Private Dick Pt. 02: Interrogation.

"Baby, you know I love you," Shirley bleated out, leaning over Dani to reach down to her crotch, to rub Big Girl that stood harnessed to Dani's groin.

The curvy girl rubbed and pressed her breasts tight to Dani's arm, hoping to entice her into sex. Shirley often tried that, and often it worked but Dani wasn't in a mood for that tonight.

"Not today, Shirley."

I pushed her away, staring at the tumbler in front of her on the aging mahogany bar. There was only one woman on my mind, her name was Liz, and that morning she'd promised she'd spend her American stay with me. Only today the Englishwoman was nowhere to be found. I lifted the glass, swirled around the golden liquid then tossed it to the back of my throat. A waste of good scotch, but I really didn't give a damn at that moment.

The Liz woman could have kept her mouth shut. Should have kept her damned mouth shut. Yes, it was an epic night of passionate sex, but it had been a hookup. She'd gotten to me, taken me somewhere I hadn't been to in years. She could have just said "ta ta" and walked out the door. I would have gotten that. But no, she had to blubber out that she'd stay with me when our bodies were both wet from sweat and recovering. She'd been tender, and Liz wasn't the tender romantic type. I was stupid! I ought to know better than to accept post-coital murmurs as gospel, but dammit, I'd wanted it to be real! Finding it was all just post-sex blather stung.

Ruby set another scotch in front of me, her aging face neutral but her eyes narrowed. Ruby served, but she also watched out. "Don't get stupid, Dani. That woman looked like trouble the moment she walked in."

"Dani," whined Shirley. "Forget that bitch. I would never do that to you." Shirley wasn't giving up but was rubbing her tits on my shoulder and her fingertips on my boobs.

I slapped her hands away to glare at her. "I told you, Shirley, I'm not in the mood! When I'm not in the mood, I'm not in the fucking mood."

Shirley looked hurt, and with her fair cheeks, she had a pretty good pout. But I felt rotten for being cold. I had never pushed her away like that before. It was a game, and Shirley didn't quite get why I didn't want to play. But I didn't feel much like an explanation anyway. Yeah, Shirley'd been grabby but usually I didn't mind grabby with Shirley.

Without thinking I pulled out my phone. I stopped, realizing what I was doing. It would be so easy to call. So fucking easy. So fucking stupid. I set it down on the bar and picked the tumbler, to sip some more of the strong, warm liquor. The phone sat there. Another sip, another long look at the phone.

It might have been the liquor but I didn't feel like I had drinking that long. I had run down a deadbeat husband for Tracey and found his new apartment on the east side. It had been a productive day. But eventually, I picked up the phone, clicked it on, and dialed Liz, ready to tell the no-good slut that it wasn't right to make promises you had no intention of keeping.

It went right to voicemail. That figured. I thought about calling Shirley back over. Maybe I could fuck away the pain and anger, make up for my rudeness. My brain disagreed with that hypothesis, but I hadn't been listening to it much since Liz had kissed me out behind Ruby's back door.

I was mulling over going on the prowl for some relief when the phone rang again. "Dani," said a clipped male voice with military precision.

It was McIlhenny, a cop I'd served beside in Afghanistan. He was a reserve captain in intelligence, and normally that made me shiver. But McIlhenny was good and cared about nothing but getting the job done. He'd never once pretended to know something he didn't know, and that was a pretty big thing when your ass was on the line. He'd known Carolyn, was there for me after she was killed. He was good people.

"What do you want, Mac?"

"We need you to come downtown."

"When?"

"Now would be good."

"I'm not exactly in shape for that at the moment."

"Fine. Get yourself together, but I'm serious. Sooner is better than later. Come see us before we come for you."

What the fuck is this about? That conversation had come as a total surprise. McIlhenny wouldn't have called me if he wasn't serious. I had absolutely zero idea why the cops would want to talk to me. PI's sometimes made enemies, but they didn't usually go to the cops. He didn't work that kind of case anyway. And when a cop was serious, it meant something. I debated calling Tracey, the lawyer I sometimes worked with, but it didn't seem necessary. I'd done nothing! I couldn't think of anything I might even be accused of doing unless it was thinking bad thoughts about lying, evil English bitches.

