Just the Facts, Volume 1 Page 3

  “Not anymore,” Michael replied, getting up. “If I do think of anything else, I’ll call you.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  Michael returned home and threw himself into cleaning his place—his usual Sunday chore. While he did, he tried to think of anything else he’d seen or heard regarding Ms. Lee. He had to admit he’d never have thought of her as a call girl. The few times he’d actually caught a glimpse of her, she had been very casually dressed. I guess even call girls get days off. He wondered if she plied her trade out of the condo she’d rented, and if so, did the owner know. Maybe he’s her pimp, if call girls have those. Not that I give a damn, as long as he doesn’t put another one in there to take her place.

  That idea didn’t exactly make his day, but there was nothing he could do about it, if it happened. He thought about calling Detective Daniels to see if he’d questioned the owner of Ms. Lee’s condo, but figured the man undoubtedly had.

  It was well after lunchtime when Michael finished cleaning. He had gathered up and sorted his laundry in the process, taking it to the laundry room down the hallway, and the last load was almost finished drying. While he waited for it, he made a sandwich and went out on the balcony, leaning against the railing while he ate. He saw a car pull up that he thought he recognized. A moment later he saw he was right when Reid Hanson got out.

  Why’s he here? Going to interview the building manager—again? Michael was sure that had happened at least once before. Reid had actually said as much, the first time they met. Or does he have more questions for me?

  The sound of the buzzer on the call box answered that, he figured. He went in, pressed the talk button, and asked who was there, despite knowing.

  “Reid,” the reporter replied. “Can I come up for a few minutes?”

  With a sigh, Michael pushed the button to let him in. A couple of minutes later there was a knock on the door. Michael opened it, stepping aside so Reid could enter.

  “Why are you here?” Michael asked.

  Reid shrugged as he looked around. “Nice place.”

  “I like it. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood, so…”

  “Nope.”

  Reid laughed. “Smart man.” He went out onto the balcony. “Good view of the city,” he commented when Michael followed—leaning against the doorframe.

  “Are you always this nosy?” Michael asked.

  “I’m a reporter. Of course I am,” Reid replied, grinning. “Actually, I do have a reason to be here, besides to see you.”

  “Excuse me? To see me? What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. But I’ll get to that later. First off, I had another talk with the good detective. He told me more about Ms. Lee.”

  “That she was a call girl.”

  “Damn. How did you find out?” Reid said, looking deflated.

  “He called me down to the precinct this morning.” Michael shook his head in disgust. “He found out I did time, and why, and tried to prod me into blowing up. It didn’t work.”

  Reid frowned. “So he’s looking at you as a suspect in the murder?”

  “He said he wasn’t, even before his games this morning. I guess he wanted to make certain I didn’t have a quick temper and maybe got very angry at her that night and…well…”

  “Strangled her to death.”

  “That’s how she died? I thought he wasn’t revealing that.”

  “I’m good. I wormed it out of him.” Reid rubbed his nails on his shirt, grinning. “So, back to Ms. Lee’s occupation. Did you get any feeling she’d been entertaining men in her place?”

  “Nope. She rarely had company—that I knew of at least.”

  “But she did sometimes?”

  Michael nodded, asking, “Aren’t you going to take notes, since this seems to be an interview?”

  “Good memory, and a pocket recorder.” Since Reid was wearing a T-shirt, Michael figured it had to be in his jeans pocket.

  “I saw her twice on her balcony, with a man. A different one each time I think, as I told the detective.”

  “During the day? Never mind. You work days.”

  “Yep,” Michael agreed. “It was mid-evening. I guess they could have been johns. So could the man who was with her the night before she died. I heard him, or someone, the previous Saturday, too, but didn’t look. She was ranting again, but not quite as badly as the first time. Or rather, for a shorter time. I figured the man had taken over and gotten her door unlocked.”

  “You said the ranting only happened on Saturdays?”

  “Yes, thank God.”

  “And the building manager didn’t do anything about it, when it happened?”

  “He doesn’t live on the premises. I told him about it, and so did someone else. Whether he talked to Ms. Lee, I have no clue.”

  “The first time you talked with her, did you smell booze on her breath?”

  “No,” Michael replied. “And I would have. I’ve been super-sensitive to that since…Well…”

  “Got it,” Reid said with a sympathetic look. “But something must have set her off. I wonder…”

  “I was thinking, while I was talking with the detective. What if she had a regular Saturday night john who got her high on something?”

  Reid nodded. “Did you suggest that to Daniels?”

  “Yep. He didn’t seem interested.”

  “Probably playing things close to the vest, since you’re a civilian.”

  “You are, too,” Michael pointed out.

  “Ah, but I’m a special one.” When Michael snorted, Reid protested, “I am. Go to dinner with me tonight and I’ll prove it.”

  Michael looked at him with wary surprise. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you can try to pump more information out of me about Ms. Lee and company?”

  “Not at all. So I can find out more about you.”

  “You already know more about me than I like,” Michael said uneasily.

  “I don’t know what kind of movies you like, or what books you read,” Reid countered.

  “Why would you care?”

