“Oh, hey, you are the coolest, Jo. Really. But let’s face it, you’re not cutting-edge fashion for clothes.”
“Professional trumps fashion,” Jo countered.
“Oh, the boss and clients love the schoolteacher look. Dr. Anderson likes the fact that you’re kinda stuffy. Gives you an air of authority. But at the wedding. Not so much. Sex it up a notch, Miss Marple.”
Jo considered her white blouse and pencil skirt. “Miss Marple? That’s going a bit far.”
Sammy’s gaze reflected honest enthusiasm. “Jo, kick it up a notch.”
Kick it up a notch. She had no idea what that meant. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Go to Zoe’s. They’ll take care of you.”
Jo thought about the dress shop yesterday, running into Dayton and before him the tense saleslady. The thought of trying on dresses made the muscles in her back tighten.
In her car, she called Zoe’s, discovered they were open until eight and opted to sneak in a quick workout at the gym before she braved the store. She’d not worked out since early Saturday morning, and her muscles were tight.
She clicked on the radio to NPR and remembered Sammy’s comment about Miss Marple. She switched stations to the local pop channel, managed two songs before switching back to NPR. Jo doubted she was hip even when she was young.
When she reached the stoplight a pickup came up right behind hers, stopping just short of hitting her bumper. Frowning into the rearview mirror she nudged her car forward. The other car followed.
“Get off my tail, pal.” She glared into the rearview mirror, trying to get a look at the driver but found thick glasses and a hat made it impossible to recognize him.
The plates were Texas, but a splash of mud covered up half the numbers.
When the light turned green she drove toward the gym, knowing it would be packed at this time of day. She’d rounded the corner into the gym lot when her cell phone rang. She jumped, and quickly fished it out of her purse as she made the last turn.
“Hello,” she said.
“I’m calling for Louis Williams. This is Mortgage Financial in Houston, and he’s applied for a loan. I was hoping to get a reference.”
She rolled her eyes, willing a thundering heart to slow. “Wrong number.”
“You sure?” The man rattled off the number.
“The number is correct, but the contact is not. I don’t know Louis Williams.”
A moment’s silence followed. “We’ll take you off our call list.”
“Great.” She hung up and luckily found a close parking spot. Another peek in her mirror showed the truck veering off to a side street, the driver staring straight ahead as if he’d never seen her.
A breath shuddered from her lungs. She was being paranoid. A near bumper-tap, a wrong number and chance encounter with Dayton yesterday had rattled her. This wasn’t like her. She was rock solid. Practical. So why suddenly was she so unsettled, as if the ground had shifted under her feet?
With Hanna’s name in hand, Brody had been able to pull an arrest record and fingerprints. He’d delivered both to the medical examiner who had made a positive identification. Tracking next of kin had taken more time, and it was past eight by the time Brody got Hanna’s uncle on the phone. From the uncle, Brody had learned that Hanna had run away six months ago. “Always figured she’d get herself killed sooner or later. She wasn’t so smart. Didn’t know when she was in over her head.”
Brody sat back at his desk and stared at the notebook he’d retrieved from Hanna’s apartment. A forensic team had gone over the place, but there’d been no other telling discoveries. The book was his one clue to who might have killed her.
Thumbing through the pages, he studied the detailed lists she’d kept of her johns. Each had a name, though he doubted many were real. She’d listed the date they’d hooked up and the money collected. The small notebook was full of single-spaced entries.
Santos knocked on Brody’s office door. “I hear you identified the second victim.”
Brody’s chair creaked as he leaned back in his chair and gave Santos a rundown. “When I searched her place earlier I found a notebook that the kid kept. She listed her johns but not all the names strike me as real. She gave many nicknames.”
“Her pimp would know more about who her customers were,” Santos said. “And he shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“Shouldn’t be. I’ve got his name.”
“Let’s pay him a visit.”