Tracey likely wasn't needed and those favors should be saved for another day. I waved off Ruby from pouring another scotch, paid my tab, and headed out the door, wondering what the heck was up. McIlhenny wouldn't have called if it wasn't serious, and the first rule of dealing with cops is you don't ignore cops when they're serious. They won't go away, and you'll only piss them off. The second rule of dealing with cops was don't show up at the police station drunk. The third rule was that most cops are straight men. When a pretty girl sought some advantage, it paid to show up looking hot.

I know I'm pretty. Back in high school, the boys were all over me and I could still wear the same clothes. Sure I wore my hair military short, but makeup, eye shadow, lipstick, and the right earrings could femme up anyone. I looked good in tight clothes. Not good enough for a bikini model, but more than enough to turn a man's head. A bra with a bit of padding and some push combined with a tight low-cut blouse would draw almost any eye. A short skirt, plus stockings and heels to shape up my calves completed the package. I looked in the mirror and grinned with pleasure. I was proof that a girl doesn't need long hair to be sexy. I checked in the mirror, polished off another cup of coffee then headed downtown.

Heads did turn as I sashayed into the station. Cops everywhere looked up from the desks, including a cute woman sergeant with skin the color of a Hershey bar and pretty eyes and lips. I smiled back and filed her away for later and walked across the room with a bit of extra sway to my hips, which had cops scrambling to help. They were polite and friendly as could be, and a young blonde lad led me to an examination room, which was like every other examination room on earth. Dull green walls, a long table with a few moderately comfortable chairs, and a two-way mirror in the back so unseen cops could observe my interrogation. And not much else.

They left me there for a while, probably wanting to make me sweat. Giving guilty people time to think was a good tactic, only I wasn't guilty of a thing except for romantic stupidity. I couldn't see the cameras but knew they had to be there. So I stretched in the most obvious way possible, shoulders back to show off my bust and a leg out to show the gams weren't so bad either. It often helped to get men thinking with their little heads because the little one often kept them from using their big one.

Finally, two cops appeared, and to me they appeared almost like stock characters from Hollywood's central casting. They gave their names, but I put them down as Frumpy and Fancy. Frumpy looked like the tired veteran cop he was, with a cheap, ill-fitting suit, a beer belly, and a balding head with a dark droopy mustache to divide his round face. Fancy was young, his suit clearly tailored, with perfect skin, broad shoulders, and cheekbones you could crack ice on. He looked like a model straight out of GQ. But he wasn't so bad on the eyes, even for me, so there were pluses. Maybe the cops had learned how to distract people too. Still, the pair of characters told me to look out for the traditional good cop/bad cop routine.

They set out their notebooks, and Frumpy gave me a long look and an up-and-down with a not insignificant linger on my boobs then got to business. Fancy didn't ogle, and he was so pretty I began to wonder if he was gay. But he opened the talking.

"So what do you know about Elizabeth Bathory?"

Liz? This was about Liz? Now that was interesting. Why were they interested in her? "I met her yesterday. So not so much."

"Where did you and Miss Bathory meet?"

An obvious opening question. "Ruby's down in the flats at the corner of Cedar and Vine."

It was the truth, though telling them they met at Ruby's had probably just blown plan femme. Cops knew what Ruby's was and who went there. On the other hand, I looked hot and their eyes weren't going anywhere.

Frumpy decided to make it obvious."Ruby's is a dyke bar." He added a bit of sneer to it, which would have meant more if he hadn't had his eyes on my chest.

"So Ruby's is a bar frequented by lesbians," continued Fancy, perfectly correct."Are you a lesbian, Ms. Donatelli?"

I laughed. "I don't go there to meet men." So much for plan femme. If I'd worn my normal outfit they wouldn't have bothered asking.

"What time did you meet Miss Bathory?"

"A little after seven."

"Can you be more precise?"

I smiled sweetly at the kid, who looked like he was fresh out of school. "I don't go to Ruby's to watch the clock. Probably sometime around seven-fifteen, but don't hold me to that."

"Was anyone else there?"

"Yeah. Ruby was there of course, along with Shirley, Red Brandy, and a few other regulars. All of whom will back me up."

"Bunch of dykes," said Frumpy. Clearly a bigot. Likely conflicted as well, but not too smart. Or maybe he didn't want me to think he was smart.

I decided to push back. If Frumpy had meant to intimidate me, shooting his mouth off put him on the bad side of the law.

"Last I heard lesbianism was completely legal in the United States with all rights and privileges protected. It's not my fault I didn't grow up loving dick."

