K is for Killer (Kinsey Millhone 11)

"From what I hear, she liked living on the edge," I said. I introduced the matter without framing a question, interested in what kind of response I might get. Serena held my gaze, but she made no reply. So far she'd tended to editorialize on every question I asked. I ran the query one more round. "Were you aware that she was involved in other activities?"

"I don't understand the question. What kind of activities are you referring to?"

"Of a sexual nature."

"Ah. That. Yes. I assume you're referring to the money she made from the hotel trade. Humping for hire," she said drolly. "I didn't think it was my place to bring that up."

"Was it common knowledge?"

"I don't think Roger knew, but I certainly did."

"How did you find out?"

"I'm not sure. I really can't remember. Indirectly, I think. I ran into her at the Edgewater one night. No, wait a minute. I remember what happened. She came into the ER with a broken nose. She had some explanation, but it didn't make much sense. I've seen assault and battery often enough that I wasn't fooled. I didn't say so to her, but I knew something was going on."

"Could it have been a boyfriend? Someone she was living with?"

I could hear voices in the hallway.

She glanced over at the door. "I guess it could have been, but as far as I knew she was never in any kind of steady relationship. Anyway, the story she told seemed suspect. I've forgotten what it was now, but it seemed phony as hell. And it wasn't just the broken nose. It was that in conjunction with some other things."

"Such as?"

"Her wardrobe, her jewelry. She was subtle about it, but I couldn't help noticing."

"When was the incident that brought her to the emergency room?"

"I don't remember exactly. Probably two years ago. Check with Medical Records. They can give you the date."

"You don't know hospitals. I'd have better luck getting access to state secrets," I said.

A baby had begun to cry fretfully in the waiting room.

"Does it make a difference?"

"It might. Suppose the guy who punched her decided to make it permanent."

"Oh. I see your point." Serena's eyes strayed to the open door again as Joan went past.

"But she didn't confide in you when she came in?"

"Not at all. After I saw her at the Edgewater, I put two and two together."

"Seems like a bit of a leap."

"Not if you'd seen her the night I ran into her. Part of it, too, was the guy she was with. Older, very slick. Gold jewelry, gorgeous suit. Clearly a man who had money to burn. I saw them in the bar and later in the boutique where she was trying on clothes. He dropped a bundle that night. Four Escada outfits, and she was modeling a filth."

"I assume Escada is expensive."

"Dear God." She laughed, patting herself on the chest.

Lights were going on in the examining cubicle across from us. I could hear the murmuring of voices: fussy baby, shrill mom speaking rapid-fire Spanish.

Serena went on. "It happened again within the month, as I remember. Same situation, different guy, same look. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out."

"You think one of these guys knocked her around?"

"I think it's a better explanation than the one she gave. I'm not saying this is always true, but some guys in that age bracket start having trouble with impotency. They pick up high-priced call girls and spread the money around. Champagne and gifts, a gorgeous babe in tow. It looks good on the surface, and everybody thinks what a stud he is. What these men are looking for is a one-up relationship because they can't 'get it up' any other way. He's paying for the service, so if the equipment doesn't work, it's her fault, not his, and he can express his disappointment any way he likes."

"With his fist."

"If you want to look at it from his point of view, why not? He's paid for her. She's his. If he can't perform, he's got her to blame and he can paste her in the chops."

"Some deal. She keeps the cash and the clothes in exchange for the punishment."

"She doesn't always get punished. Some of these guys like to be punished themselves. Beaten, humiliated. They like to have their little fannies spanked for being bad, bad, bad."

"Did Lorna tell you this?"

"No, but I've heard it from a couple of other hookers on the local circuit. I also did some reading on the subject when I was getting my degree. I used to see them come in, and I'd be incensed at the way they were treated, furious because I didn't really understand what was going on. I'd jump to the rescue, trying to save them from the 'bad' guys. For all the good that did. In an odd way, I'm a better nurse if I can stay detached."