestured. 'She's working private dances. You need her?'

'No. The night Jenna Patrick died, over at Dream Dolls-Tera worked that night, right?'

'Yeah. I told the cops all about it.'

'Tell me again.'

'Well, she was here, all right. We were kind of shorthanded, and she wound up doing sets at the top of every