  Reid smiled. “Why wouldn’t I? You seem to be an interesting man. One I’d like to get to know better.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m also gay, as you know, so I doubt you mean that. Except as a reporter looking for a story.”

  Reid leaned against the balcony railing, a smile quirking his lips up. “You’re not the only one out here who is.”

  “You’re trying to tell me you are? I don’t believe it. I think you’re saying it as a ploy so you can—”

  “Get a story out of you, as you put it? I’m not, Michael. I mean, I’m honestly not looking for a story. I told you I’d honor any confidences from you. I just want to get to know you as a person.”

  Michael studied him, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Nothing in his expression said he was lying. But then, he is a reporter. I’m sure he knows how to play into whatever the person he’s interviewing needs, to get an article out of it for the paper.

  “Give me a chance to prove it,” Reid said, his look open and sincere.

  “Dinner? Nothing more?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. I have a couple of things I have to do first.”

  “Fine. How about I pick you up around six?”

  “How about I meet you…wherever?”

  “That works, too.” Reid thought for a moment. “Do you know Aiden’s?”

  “I know of it. I haven’t been there.”

  “Then tonight will be a first for you.” Reid pushed off the railing. “I’ll see you there at six?”

  With a nod, Michael said, “Yes.” He wasn’t certain he’d actually show up, but by agreeing, he at least got Reid out of his hair for the time being.

  Chapter 3

  “You did come,” Reid said when Michael joined him outside the restauran
t early Sunday evening. “I figured it was fifty-fifty that you would.”

  Michael smiled. “Seventy-thirty on my part that I wouldn’t. But then I decided what the hell. It’s a free meal.”

  “And one should never pass on that.” Reid led the way inside, gave his name to the hostess, and five minutes later they were seated. The waiter arrived immediately to hand them menus and ask if they wanted a drink.

  Reid was about to order a beer, then thought better of it. He asked for iced tea, then looked at Michael.

  “Iced coffee, please,” Michael told the waiter. When the man was gone, he said to Reid, “You could have had a beer, or something. Just because I don’t drink, doesn’t mean you have to refrain.”

  “Eh. I’m not much of a drinker, so it’s no problem. Besides, the weather calls for iced whatever.”

  Michael shook his head, looking disbelieving, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead he asked, “Why did you become a reporter? And do not say, because you’re nosy.”

  Reid laughed. “Okay. I won’t. I always wanted to know things about other people. Friends, teachers, the guy who sold us treats at the bakery. Boy, did he have some secrets. But that’s beside the point. I also wrote a lot, for myself and in school. Then, on career day when I was a high school freshman, one of the speakers was a reporter. After listening to him talk, I knew that’s what I wanted to be.”

  “So you majored in journalism in college?”

  “You bet. And, worked on the college paper the last three years I was there. That helped when I graduated. Not much, but it did. I at least had stories to show potential employers. Still,” Reid grimaced, “for the first couple of years I spent more time working for fast food joints than writing, just to keep a roof over my head. I finally landed a job on a community newspaper and after a couple more years moved up the ladder, so to speak, then applied at The Chronicle and got a job there. Not as a feature writer, but as least I had my foot in the door.”

  The waiter returned with their drinks, then waited patiently while they quickly perused the menu and chose something to eat. When he left, both men sipped their drinks, seemingly at a loss for what to say next.

  Reid broke the impasse. “I said we could compare movies and books, as part of getting to know each other.”

  “You did. So…” Michael lifted an eyebrow.

  “Okay. I’m a big Star Wars fan.” Reid laughed when Michael wrinkled his nose. “I take it you’re not?”

  “No. I saw the first movie. That was more than enough for me. Now when it comes to movie series, I’ll take Underworld any day.”

  Reid snorted. “You have to be kidding. You’ll take vamps and werewolves over great sci-fi action?”

  “Yes. Or Indiana Jones, but only the first couple.”

  “Weird man.”

  Laughing, Michael retorted, “I could say the same about you.”

  “What about single movies?” Reid asked.

  “Given my choice, ones like Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, umm, Se7en.”

  “Usual Suspects, Blade Runner.”

  “Casablanca,” Michael countered.

  “Citizen Kane.”

  They probably could have continued talking movies all evening, but their meals arrived, putting an end to their lists for the time being.

  * * * *

  They finished, and were debating desserts and whether to have them, when Michael saw Reid look past him at someone behind him—he presumed. Michael started to turn his head to see who had caught Reid’s attention when a man stopped next to the table.

  “I don’t know if you remember me,” the man said to Michael. “I came by your shop, maybe two months ago.”

  “I can’t say that I do. Sorry.” If there was one thing Michael had learned in prison, it was to keep his feelings from showing. He did recognize the man, and it had nothing to do with the shop. He schooled his expression to show only casual interest in the man’s words. “Maybe if you tell me what kind of costume you were looking for, it would refresh my memory.”

