Frank Devaroux, P.I. Case File 01

Unfortunately, I was starting to strongly suspect that they were dead.

The second message was from Eloise. "Veronica Emerson." That's all. It took me a minute to figure out she was talking about Dana from the society page. Then it came to me where I'd heard that name before and I leapt out of bed and ran to the computer. It only took me a minute to confirm my identification. Veronica Emerson, married to Roger Emerson, a Denver city-councilman. A married socialite playing submissive with Ronnie? It was something to think about, but I was too tired.

***

In the morning I considered my options. I wanted to talk to Veronica Emerson. How? 'Hello, Mrs. Emerson please. About? It's about a dead dominant she was seeing a few years ago. Yes, I'll hold.' Right. I could have just dropped it into Garza's lap, but when politics enters an investigation the police tread very, very carefully. To stall for time I Googled Mrs. Emerson to see what I could find out about her. Turned out there was quite a bit about her. What struck me as being the most interesting, though, was the picture of Veronica Emerson handing a check to a woman I recognized. I didn't know her name, but I'd seen her face on the Obedient Sluts website.

The website said that Veronica was a big supporter of a shelter for battered women. It identified the woman as Dakota Russell, the director of Safe Haven. I had an idea. I thought about it a little bit, and then I picked up the phone and dialed.

"You've reached the business office of Safe Haven," a woman's voice said.

"My name is Frank Devaroux, I'm an investigator and I'm calling to speak with Dakota Russell."

Hesitation.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Devaroux, but Ms. Russell isn't available right now. May I take a message?"

Rote; she didn't expect me to leave a message, but I did.

"Thank you, yes. Please ask her to call me. I have some information about Dana." I gave her my cell phone number and hung up.

Why call Dakota rather than Veronica? Lots of reasons. To begin with, Dakota had appeared on the website and, presumably, knew what came next. I was interested in finding out what came next because I suspected it wasn't anything good. I suspected that what-came-next was going to be the reason that Ronnie had been killed. Dakota also wasn't quite as politically sensitive as Veronica; I was less likely to find myself in hot water for speaking to her about something this sensitive. Then there was the idea that I might have a little leverage on Dakota since I had video footage of her involved in some very nasty bondage sex. Sure, I'm a jerk; didn't I mention that up front? I'm sure I did. I'm paid to be a jerk, to suspect the worst of people.

Which brings me to the final reason I wanted to talk to Dakota; I didn't know the nature of her relationship with Veronica. Were they lovers? Friends? Fellow survivors? Was Dakota blackmailing Veronica? I just didn't know. So I'd talk to Dakota first. Hopefully soon.

The phone rang and I was drawn out of my pensive state. Caller ID said it was a protected number, which could mean anything. I answered it and smiled despite myself as I heard Eloise.

"Hi Frank. I thought you might like to know they managed to pull a fingerprint from the knife and got a match on the guy that attacked you. Domingo Rodriguez, 32, from Ft. Worth, Texas. His priors are all assault and, drum roll please, prostitution related. He's an enforcer for someone, Frank."

"Which means that someone involved in prostitution is concerned about my poking around this case," I said, thinking out loud. "How would they know about me? Oh, shit! The cameras!"

"Cameras?"

"In the apartment where Ronnie had Daria stashed. I was live on the internet when I talked to her. Even if the sound was off they still knew something had happened. They sent someone to investigate. Rodriguez. He'll have gotten my information from Daria, she had my bill. That means there's probably a connection between Rodriguez and Skylark Entertainment. Any chance you could run backgrounds on the owners of Skylark?"

"Probably not on the basis of the real evidence I've got, but I might be able to talk the Lieutenant into it. I'm going to try anyway. Have you gotten anything new?"

This is where I should have lied. I didn't and I don't care to speculate as to why I didn't.

"I found another one of the website women. Her name is Dakota Russell and she runs a shelter for battered women. Sariel identified Dana, the other sub from the Dallas trip, as Veronica Emerson."

"Wife of Councilman Emerson?"

"The same. Russell and Emerson know each other. I called Russell and asked to speak to her; said I knew something about Dana."

"Well, that should get her attention. Oh, not that there was much doubt on the subject but the coroner made a positive identification on the victim; Ronald Esterhaus."

"Great," I deadpanned. "What about Daria?"

