"Do I, Frank ? Should I go to the press and let them sort it out?"
"I don't think you'd get very far."
"You don't think they'd be interested in a story about a DA who is prosecuting a pimp while having very raunchy sex with one of his whores?"
Tim closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. "What do you want?"
"Let's meet where we did the last time and I'll tell you in person. Eight o'clock. Don't be late, Frank, or Jasmine will be very angry."
Kerrigan felt himself begin to grow hard as an image from their last meeting was triggered by her words. An insane desire to have sex with Jasmine again welled up in Kerrigan, despite the knowledge that meeting with her could only lead to his destruction.
Then he thought about Cindy. Something was going on between them that he hadn't anticipated. They had grown closer since she'd comforted him after his return from Senator Travis's crime scene. When he made love to his wife, there was none of the energy he'd felt with Bennett, when lust and shame had combined to produce a cocktail of illicit pleasure, but he'd felt dirty when he left the motel and he'd felt at peace when he was in Cindy's arms.
For a moment, Kerrigan thought about defying Ally, but he didn't have the courage. There were so many things she could do to hurt him; she could go to the press, to Jack Stamm, or, worst of all, she could go to Cindy. Tim felt defeated. Ally Bennett had ordered him to return to the motel and he was too weak and afraid to disobey.
Part Four
THE VAUGHN STREET GLEE CLUB
Chapter Twenty-Eight.
Joyce Hamada wasn't hard to spot in the crowd of students that surged out of Smith Hall shortly after three. Kate Ross had found her picture in the case file Oscar Baron had given to Amanda, but the picture did not do her justice. Baggy jeans and a loose-fitting Portland State sweatshirt could not conceal her voluptuous figure. Jet-black hair hung to Hamada's waist and gleamed in the afternoon sun as if it had been polished. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide and alive, the highlight of a face that would have looked great on the cover of a fashion magazine.
Kate followed the nineteen-year-old sophomore across the street to the parking garage. She lagged behind when Hamada walked up a flight of stairs to the third floor, and closed the gap while she was tossing her books into the back of a beat-up Mazda.
"Miss Hamada?"
The woman spun in panic, her eyes wide. Kate held out her credentials.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. My name is Kate Ross. I'm an investigator working for the lawyer who's defending Jon Dupre. Do you have a minute?"
"You've got the wrong person. I don't know this man."
"I'm talking to you here, Miss Hamada, because I don't want to embarrass you in a more public setting."
"I'm late. I have to go," Hamada said as she opened the driver's door.
"You were arrested for prostitution three months ago but the charges were dropped. Jon Dupre posted your bail and paid Oscar Baron's legal fees. That's a strange thing for someone you don't know to do."
Hamada swore and her shoulders slumped.
"I don't want to hurt you. I'm not interested in things you may have done. I just want to talk about some things that might be relevant to Jon's case."
Hamada sighed. She got into the car and motioned Kate around to the passenger side.
"Ask your questions," Hamada said when Kate shut the door.
"Why don't you start by telling me how you met Jon?"
Hamada laughed, but her eyes didn't. "I was fresh off the bus from Medford, my first time in the big city, if you can believe that. About two weeks after school started, I went to one of the clubs with some girls from school. Jon made a move on me and I didn't know what hit me. He's this great-looking, older guy, he dresses well, and he's ultrasmooth, not geeky like most of the freshman boys. The next thing I know I'm in this house I'd only seen in the movies, high on cocaine, and he's fucking my brains out. I thought I'd died and gone to Hollywood."
"How did he convince you to work for him?"
"I don't want to get into that stuff. I'm out of the life now that he's locked up." Hamada paused and shook her head. "The way he killed that lawyer, that could have been me."
"Did Jon ever hit you?"
"Yeah," Hamada said, hanging her head.
"Why didn't you leave him?"
She laughed harshly. "You think it's easy to walk away from someone like Jon?"
"Jon says that you were at his house with another girl on the evening that Senator Travis was killed."
"So?" Hamada asked defensively.
"Were you there?"
"Yeah."
"Do you remember Jon calling anyone that night?"
"He was always on the phone. I didn't pay any attention."
"Did you hear him mention Senator Travis?"
"No, but we weren't always in the same room. Besides, we left early."
"Why is that?"
"Jon got pretty fucked up on some drug he was doing, and Ally chased us out."
"Ally Bennett?"
"Yeah. She was like a mother hen when she was around Jon. Always trying to act important."
"You and Bennett didn't get along?"
"It wasn't like that. She's just territorial where Jon is concerned. She could be nice, too."
"The DA may subpoena some of the women who worked for Jon to convince the jury that he has a violent nature. If you're a witness, what can we expect from you?"
"He roughed me up once when I didn't want to go out on a job. He scared me more than hurt me. Once I did what he wanted he was nice again."
"Can you think of anything that would help Jon?"
"Not really. I'm sort of relieved that he's in jail. I wanted to quit, but he made it hard. I hated it, really. Having some fat pig slobbering over me. I always took a long shower afterwards. Sometimes it didn't help. There'd be this smell that would stay with me."
"Was being afraid of Jon the only thing that made you stay?"
"Look, the money was great. My folks don't have much and it really helped. But, all in all, I'm glad I have an excuse to get out."
Kate headed for Ally Bennett's apartment as soon as she finished talking to Joyce Hamada. She had to find out how long Ally Bennett had stayed with Jon Dupre on the night Travis was murdered. Kate tried to remember if the medical examiner had estimated a time of death. If Bennett had stayed most of the night, she could be Jon's alibi.
Kate pulled into the lot at Ally's apartment complex and walked to Ally's door, which was ajar. She knocked. No one answered.
"Ally?" Kate called as she pushed the door all the way open. It looked like a freight train had driven through the apartment at full throttle. The Van Gogh and Monet prints had been thrown to the floor, cracking the glass, the cushions on the sofa had been ripped to shreds, books littered the floor, and the bookshelf had been overturned.