Sin And Bone. Debra Webb
for her pad and pen once more. “Can you describe the man to me?”
She blew out a big breath, and her blond bangs fluttered. “You’re not going to believe this but it was dark in the room where we met. He wouldn’t let me turn on the lights. He told me what he wanted, gave me a thousand bucks up front and walked out. Next thing I knew, I was snagged from my regular corner. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up here.”
“You’re a prostitute, is that correct?” Outrage burst inside Devon. The idea that whoever had done this had taken advantage of someone so vulnerable made him all the angrier.
“A girl’s gotta make a living somehow.” She straightened the sheet at her waist. Smoothed the wrinkles her nervous fingers had created.
“Where did you and this man meet?” Ms. Lytle asked.
“Over on East Ontario.” She fidgeted with the edge of the sheet some more. “A car picked me up and took me to that real fancy hotel over on Michigan Avenue.” Her lips trembled into a small smile. “I was thinking that was going to be my lucky day. You know, a big tipper.”
“Which hotel?” Ms. Lytle asked.
When the woman had given the name and address of the hotel, Devon demanded, “What can you tell me about his voice? Deep? Did he sound older or younger?”
“Not really so deep. He sounded older than me for sure.” She moistened her lips. “His voice was kind of gravelly like he’d spent a lot of years smoking.”
“What exactly did he ask you to do?” Devon demanded. He realized he’d taken over the interview but it was his prerogative. Ms. Lytle worked for him, after all. This outrageous situation was about him! Fury twisted sharply inside him.
“He said all I had to do was pretend to be someone else for a day. Easy money. Big money.” She shrugged one thin shoulder. “I didn’t know I’d be getting hurt and almost die.”
“What’s your name?” Ms. Lytle asked before Devon could launch his next question.
“Audrey.” She stared at her manicured fingernails, anywhere but at the woman questioning her. “Audrey Maynard.”
“Audrey,” Ms. Lytle began, “you said the hotel room was dark. Did you get any sense of his height or how big or small he was?”
She started to move her head but winced. “Not really. He was sitting in a chair. I could sort of make out his form against the cream-colored chair. He wore dark clothes. He wasn’t a big guy. Thin and medium height, I guess.”
“Did he wear cologne?”
She thought about that question for a moment. “Yes. Something expensive. I think it was that Clive something or other. I only smelled it a couple other times—once when I was part of a group of girls who attended this secret party with a bunch of really rich guys. The stuff costs like thousands of dollars.”
“Clive Christian,” Devon said. The woman in the bed as well as Ms. Lytle turned to stare at him. He was well acquainted with the cologne she meant.
“That’s it.” She pointed at him. “And you. You wear it. I smelled it when you checked on me this morning.”
“Did you keep any of the money he gave you?” Ms. Lytle asked. “What was the money in? A bag? A box?”
“It was in a bag. The shiny pink kind like you get from that fancy lingerie place. But I threw it away.”
“What did you do with the money?” Ms. Lytle prodded.
“I paid my mother’s rent. She was behind. She’s sick. Emphysema.” She sighed. “It’s bad.”
Ms. Lytle asked, “Did he contact you again after that?”
“He just said he’d send his car after me when he was ready.”
“When did the car come for you?”
“Yesterday morning. It was waiting outside my mother’s place when I walked out the door.”
“Tell us about the car.” Ms. Lytle prepared to jot down the information.
“Black. One of those big sedans you see hauling rich people around but not a limo.”
“What about the license plate? Did you see it?” Devon asked.
“No. I’d had a rough night. I was pretty out of it.”
“Did you see the driver?” Ms. Lytle inquired before Devon could.
“Yeah. He was white. Midtwenties maybe. Black hair, cut short. Not exactly cute. He looked, you know, indifferent. Wore a black suit. He told me I was to go with him the way I agreed. After I got in the car, he didn’t say a word.”
“Where did he take you?”
“Damen Silos. He just put me out and drove off. I was still staring after him when someone grabbed me from behind.” She frowned. “Wait. Maybe I did see part of the license plate.” She called off two numbers. “There were some numbers and then a TX. That’s all I can remember.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Lytle said. “We may have more questions later.”
“When will I be able to go home? I’m sure my mom is worried about me. I’m all she’s got.”
Ms. Lytle looked to Devon.
“Leave the contact information with Ms. Lytle and we’ll see that your mother is informed of your whereabouts.”
He walked out of the room. The guard resumed his position next to the door as Devon moved away. How many people knew the cologne he wore? The description of the man who’d hired her was insufficient but there was enough to further convince Devon with whom he was dealing. His former partner Richard Sutter.
Ms. Lytle hurried from the room to catch up with him. “It’s time to call in the police, Dr. Pierce. I don’t believe she’s telling us the whole truth.”
When he stalled, she glanced back at the room and the guard stationed there before meeting his impatient glare. “I know when a witness is lying, and for whatever reason, the woman in that room lied with every breath.”
He had come to the same conclusion. When he continued to stare in the direction of the room without responding to Ms. Lytle’s suggestion, she went on, “At the very least, I should get this cup to a friend of mine who can run the prints. We need to confirm who she is. She has rights and we’re walking all over those rights by not bringing in the proper authorities.”
His attention shifted to her, fury whipping through him. “I am well aware of the patient’s rights, Ms. Lytle.”
“Then you know we have to do something to protect her. I spent far too many years as a cop to ignore the situation. The man who hired her will not want her talking. Victoria and the Colby Agency have a reputation for high standards. I’m not about to let Victoria or the agency down.”
“I’m not asking you to let anyone down.” He started walking toward his office once more. “She has protection at her door and we’re going to do something right now.”
She hurried to keep up with his long strides. Though she was five-nine and in excellent physical condition, he stood at six-two and was quite fit himself. He had the advantage physically. He forced away thoughts of testing her physical endurance in all sorts of ways.
As they reached his office, she managed to get ahead of him and to block the door. “Where exactly are we going?”
He reached for patience. “To see the car. Any personal effects may still be in the vehicle. I’d like to see those and the registration.”
“Makes sense.” She stepped away from the door. “But I’m driving.”
C&C Towing, Noon
GEORGE TALBOT, her friend in Chicago’s Crime Scene