"Kimberly Stevenson, 23, originally of Salina, Kansas. Slashed throat."

"Knife work. I don't suppose..."

"Not a chance, Frank. Maybe if there had been a puncture wound... Whoever did it just sliced her throat open and left her to bleed to death."

"That's cold," I commented. "Really cold. Brutally efficient. Not at all what like happened to Ronnie. That was personal."

"Pretty brutal in a different way," Eloise said. "Any place his skin wasn't lacerated it was bruised. He had two cracked ribs, three broken fingers, two broken toes, internal injuries, safety pins through the nipples and testicles, and he'd been branded seven times. But yeah, two different M.O.s."

"Cause of death was suffocation?"

"Yeah, how'd you... Oh."

Yeah, oh.

"So when did Sariel tell you about Emerson?" she asked.

I had to smile. How could I avoid it? It's nice to know that a woman cares enough about you to be a little jealous.

"I'll tell you all about it later, I've got to make a call. Bye."

I hung up. Re: Jerk, see above.

***

I didn't really have a phone call to make, I just wanted Eloise to stew a little. Let there be no bullshit between us; that was irresponsible of me. I shouldn't have been playing little games like that when I was trying to keep my distance from her. In my defense I can only observe that I am as much of a slave to my desires as just about everyone else. I spent the morning cleaning my apartment and letting my brain free associate.

Free association is a useful tool in investigations. Previous employers had referred to it, in derogatory tones and terms, as daydreaming. I laughed at them. Of course, they owned winter vacation homes in Aspen and Vail and I rented an apartment in an unfashionable part of town. Free association let me down, though, so I was glad to hear the phone ring a little before noon.

"Devaroux Investigations."

"May I speak to Mr. Devaroux please."

"Speaking. You are?"

"I'm Dakota Russell. You left a message saying you wanted to speak to me."

"I did," I replied. "I'd like to ask you some questions about Ronald Esterhaus. Could I buy you lunch?"

A long silence.

"Okay. There's a Spicy Pickle on Colorado, know it?"

"Know it. Half an hour?"

"Okay." She hung up.

***

The Spicy Pickle is not what your fevered imagination thinks. It's a sandwich shop with spicy pickles. I'd never eaten there, but I'd driven by it often enough. She had a booth and a sandwich in front of her when I walked in and sat down.

"Devaroux?" she asked.

I nodded.

"What do you want to know about Ronald?"

"Did you know he's dead?"

"Good," she snapped. No hesitation, no remorse, just simple satisfaction. "Was it painful?"

I shrugged. "I saw some video footage of you on a website. I'm not interested in embarrassing you or blackmailing you, I just need to find out some more about that. And what came after."

"Who are you working for?"

"I was working for Kimberly Stevenson, also known as Daria. She was Ronnie's latest. Now she's dead."

"Who killed her?"

"Someone who doesn't like me looking into this."

"You don't take a hint?" she asked.

"I take it personally when people try to kill me," I told her.

"Someone tried to kill you? And you led them to me?"

She looked worried, scanning the street behind me.

"Relax, I wasn't followed here." 'I think,' I added to myself. "Besides, why would they be interested in you?"

She gave the street one last scan and then looked at me, weighing my soul.

"I got away," she said.

"Pimp?"

She nodded.

"Why not start at the beginning?" I prompted her.

She sighed. "The beginning. Where did it begin? My step-father abused me. So I ran away from home when I was seventeen. In comparison to any place in Kansas or Missouri, Colorado seemed glamorous. I thought I'd live in Vail or some other nice place in the mountains. I made it as far as Denver before I needed to make some money. So I got a job, and then I needed a place to live, and before I knew it I was living here and managing to keep my head above the water. I met Ronald three years later. He was into bondage and domination and so was I. Look, I don't know how to explain that to you..."

"I'm in the lifestyle," I interrupted her.

She gave me a stare.

"That's how Kimberly knew of me," I explained.

"Okay. So I don't have to explain too much. The submission was a rush and Ronald knew how to keep the buzz going. Not a lot of drugs," she said, catching the question in my eyes, "mostly a non-stop party of submission. I got in deeper and deeper as I followed the thrill. It wasn't entirely his fault. But the son of a bitch slowly cut me off from my friends and made himself the center of my world. It was classic brainwashing, though I didn't know it at the time. By the time he moved me into the apartment... I would have done anything for him. I did everything for him."

