A really gross photo of a man and a woman came up on the screen. "This is what you do all day?" Pino asked. "Cruise the Internet and look at dirty pictures?"
Vialpando chuckled. "Not all day. Not even every day. Some of it's pretty disgusting. A lot of the porno stars are traveling hookers. They come into the city for a month or two, sometimes on a regular basis, rent a furnished pad, and ply their trade. The adult sex sites are a good way to get a make on those girls when we get a tip. A john who feels ripped off will call anonymously, a landlord might complain about a tenant, or a neighbor will report unusual activity at an apartment. We'll go out, take a few photos of the lady in question, or get a name and a good description, and see if she pops up on the Internet as a wet and wild one. Sometimes we get lucky."
He enlarged a photograph of a naked woman on a bed with her legs up in the air giving the camera a come-hither look. "That's Brenda. We got her for soliciting. It was her first bust, so she walked with a fine. But she won't be back in Albuquerque, at least not anytime soon."
"Charming," Pino said.
"Did you know that adult porn sites are the biggest Internet moneymakers, worldwide? What does that tell you about civilization as we know it?"
"There must be a lot of horny sick guys out there," Pino said.
"And women." Vialpando clicked on another favorite, an escort service. "We check escort services all the time. There are some local sites we keep an eye on, but the really big ones are out of state. They offer the full menu: fetishes, S and M, bondage, domination, threesomes, bisexual encounters, and your straightforward heterosexual party girl. Some of these women work part-time, usually away from their home territory. If you've got the cash and are willing to pay, they'll fly in for an overnight or even for a week. It can cost anywhere between a couple of thousand for a night, to fifteen grand or more for a week of intimate companionship."
"That's what I paid for my car," Pino said as she read the bio on Tammy the Temptress, who was twenty-four and was studying for an advanced degree. Tammy was proud to be a courtesan, and loved romantic evenings with generous, virile gentlemen.
"Tammy the T is out of Houston," Vialpando said. "We missed her by a day last time she was here, but we're hoping she comes back soon. The airport cops are keeping a watch out for us. Want to visit her photo gallery?"
"No thanks," Pino replied.
"Next up are the Internet personal ads." Vialpando clicked one up. "There are two types we scan: the blatant come-ons and the intimate encounters. Just about every site has both."
"Why do you look there?" Pino asked.
"The escort services and sex sites are getting more sophisticated in their marketing strategies. They know cop shops are monitoring them. Placing personal ads for individual girls not only gives them another venue, but it also makes our job tougher. There's gotta be millions of women looking for love or whatever through the Internet."
"So, how do you score a hit?" Pino asked.
"You've never cruised the personals?" Vialpando asked.
Pino shook her head.
Vialpando looked her over and smiled. "I guess you don't need to."
Pino had noted the absence of a wedding ring on Vialpando's hand. "Do you?"
"No way," Vialpando said, laughing. "Anyway, you can narrow the field if you've got a make on a subject. Just use the subject's physical description as your preference for what you're looking for in a woman. Height, weight, age, hair and eye color, body size. For location you can search city, state, region, or you can go national or international if you like."
"It's as easy as that?"
"It gets you closer. Then you scan the ads, looking for suggestive content. A lot of them come with pictures. You can forget the ones that are posted with casual snapshots, unless they're just totally shameless. Instead, concentrate on the professional or slightly provocative photos. We put two freelancers out of business last month by mining the personals."
"How did you do that?"
"By responding to their ads. Would you like a hard copy of the Web sites we use the most?"
"That would be a big help. Do you keep tabs on any local smut photographers?"
Vialpando printed out the hard copy, signed off, and shut down the computer. "Give me a name."
"Thomas Deacon."
He reached over, got the sheets off the printer, and handed them to Pino. "I'm not familiar with the gentleman's work."
"How should I proceed with Cassie Bedlow?"
"If she really is a front for a prostitution ring, she'll be looking for girls who are vulnerable-down on their luck, out of a job, hurting for money. Girls that are estranged from their families or far away from home."
"That's good to know. I told her I was divorced, I'd just moved here from Durango, didn't have a job yet, and was pinching my pennies," Pino said.
"Nicely done," Vialpando said with genuine sincerity. "Are you?"
"Am I what? Pinching pennies? What cop doesn't?"
Vialpando laughed. "Are you divorced?"
Pino studied Vialpando. In his early thirties, he was way beyond average looking, with intelligent brown eyes, no receding hairline, and a slightly turned-up nose. She shook her head. "You have to get married to do that, and I'm not. How about you?"
"You know the old saying: become a detective and get a divorce."
"That must have been tough," Pino said.
Vialpando shrugged. "Fortunately, it ended before we'd started a family."
Pino waited a beat for more, like perhaps an invitation to grab a cup of coffee. Nothing came. "Thanks for the tour of the wonderful world of vice," she said.
"Any time," Vialpando said with a laugh. "Will you need backup tomorrow?"
"I don't think so."
"What time are you coming down?"
"I've made an appointment with Bedlow for ten o'clock."
Sergeant Jeff Vialpando smiled shyly. "If you'd like, I'll buy you lunch and you can tell me what you've learned about my backyard."
"That would be very nice," Detective Ramona Pino said demurely.
Clayton didn't like El Paso very much, not even with a pretty sunset in full view on the western horizon. A hundred and twenty miles south of Ruidoso, it was sandwiched between the New Mexico state line and the Mexican border city of Juarez, across the Rio Grande. In spite of new shopping malls, spreading residential subdivisions, and a partially revitalized downtown area, El Paso held no appeal for him. Perhaps it had something to do with geography. It was the westernmost city in Texas, much closer to the New Mexico state capitol in Santa Fe than to white-bread Austin. It was a gateway city, heavily populated by native Hispanics, as well as a growing number of both legal and illegal immigrants from Mexico and Central America. It was a desert city with blistering wind-storms, little rain, and brain-deadening hot summers. But most of all, it was an industrialized city, filled with warehouses, freight companies, NAFTA maquiladoras just across the border, wholesale distribution centers, and major drug runners operating out of Juarez.
The interstate and major railroad tracks cut through the city. Endless truck stops, gas stations, and vast, fenced storage yards lined the highways. Squalid barrios on both sides of the border spread way beyond city limits. All of it gave Clayton a dismal feeling.
Captain Vincent Calabaza of the El Paso Police Department headed up an intelligence unit that was part of a multiagency drug interdiction task force. Housed in a new building built with federal funds, the task force consisted of agents from DEA; FBI; Immigration and Naturalization; Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms; and a host of state and local officers.
A heavyset man in his fifties, Calabaza listened while Clayton asked about Luis Rojas, and ran down the reasons for his inquiry.