seductively around her neck. As he got close, he realized it was Mona. She had painted enough make-up on her face to almost look attractive. He didn’t know too many hookers with the guts to walk into a police station house, and he smiled at her.
“What brings you here?”
“Something’s come up,” Mona said.
“You got a hot tip for me?”
“Yeah.” She pointed at the front doors. “Can we talk in the parking lot?”
“You got a car?”
“No, I just like standing outside in the fricking cold.”
Mona marched out the front doors like she owned the place. Valentine looked at Doyle, and saw his partner shrug. “She wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“You don’t have a car, remember?”
“I’ll bum a ride off Mona.”
“Don’t let her talk you into anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Valentine walked out of the station house. Mona was waiting for him in her car, a black, four-door Volvo 164 with a leather interior. He had gone kicking tires with Lois a few months ago, and priced this exact same model. It had cost more than his Pinto and Lois’s car combined.
“You act surprised,” Mona said as he slid into the passenger seat.
“I am.” Then he added, “In a good way.”
“You like it?”
“It’s boss.”
She had the heater on, and the local jazz station, and turned both down. She started to say something, then hesitated. He waited her out. No one liked to talk to cops, not even good people. It was especially hard for Mona.
“A girl I know had a strange thing happen last night,” Mona said. “She picked up a john at the casino. They got into his car, and he was driving her to a motel. The next thing my friend knows, she’s lying on the sidewalk, staring at the stars.”
“She black out?”
“She thinks he knocked her out. She thinks it was the Dresser.”
Valentine turned sideways in his seat. “Did she get a good look at him?”
“Yeah. He was maybe forty, about five-eight, a hundred and sixty, round face.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“She said the john acted like he was sick, asked her to remove his medicine from the glove compartment. Everything after that is a blank.”
“I want to talk to her.”
Mona shook her head.
“Why not?” he said.
“My friend violated her parole. She’s afraid you’ll run her in.”
“Mona, please. Even if its just over the phone. I need to interview her. Who knows what I’ll draw out of her. Maybe she saw the guy’s license plate, and doesn’t remember it.”
“No fucking way, so stop begging.”
“But —”
“She told me everything she remembered, so just listen. The guy combed his hair down, and it made him look different from the guy in the flyer. He wore nice clothes and was a smooth talker. My friend said he smelled like he’d just taken a shower.”
“What about the car?”
“Four-door, white, made in Detroit, maybe six or seven years old. She’s not big on makes. There was one really weird thing. When she opened the glove compartment to get his medicine, she saw this fake finger. It was hollow and made of flesh-colored plastic.”
“Was there something wrong with his hand?”
“She was going to look. The next thing she knew, she was lying in the gutter.”
Valentine digested what Mona had told him. Her hooker friend had seen a lot; his intuition told him there was more. He needed to talk to her friend right now, before the memory faded. He gave Mona a hard look. He liked her, but was ready to sacrifice that friendship if it meant finding a clue that would help catch their killer. Reaching behind his belt, he removed his handcuffs. Then he grabbed Mona by the wrist, and slapped the cuff on. Her painted face turned to horror.
“What are you doing?” she said angrily.
“Take me to your friend, Mona.”