"What happened after the apartment?" I asked.

"He showed up one day," she said, lips tight. "He told me that it was time for me to move to the next level. I had to prove my love for him with one last test. He was going to sell me to a man for six months. At the end of the six months, if I had passed the test, he'd buy me back. He spun me a bullshit story about buying a house in Aspen, skiing all winter and traveling during the summer. So I went along with it."

She paused, taking a deep breath and then a deep drink, gathering her thoughts.

"The next day two men came to the apartment and took me away with them. They drove me to Dallas, had some fun with me along the way, and turned me over to my new 'master'. At that point I had become a prostitute and I just wasn't aware of it. After that... I did what I was told. They'd take me to a party or a hotel room or someone's house and I'd do what I did.

Four months into it someone beat me bad enough to send me to the hospital and I caught the attention of a social worker. He tried to talk me out, get me to go into a program. But I wanted to pass my test. Six months into it, no Ronald. They tried to tell me I'd counted the days wrong, but I knew; I'd counted the days religiously. Finally, they told me that Ronald wasn't coming; I'd failed the test. I told them I wanted to leave. That got me another trip to the hospital.

I kept some of my pain meds and, as soon as I got out of the hospital, I sold them on the street. I took the money and ran."

"How does Dana fit into it?"

"Leave Dana out of this. She's an angel," she snarled at me.

"When's the last time you saw Ronald?"

"I'm not answering that question unless I've been arrested by the police and I've got a lawyer present. Let it go. If he's dead then this is all over."

"Someone killed Kimberly," I said carefully, "after Ronnie had put her through a lot of abuse and brainwashing. It's not over. I'm going to talk to Dana, Veronica I guess I should say. I need to know more about the pimps."

"There's not much more to know. Torres, Domingo, Whitey, Loco... We only ever knew one name for them, and they were mean. They'd hurt me if I tried to testify against them."

"Tell me about Domingo," I told her.

"Big, Hispanic guy. Mean. He liked to beat the girls and was always threatening to cut their throats if they ran. He'd run his finger across their throats when he was making the threat. He was one of the bad ones, but they were all working for someone else."

"Who?"

"How the fuck should I know? The boss. I don't think they knew his real name. Look, I'll write this down and e-mail it to you, okay? I don't want to talk about this anymore."

I nodded my head and gave her my card. I was going to throw a twenty on the table to cover lunch, but, given her history, I decided against that. I'm not a total jerk.

Outside I walked to my car, climbed in, and drove once around the block. You can usually tell if someone's following you if you make three left hand turns in a row. Satisfied that I wasn't being followed, I pulled into an alley and parked the car. I had to hurry to get into position to watch the front of the restaurant and I was just in time to see Dakota walking out. After a minute I was glad I'd decided to follow her because I saw handsome Domingo climb out of a car and start walking down the street after her. Apparently I had been followed after all. Or he'd followed Dakota here.

I gave it a minute while I scanned for accomplices. Domingo was going to want to know what Dakota had told me, he was going to want to see the terror in her eyes. I didn't think he'd kill her right away. I didn't spot anyone that looked like an accomplice, which agreed with the way he'd tried to kill me, so I dashed across the street and followed them.

He started closing up on her, despite her nervous glances around the street, as she approached one of the few alleyways which led directly onto the main street. I gave him a minute to assure himself the coast was clear before starting to close up myself. As soon as he was within five feet of her, I started to run, pulling my batons out and flicking them open.

He'd pulled her into the alley and was just getting his knife out when I came around the corner. His eyes lit up when he saw me and he started to say something. I'm of the opinion that if you're holding a weapon in your hand, you use the damn thing. I lunged at him, thrusting into his broken nose with the end of one of my batons. The lunge caught him by surprise; everyone knows that batons are for clubbing people with. Most people. He lost his grip on Dakota and slashed at my wrist with his knife. Then I did club him, breaking his wrist by the sound of things. He dropped his knife and it was all over but for the beating. I know I broke his left clavicle and I tried to break his right knee, but then he was on the ground and the fight was over. I'd enjoyed putting him down, but any more was just sadistic. You may have noticed I'm not much of a sadist.

"You okay?" I asked Dakota.

