Free Death of an Escort by Nathan Pennington

said.
    "What about before or afterward?"
    She thought for a moment, and then shook her
head no.
    "No man at all?"
    "No," she said.
    I walked into the hall, and she locked the
door to room 214. We went downstairs together.
    "Find it?" the owner asked.
    "No," I said, and I pushed my way
outside.
    I put my hand into my pockets as I walked to
my car. I felt that button, and I had a brainstorm. I knew someone
who worked at the police station. He wasn't a cop or anything like
that.
    I wouldn't know any cop, and I certainly
wouldn't be friends with a cop. But Gracie, yes it's a guy, was a
clerk or something in records.
    We'd run into each other several times in the
past, and I'd gotten help from him on other things I'd been working
on.
    I'd always buy him a beer or something for
his help. He had helped me finding who a license plate belonged to
or something like that, and he had been quick at it. Faster than I
could have. Why hadn't I thought of him before?
    There would be photos of the site where the
body was found, at least I hoped there would be. If there was, I
could find out exactly what Kelly was wearing when she died, and I
could see if it was something that this button went to.
    I pulled out my cell, and I found Gracie's
number.
    "Police, records room," Gracie said sounding
tired.
    "Gracie, it's . . . Ray," I said. That had
been close. I'd almost said my name from before. The one that I
don't use ever anymore. Why had that happened? It was a little too
close for comfort. I'm Ray, I told myself. Ray Crusafi. Come on,
it's been years. Hold it together. My name is Ray Crusafi.
    "Ray? Oh, yeah. Ray, how's it going? What'd
you need?"
    "Photos from a suicide Saturday night," I
said. "Tell me you have some."
    "Yep," he said. "I got them. I filed them
today. I'm not sure why we have them, but we do."
    "What do you mean?" I asked.
    "They took them like it was a crime scene,
but it was suicide. Normally we don't have photos for that," Gracie
said.
    "Sounds like someone thought it was more than
suicide."
    "Dunno," Gracie said. "It's listed as
suicide. You workin' on it?"
    "I am," I said. "The daughter has hired
me."
    "Huh," he said. "Come on over and I'll show
you what I got."
    We hung up.
    At the police station, the receptionist had
to call down to records to see if it was really okay if I went down
there. Gracie told her it was okay, and she let me go, but not
before I'd signed in and put an oversized badge on that designated
me as a visitor.
    Then I took the elevator down to the basement
and went over to room A123, the records room.
    There was Gracie. He looked like a real
Italian. Black hair and olive skin. I looked like that right now
too, but unlike him, I wasn't really Italian.
    He had both ears pierced and had jet black
earring studs in them.
    "Bro," he said. "How's it goin'?"
    "I'm good, Gracie. What have you been up
to?"
    "I'm stayin' home nights now," he said. "No
more partying for me."
    "Yeah? Why?" I didn't really care, but I've
noticed people are far more helpful if you act interested in them
first.
    "I dunno," he said. "I'm tryin' to be normal,
right?"
    "Good luck," I said.
    He looked over at me like I'd called his mom
a bitch. "What?" he said sharply.
    "I mean, what's normal? I'm certainly not
normal."
    "You seem normal," he said.
    "Looks are deceiving." How true.
    "Yeah," he said. "Word bro. Let me print up
the photos for you. It's all electronically archived."
    I leaned against an island counter that had
papers and computer disks and CDs scattered on it. He went to one
of the computer terminals and punched in some info. A little later
a huge laser printer hummed to life. It fed out three sheets of
paper.
    They were closer to him. So he took them and
brought them over to me.
    "Here's what we got," he said. He handed them
to me.
     
     

Chapter 8
     
     
    "Thanks," I said distractedly as I started to
study them. There were three pictures and each had a different
angle of the body of Kelly Brandt. She had a heavy-duty