Free Frenzy by John Lutz

nickname. She works this lounge on her own.”
    â€œWorks it, huh.” Sal was thinking. There’s a lot of vulnerability here. How best to use it to get to the truth? “She a barista, too?”
    â€œNot hardly,” Bonnie said. “She’s not exactly a hotel employee.”
    â€œAh,” Harold said.
    â€œNobody’s pimping for her,” Bonnie assured them. “She says her real name is Wanda Smith.”
    Sal sipped some seltzer. Waited. Letting Bonnie think about that vulnerability. About how she’d better level with the law. This was a homicide investigation. And the homicide was one of the worst this city had ever seen.
    Harold was wearing his disinterested look. Yeah. Sure.
    â€œYou want the real story?” Bonnie asked.
    â€œYep”
    â€œIt won’t go no further?”
    â€œWe’ll do what we can,” Sal said. “But remember this is a murder investigation.”
    â€œAnd a newsy one.” Bonnie pretended to be thinking it over, weighing options, knowing she’d better not be so vague about the times.
    Finally she said, “Wanda came in with Mr. Duke about six o’clock, they had some drinks. He left here a little after six thirty. Then, a few minutes later, Wanda left.”
    â€œLeft just here, the bar, or the hotel?” Sal asked.
    Bonnie shook his head. “I dunno. Couldn’t see from here even if I’d tried. Which I didn’t particularly wanna do, as I had no reason.”
    â€œThat you knew of,” Harold said.
    Bonnie nodded. “That’s right.”
    â€œMr. Duke come back here alone?” Sal asked.
    â€œYeah. Well, not exactly alone. I mean, not with Wanda. He went to the desk, I heard to get a different room. He was spooked by something.”
    Right after he saw the killer enter Andria Bell’s suite, Sal thought. So that part of his story holds.
    â€œAbout seven forty-five Duke comes back, only not alone. He was with some other paint convention people. They came and went, hung around a while and got a good buzz on. Duke sort of stayed on the fringes. That’s all I know,” Bonnie said, “which ain’t much.”
    Harold chewed his mustache. Sipped his espresso. Sal sat staring into his seltzer water.
    Sal’s cell phone buzzed and danced against his thigh. He pulled it from his pocket, turning away, and glanced at the phone and saw that the caller was Quinn.
    He walked half a dozen paces away so he wouldn’t be overheard and filled Quinn in on what he and Harold had discovered at the Fairchild.
    After a few seconds, Sal broke the connection and turned back to Bonnie and Harold.
    â€œQuinn?” Harold asked.
    â€œQuinn,” Sal confirmed. “He’s a few blocks from here. Said to go ahead and start talking with Wanda Woman before she’s joined by somebody or leaves. He’ll be here in five or ten minutes.”
    â€œMotion for Wanda Woman to come over here,” Sal said to Bonnie.
    Then Sal said, under his breath, “Maybe we can find out why somebody’s story is a bunch of bullshit.”
    But he had a pretty good idea why. Craig Duke didn’t want to be caught with his pants down with a prostitute, who didn’t want to be caught plying her trade, and was friends with or working for Bonnie the Barista, who didn’t want their relationship to become known. These people were worried about their reputations and jobs, maybe marriages.
    Like this didn’t involve six dead women.
    People and their secrets.
    He watched Harold draw a fish.

14
    W anda looked uneasy when Sal and Harold identified themselves. But then lots of people looked that way when they met cops. For all she knew, they were from the vice squad, and everybody had a vice.
    Sal took the bar stool next to her, and Harold stood on her other side, not trying to be openly intimidating with their closeness. Their presence should be sufficient.
    Wanda Woman didn’t seem