Finding Hanna’s pimp turned out to be easier than expected. Keri had said he hung out at a coffee shop on Sixth Street. During the day he spent his time online pimping out his girls for dates and in the evening he put them on the street.
Daddy, as Keri had called him, sat in the back corner of the coffee shop. He had a large mug to the right of what looked like a brand-new computer. Midsized but muscular, Daddy wasn’t more than thirty but his mocha skin was scarred and pitted. As Keri had described, he wore a large, gold cross around his neck and the favored white jumpsuits.
When the Rangers entered the café the conversation stopped and Daddy looked up. He sat straighter in his chair, leaning an arm back against his booth while keeping the other under the table.
Brody’s hand slid to his gun as he approached the table. “Do me a big favor and put your other hand on the table.”
Daddy grinned and draped his other hand over the back of the booth. “Don’t want no trouble with the Rangers.”
“What’s your real name, Daddy?”
He tipped back his baseball cap. “Juan Johnson. Why the Rangers calling on me? I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
Johnson had likely broken more laws than Brody could count, but he wasn’t after Johnson tonight. “When is the last time you saw Hanna Metcalf?”
Johnson’s easy grin hardened. “She’s gone AWOL. Ain’t seen her in two days. You know where she is?”
“I know where she is.”
“Yeah?” Annoyance flashed in his dark eyes. “What’s she saying about me?” So Keri hadn’t told Daddy about Hanna.
Brody propped his boot on the edge of the booth and leaned in as Santos stood behind him. “What do you think she’s saying about you?”
“The girl ain’t right in the head. A little slow and can run her mouth long after no one wants to hear her yammer.” He shook his head. “Dusty said the girl was in trouble, but I knew she was lying. Lazy bitch is out there lying low and stirring up trouble for Daddy.”
Brody ignored the pimp’s tirade. “What does she talk about?”
“You seen her, so you should know.”
“I want to hear what you have to say.”
“She is always giving me lip and attitude. And Daddy don’t appreciate lip.”
Brody pulled out the tattered notebook and thumbed through it. “She gave this to me. Says it’s a list of her johns.”
Daddy’s hands dropped to the table on either side of his computer. “What the fuck did you say?”
“She’s been keeping a list. Any reason why she’d do that?”
He shrugged, pretending as if he didn’t care. “I don’t know what makes a crazy bitch do what she does.”
“Daddy, I’m not after you right now. I’m after a killer, and I think Hanna might be able to help me.”
Daddy didn’t hide his shock. “What do you mean ‘a killer’? I don’t know nothing about a killer.”
“Hanna did.”
“Did?”
“She’s dead.”
Daddy sat back, shaking his head. “Shit.” He held up a bejeweled index finger. “I don’t know nothing.”
Brody grinned. “I bet you know the number of breaths that girl took in a day. I bet you know when she sneezed and when she took a leak.”
Daddy was silent for a moment. “What do you want from me?”
“Always the dealmaker, Juan. I like that.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to take a look at this book, and I want you to tell
me if you recognize any of the names.”
“How the hell would I know the names that Hanna kept?”
Brody leaned closer, keeping his voice low and even. “I can shut you down in two seconds, Juan. You won’t see daylight for years, and your girls will scatter like honey bees.”
Daddy’s face paled a fraction. “I don’t know you, Ranger.”
Brody smiled. “I’m new in town.”
“You ain’t got nothing on me.”
Brody moved so quickly that Daddy didn’t have time to react. He grabbed the pimp, jerked him out of the booth and twisted his arm behind his back. Before Daddy could squeal, Brody had clamped cuffs on his slim wrists.
Santos reached for his phone and called Austin police. “They’re sending a car for Daddy.”
Daddy grimaced and tried to get free but the more he struggled, the harder Brody twisted. “Hey, you don’t have to be so rough.”
Brody hauled the pimp outside. When Daddy tried to jerk free, Brody shoved him against the café wall, pushing hard enough so the pimp’s face scraped the brick exterior. “Try it again, Daddy. Please.”