“It was at the Crystal Palace in St. Kilda. Some charity fund-raiser he was asked to speak at.”
“Do you know who his date was?”
Her snort was disparaging. For the first time, I saw something more than sorrow in her face. “Alana Burns. She was one of the Toorak Trollops.”
Amusement twitched my lips. No need to ask Rosy what she thought of the “Trollops,” because it was right there in the tartness of her voice. “Who are?”
She waved a hand, coming perilously close to knocking over her coffee. I reached forward and slid it out of the way again. “They’re a dozen or so single or divorced Toorak ladies who make themselves available to attend all the best functions. With only the best-bred men, of course.”
“So they’re high-priced hookers?”
She frowned. “No. Money doesn’t change hands, as far as I know. Can you imagine the scandal that would have caused Mr. James? No, they’re just well-bred, well-connected sluts, pure and simple.”
I smiled, but I had to wonder if she’d voiced such sentiments to her boss. Somehow, I suspected not. “And did he go out with Alana often?”
“Quite a few times, although I think he was getting a little tired of her.”
I took a sip of coffee, then asked, “Why?”
She hesitated. “He generally preferred to keep things casual.”
And if Alana had started making demands and had gotten the wrong reaction, it might just explain his murder. Dumped women didn’t always resort to chocolate. Some of them got angry—and others got even. “How did he usually dump his lovers?”
“With flowers the next day. I usually order them, which is how I knew he was getting tired of Alana. He asked me to check the prices on the roses.”
Well, at least he didn’t dump her with daffodils. “But they went out last night?”
“Yes. I rang her that afternoon to confirm the date, as I usually do. She was in a complete snit.” Rosy sniffed. “Most of those women think they’re too good to be dealing with the common folk.”
And maybe the Trollops weren’t the only ones with a chip on their shoulders. “Was Alana the first Trollop your boss dated?”
“No.” She wrapped her hands around the coffee again and slid it toward her. “I kept telling him they’d get him into trouble one day, but he liked the contacts they could give him.”
“Who else did he date, then?”
“There were several of them. He was with one for about a year, but she got very clingy and he called it off.”
Meaning she probably wanted a commitment. Poor woman. I wondered whether she’d received the roses, or if she’d simply been shown the door. “What was her name?”
She frowned. “Cherry something. It’ll be in the files—although I believe she’s changed address, so those details won’t be right. It’s filed under T.”
This time, my grin broke free. Rosy definitely had more fire in her than first appeared. “Are Alana’s details there, too? I need to speak to her.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything that might be useful?”
I reached out telepathically as I asked the question and linked lightly to Rosy’s mind. Her thoughts were a confusion of sadness and grief for her boss as well as worry about her age and whether she’d actually find another job. I couldn’t find anything resembling lies or half-truths, or anything she was concealing. So I gently withdrew.
She took a sip of coffee, then frowned. “Like what?”
“Well, had he been sick recently? Had he received any threats? Had anything unusual happened in the last week or so?”
“No. To all of that.”
“Then for the moment, there isn’t much more you can help me with.” I waved the cop back over, then added, “I’ll get the officer to take you home, if you like.”
Said officer didn’t look too happy at being relegated to chauffeur duties, but Rosy looked pleased. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
I picked up my coffee and the uneaten bit of cake, then said my good-byes and got out of there. I munched the chocolate cake as I walked back up the stairs, leaving a trail of crumbs behind me.
Cole looked up as I reentered the office. “You expect me to just fall into bed with you, and yet you didn’t even have the decency to get me a cup of coffee? Women these days. So selfish.”
I grinned. “Yep, it’s all about me and my appetites, buddy boy, not yours.”
Amusement briefly touched the blue of his eyes. “What can I do for you now?”
“You seen a Rolodex?”
He waved a hand toward the desk. “Second drawer.”
I dumped my coffee on the desk, then put on some gloves before opening the drawer and retrieving the Rolodex. Alana’s address was indeed listed under T for Trollops. In fact, there were a total of seven women listed. Gerard had obviously been making his way through the Trollop ranks. I jotted down all their names and addresses, then retrieved my coffee and nodded a good-bye to Cole. I was almost out the door when I remembered what Rosy had said about clothes, and stopped.
“Cole, have you found Gerard’s clothes yet?”
He answered without looking up. “Yeah, they’re neatly stacked up in the bathroom.”
“Really?”
I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice, and he looked up with a smile. “Yeah. I suspect our boy is a bit of a neat-freak. Both offices are extraordinarily tidy.”
“Except there was nothing neat about what they were doing last night.”
“Well, no, but then, not even a politician would expect sex to be neat.” He paused to pick up a strand of hair and place it in the bag. “The bathroom window is broken, though, which is odd.”
That raised my eyebrows. “So if our killer was a cat-shifter, she could have escaped that way?”
“If it wasn’t for the five-story fall to the pavement, yes.” His voice was edged with exasperation. “It’ll be in my report. If I ever get to finish my report, that is.”
I knew a hint when it clubbed me
Once in my car, I switched on the onboard computer and typed in Alana’s name, looking for anything we had on her. As luck would have it, there was practically nothing. The worst thing she’d ever done in her life was being late to pay a speeding ticket. The Trollops might be hard-loving, life-enjoying women, but it seemed this one, at least, was basically law-abiding.
I double-checked that the address we had listed was the same as the one in the Rolodex, then started up the car and headed off.
To say Toorak was a well-to-do suburb would be the understatement of the year. Only millionaires and over could afford to live there—though in recent times, some of the more affluent had been moving out to the trendier beachside suburbs like Brighton.
The only time I came to Toorak willingly was to visit Dia—a psychic who was on the Directorate’s payroll who’d become a friend—or to go window-shopping along Chapel Street. Actually buying anything more expensive than a coffee was out of the question—the Directorate didn’t pay us
The strident blast of a horn brought my attention back to the road, and I swerved to avoid an oncoming car. Ignoring the rather animated gestures from the driver, I flicked the computer over to satnav and let it guide me to Alana’s.
It turned out she didn’t live in one of the leafy acre blocks that populated the money end of Toorak, but given her apartment was near the Yarra River end of Kooyong Road, it would still carry a million-dollar price tag. At least.
I climbed out of the car and looked up at the building. It was only three stories high and modern in design, all concrete and windows. The floors weren’t built directly onto each other, but at slight angles, giving everyone a view