Frumpy didn't say a damned thing, but he turned a bit red. Maybe he really was stupid. He'd just given me reason for a complaint if I chose to pursue it. Seemed smarter to keep that chestnut in my pocket though. It was time to take the offense.

"What the hell is going on here? Why are you even interviewing me?"

Fancy answered in his calm pleasant voice. "You're here because you may be a witness to an important investigation."

"A murder investigation," Frumpy chimed in.

I felt my heart and stomach shoot up above my lungs. Murder? Whose murder? Was Liz dead?

"Is Liz okay?" I blurted out.

The cops didn't say a thing, but the thought of Liz dead made my stomach lurch. I regretted all the terrible things I'd thought about her earlier. And then I took a deep breath. I'd had friends die before, including my wife. Think now, panic later, I reminded myself.

"Well is she dead? And if not, whose murder am I suspected of witnessing? If I had witnessed a murder I'd have called you myself."

Right then I really wished I'd called Tracey.

"You like the bitch don't you?" said Frump. "Don't you worry sweet cheeks! Your girlfriend is just fine." He had a wicked smile on his face. Stupid was again confirmed.

Fancy let the room pause before speaking again. "No one has suggested you personally witnessed a murder, Miss Donatelli. We're simply establishing the facts. This is for background only. How long was Miss Bathory in your company?"

Cripes, they think Liz did it? That didn't make sense. Yes, we had just met, but why would Liz do such a thing? She seemed above all the mundane reasons for killing. Not that she might not be capable of violence, but the most obvious reason was jealousy and Liz did not all strike me as the jealous type. Nor was there any point in hiding anything.

"Liz, as I call her, was with me until about eight-thirty this morning." She recalled their parting kiss, which had made Dani eager to get the Englishwoman back in her bed.

"What were you and Miss Bathory doing all that time?"

I leaned forward and made sure to look Frumpy directly in the eyes and made sure to grin wide so he could see me smile.

"We were fucking. Over and over, with lots of moaning and pleading and wet spots everywhere. Yeah, we slept some. But mostly we fucked."

I spat out the word, wanting it to feel dirty and obscene for these two jokers.

Frump's mouth turned into a big O, and his face turned bright red, but moron or not he wouldn't have made detective without something on the ball. Then he smiled and licked his lips.

"Any witnesses to your...fucking?" he asked with a squint and a grin. I could just picture the dirty images rolling around behind his eyeballs.

Don't you wish! "Not unless the neighbors heard Liz screaming," I said, grinning right back at him.

Might as well piss him off a bit. I guessed that, like a lot of men, he was turned on by lesbians, and probably felt ashamed of it. Or maybe he was into it but didn't want anyone to know.

"She's a loud one, you know. Plenty of spirit. I like a woman who loves being fucked really hard."

Frumpy cop scowled at me and said something inaudible under his breath. Fancy seemed unperturbed.

"What time did you leave Ruby's? Or did you have sex at the bar?"

"Ruby doesn't like people doing it at her bar."

Actually, that wasn't strictly true, getting fingered or going down on someone in the powder room was sort of a rite of passage. But it wouldn't help Ruby to tell cops that. They likely already knew, but so long as they didn't really 'know' things could be ignored.

"We left sometime between nine and ten."

"Will your friends vouch for that?"

"Ask them yourself. And I know you will because that's what cops do. Everything I told you will check out."

There was a pause before the two cops leaned together to exchange whispers. Fancy pushed forward a picture of a man. It was a still, posed actually, possibly for a passport. The man in the picture was handsome with a nice smile, strong chin, and pretty long lashes.

"Ever see this guy?"

"Nope. Who is he?"

"His name was Eric Wyatt. He was a former lover of Ms. Bathory."

Fancy was at least respectful enough not to mention the obvious, that Wyatt was dead.

So that's what this is about? This Eric was the 'jilted lover' who had appeared to stand Liz up. Liz wasn't missing, she was likely in the police station, kept in another room just like this one. She was a suspect, maybe on the run, but more likely in police custody. Other cops likely were interviewing her, or already had, and they would compare what she said to what I said. Which was good, so long as they both told the truth, no problem.

No way Liz had actually done it. People do weird stuff when they're in love, but not Liz. The signs were all wrong. To just kill him for such a lame-assed reason would make Liz a highly functioning lunatic. That sort existed but were rare. Liz was too damned confident to get that upset over a simple dumping. Being dumped was part of the human experience. Going out and getting laid right afterwards was the best therapy ever. I have never objected to serving as romantic Tylenol. But if Liz hadn't done it, who had? It was time for me to play the detective.