"You knew? You motherfucker you used me as bait?" She kicked me in the shins and turned to run.

"I didn't know. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. And I wanted to see if you'd run straight to Veronica after seeing me."

I think the self-serving portion of my explanation mollified her more than the noble part.

"Thank you," she managed. Barely.

"You're welcome. This Domingo?"

She nodded.

"Well, well, well. Would you like an ambulance, Domingo?"

I'm not really sure how to spell his response, my Spanish skills are pretty weak. It was rude though.

"You want to file assault charges?" I asked Dakota.

After a moment she shook her head.

"Okay," I told her. "I spotted him following a woman I've never seen before and figured he was up to no good. I followed him into the alley, heard the woman scream, a fight ensued and the last I saw her she was disappearing around a corner. No ID."

"Thank you," she said with a little more feeling and started walking towards the street.

"Dakota," I called after her. "Did Ronnie brand you?"

"Brand me?" she asked, suddenly filled with rage. "Yeah, he branded me. The day before he sold me to those.... bastards. Want to see?" she demanded.

And then, right there in the alley, she pulled her shorts and panties down to show me a patch of scar tissue surrounded by pubic hair, just above her vagina.

"He said it was so everyone I serviced would know who trained me. Said that he'd hear if I didn't live up to his training. I'm glad the miserable sonofabitch died a slow, painful death. Serves him right!" she screamed the last words and then pulled up her clothing and left.

Domingo had stopped groaning, mostly, so I kicked his injured knee to keep him too preoccupied with pain to think about fucking with me and pulled out my cell phone. 'Eloise or 911?' I asked myself. I didn't want Eloise to get a reputation for being 'my' cop, so I went with 911. Which meant I spent the rest of the afternoon convincing police officers that I was the good guy. It's a hard sell, I'm not always sure I believe it myself.

***

I wanted to be alone for dinner. I was treating myself to some good Thai take-out and free associating. Something about what Dakota had said bothered me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Sure, in retrospect it's easy. But you try thinking straight after a fight. It's hard.

The doorbell was just another disturbance I didn't want.

"Go away," I called.

"It's me, Frank."

Eloise. Not who I needed to see while I was still coming down from the endorphins of winning a fight. Not who I needed to see when I still wanted to tie her to my bed and use her body any way I wanted.

"Go away," I repeated.

"Please, Master, may I crawl to your feet?"

I dropped the Thai food as I stormed to the door and yanked it open. "Are you fucking nuts?" I demanded, looking both ways down the hallway.

She shrugged, as she squeezed past me into the apartment. "It got you to open the door. Besides, you like to hear that. I can tell."

She could. I'd been sitting around in just a pair of shorts and, right now, they resembled a tent.

"And if someone you know heard you say that?"

She shrugged again. "I've thought about it. I'm not all that concerned."

"I am!" I shouted and slammed the door. "I don't want to ruin your life."

"It's not your choice to make, Frank. Unless, of course, you become my master. Then you'd have a say in matters."

The sly, sexy grin gave it away; she was twitting me with her Catch-22 maneuvering. But it hurt too much to be funny to me and I lashed out.

"You're a very clever bitch," I snarled. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't throw your uppity ass out of here right now."

"Please," she responded in a voice dripping with disdain. "You're ridden by your desires as much as I'm ridden by mine. Admit it, Frank. If I took my clothing off and crawled to you and begged to suck your cock you wouldn't be able to resist. You'd have to restrain me, bend me to your will, use my luscious body for your pleasure..."

I broke into laughter.

"Luscious?" she asked.

I nodded, still laughing too hard to talk.

"Yeah, that was over the top. But we need to talk, Frank. You're attracted to me, I'm attracted to you, and your exaggerated sense of concern for me is both infuriating and touching. Life's too short to live in fear."

"You're right," I admitted. "We need to talk. I just don't want to see you branded as a freak...."

"Well, that's my concern and I'm willing to take the risk. I want to satisfy my desires, to explore them with someone I trust, and you've showed yourself to be upfront and trustworthy and you're not listening to a word I'm saying are you?"

"No," I said. I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a pen and piece of paper. I drew what I could remember of Dakota's brand on the pad and showed it to Eloise. "Is this the design Ronnie was branded with?" I asked her.

She took a look at it and nodded.

"How many times?" I asked.