  “I was only browsing.” The man shrugged. “I didn’t mean to bother you while you were having dinner. It’s just…When I saw you here…”

  “You’re trying to decide if I was the guy from the shop.” Michael pasted on a smile. “I’ve had that happen to me more than once. That ‘where do I know them from’ thing. As I said, I don’t recognize you. But then I don’t have a good memory for faces. Maybe if you tell me your name it would ring a bell.”

  “I didn’t actually talk to anyone when I was there. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Michael watched as the man walked away—and left the restaurant a moment later. “Okay,” he said, frowning. “That was strange.”

  Reid smiled. “Maybe he’s after your hot body and that was his excuse to get to meet you.”

  Ignoring the hot body comment, Michael replied. “No. He was trying to find out if I remembered him from the night before Ms. Lee was murdered.”

  “That was him? The one you told me and the cops about?”

  Michael nodded. “I’m dead certain it is. The hair. The eyebrows. Yeah. It’s him. How the hell did he find me here?”

  “No clue. Maybe he followed you from your building? Maybe he saw you as he walked by?” Reid gestured to the wide picture window a few feet away.

  “I sure as hell hope that’s it. I don’t like the idea he might be shadowing me.”

  “I sort of doubt he was. If he had been, he’d have approached you somewhere less public.” Reid looked at Michael, cocking his head. “From watching you, I’d have thought he was a complete stranger.”

  “I learned not to let anyone know what I’m thinking until I’m sure it’s safe.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Michael was pretty certain that Reid knew why and was politely avoiding saying anything.

  “We should probably get in touch with Detective Daniels to let him know what happened,” Reid said. “We both got a good look at the guy, so we can describe him better than you probably did when you were telling Daniels about him. Hell, maybe he’ll put us with a sketch artist.”

  “I suppose we should,” Michael replied reluctantly. “But not tonight.” He drummed a tattoo with his fingers on the table. “He has to have had something to do with the murder, if he’s afraid I might remember him.”

  “I think that’s a given. Now all we have to do is find out who he is.”

  Michael shook his head. “That’s Daniels’ job, not ours.” He chuckled, adding, “Oh, intrepid reporter.”

  “I resemble that remark, and I won’t deny it. You’re right, though. We’ll leave it up to him, which means giving him a call in the morning to set up an appointment to tell him. Until then, do you still want dessert?”

  “Not really.” Michael frowned. “That guy, whoever he is, was taking a chance, talking to me. What if I had said I recognized him, and from where? What then?”

  “Then you’d be next on his list.” When Michael’s frown deepened, Reid rescinded that. “Not really, I’m sure. But he’d have been real careful to play keep away from the building, which he undoubtedly has been anyway. And from anywhere else he thought you might go. Or leave town. When it comes down to it, I’m surprised he hasn’t—if he’s the person who killed her.”

  “If he is, he’s not terribly bright. I don’t care what you say; his coming in here was beyond stupid, even if I hadn’t recognized him. Seeing him could have triggered my memory, causing me to remember later where I’d seen him.”

  “Like you said, he’s obviously not the brightest bulb in the pack. I think you convinced him you’ve got no clue who he is.”

  “I hope. Still, I’m going to be real careful on my way home, just in case.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Reid told him.

  Michael lifted an eyebrow. “I think I can handle him, if he tries to waylay me in the hallway, or whatever.”

  “Probably. But why take a chance. Think of it this way. Ms. Lee was a call girl.
That implies she was working for someone. Right? Suppose for the sake of argument, the man who was just here was her handler, pimp, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll buy that. If she was high every Saturday night…Well, why would he do that to her?”

  “To keep her in line. He’d got her hooked on something, and if she’s a good girl, she gets a fix.”

  “Only on Saturdays? Wouldn’t that be the one night when he’d want her straight so she could service her johns?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  Michael smiled. “Well, it is your theory. I’m leaning more toward his being a john who doesn’t want anyone to know that he was hiring her. He got unlucky that night, because I opened my door to read her the riot act and saw him.”

  “That works, too. Maybe better than my idea.” Reid nodded slowly. “He’s someone who can’t let it be known he’s one of her johns because…Hell, maybe he’s one of those law-and-order guys who are cracking down on prostitution. Or a priest. Or he’s got a rich wife who’d divorce him if she even thought he was doing the dirty with someone else.”

  “A lot of maybes, but, yeah, possible.”

  “So he wouldn’t be at all happy if he thought you could finger him. He might have believed you when you said you didn’t recognize him. But he’d still be paranoid enough that he’d want to make certain you weren’t lying.”

  “And how can he do that?”

  “Keep an eye on you, especially now, to be sure you don’t go running straight to the cops.”

  Michael puffed out a breath. “That sort of puts the kibosh on my talking to Daniels tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah. But I can.”

  “Uh-uh. The guy saw you with me. For all he knows—if he didn’t believe me—I told you who he is and where I saw him.”

  “Good point.” Pensively, Reid rapped a thumbnail against his teeth, then shook his head. “I hate to say it, but he has to have been following you. He knew about the shop.”

  “Damn. You’re right. Since he does, why wait until now to pull his ‘do you remember me’ thing?”

  Reid chuckled as he flagged down their waiter. “Ask him, the next time you see him.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Hopefully, that will be never.”