"What's the time of death?" Knowing that would tell me something.

"We're still establishing that," said Fancy, which was bullshit.

The cops would have a rough time of death before they ever moved the body. It would get better after the Medical Examiner did his thing, but they already knew enough to rule a lot out. Likely Liz had used me as an alibi and the cops were checking it out. Which is what cops did. It also explained why Liz hadn't shown up or called. Unlikely that she'd use her One Phone Call to call a woman she'd met the night before.

It was a relief, but at the same time what if Liz really had killed her ex? Didn't seem likely, based on what I had seen, but the world was strange, and nothing impossible. Never rule anything completely out until you've checked. I began to think I'd made a mistake in not calling Tracey.

"Did Miss Bathory ever mention her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Wyatt?"

"Yes, she did. She got a call from him at the bar, telling her he wasn't going to show. He'd suggested they meet there."

"At Ruby's." now it was Frumpy's turn to laugh. "Oh, that's rich. First place I'd go to meet a date."

"Maybe he pranked her," I said. "Think about it officer, if you wanted to leave the average straight girl embarrassed and uncomfortable, Ruby's is the perfect spot. But you gotta know she didn't come to Ruby's looking for an alibi. You've seen Liz. How long do you think it would take her to pick up a guy at any straight bar in town? Five minutes, fifteen tops? No reason to go to Ruby's, unless it was for a prank. Her odds of a hookup are a lot less with women. We're a lot pickier than you are."

"She found you," observed Frump, quite correctly. "Did you hear Wyatt say they were to meet at Ruby's?"

"No, she was speaking to him on the phone when I approached her."

"Are you sure the call was from Mr. Wyatt," asked Fancy, quite reasonably. "Did you speak with him?"

"No."

Literally anyone might have been on the other end of Liz's phone. Or no one at all. Liz could have faked the conversation. The jukebox made it impossible to hear if someone else was on the line. Liz's voice was the only one I had heard. But again, I didn't buy that. Liz might not be totally truthful, but she seemed truly put out when she hung up. Maybe she was a future Oscar candidate, but it felt wrong. No detective gets far without being good at catching lies.

"But don't give me that crap about you not having a time of death. You do, even if the Medical Examiner hasn't finished yet. So what is your window for the death?"

Frump glared at me but Fancy leaned in and the two cops talked privately. Realizing it was past time to lawyer up, I took the moment to text Tracey. Which is exactly when McIlhenny pushed open the door to the interview room.

"Fischer, Johnson, you two head down to Ruby's and interview the women there. Politely," he added with a glare at Frump.

I smiled at him. "Nice seeing you Mac."

"You too Dani, but these are the wrong circumstances. You really got yourself into it this time. You say this Bathory woman just walked into Ruby's and sat down at the bar?"

"Yep."

"So what got you interested in her."

"You've seen her, haven't you? Plus, she didn't fit. And Red Brandy was giving her the eye. Brandy's a regular. I like Red but she isn't too stable. I figured approaching the posh lady first was her safest course."

"Didn't hurt that she was gorgeous, did it?"

"God no!" I was not ashamed to admit my admiration for female beauty.

"Dani, having spent some time in a room with Elizabeth Bathory, I wouldn't bet on your friend Red Brandy if things got ugly. Not one red cent."

McIlhenny too was a good judge of character. Good cops had to be. Which meant Liz was likely not actually a prime suspect.

"Fair enough. What the fuck is going on?"

McIlhenny pushed me a picture. It was a man, middle-aged, sharply dressed in a tailored gray suit, balding, narrow chin, big cheekbones. In shape. Looked Eastern European.

"Recognize this guy?"

"Nope."

"His name is Artemi Filatov. He's Russian."

"No shit." Of course, he was Russian. They had an embassy and a whole lot of mobsters around the Chesapeake. "What about him?"

"He's a pimp. Not the kind of pimp who runs around in a flamboyant suit with a dressed-up Caddy. He's part of a prostitution ring that runs throughout the Beltway. His ring specializes in providing very important customers with extraordinarily beautiful women. Or boys if they prefer. Very important clientele. I'm not naming names, but there are a few you would recognize instantly from around Washington. And New York. The rich and powerful. We were closing in on him once, trying to make a case to put him away. We asked the FBI about him and the feds shut us down. Hard."