The officer lowered his voice. “Well, she has your card with a red kiss mark on it.”
“Send her up.”
He checked his hair in his phone camera. His smartwatch vibratedwith a high-heart-rate warning. He silenced it as the bell buzzed behind the wall of statements. He squeaked back his chair and peered around at the door. A tall woman with long wavy hair was silhouetted behind the fogged glass window.
It wasn’t Sterling. Nevertheless, he sensed this was her doing.
Things had gone so wrong in this case, in his life, since she’d arrived. The Concierge. The reason he was losing sleep and what he dreamed about in rare moments he found it. He’d tried to help her, but now she wouldn’t talk to him. He should have stayed away from her for his own good.
Andreas slid the small window aside and locked eyes with Verena, the sex worker. In a hoarse voice, she said, “I need your help, I’m in trouble.”
The black eye and the bruise on her right cheek confirmed her statement.
He checked the security-camera feed beside him to ensure she was alone before opening the door. “You okay? Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” she said, surveying the organized chaos of his office. “But I could use a seat.”
“Of course,” he said, clearing document boxes off Beate’s chair, watching Verena out of the corner of his eye. Someone had pummeled her, but she didn’t look rattled. She was tough, or doing a good job of faking it.
“Can I get you an ice pack?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’ve handled worse.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Tea? Coffee? I put on a fresh pot”—he glanced at his smartwatch—“four hours ago.”
“I’m fine.”
Andreas looked past her to the wall. He’d forgotten to cover the suspect board before letting her in. He went over and lowered the paper curtain. The damn thing sprang back up.Oida. Fine, he’dleave it. But he unpinned the crime scene photos. She didn’t need to see Hedy like that.
He poured himself a mug of stale coffee and slumped into his chair, laying the photos face down on his desk.
“Tell me who did this to you, and I’ll ensure we lock him up.”
Verena peered over her shoulder at the remaining photos on the wall, tensing as she did. “Sterling said I could trust you.”
The knot in his chest loosened at the mention of her name. So, Sterling hadn’t entirely forsaken him. “She’s right. But don’t tell her I said that. What happened?”
“Nothing yet, besides this,” she said, flicking her wrist nonchalantly towards her bruise. “But Madame’s out to get me. She probably knows I’m here.”
“Did she assault you?”
“Not directly. She’d never be so obvious, but she’s hinted that there’s worse to come. She has this subtle way. It’s like a look she gives you, and you know. She’s started hiring me out to dangerous clients.”
“Legally, you have the right to refuse any customer. Hold on, let me get you a pamphlet,” he said. Both he and the chair groaned when he stood. He hadn’t gone running all week. Verena stopped him with a hand on his knee.
“I don’t need a pamphlet, I need protection. Listen, I know you suspect Weiss killed Hedy, and I want to help. She has this brace—”
“If she’s hurting you or forcing you in any way, we can file charges. But it’d be a separate case.”
She winced. Whatever Weiss did to her had nicked her armor.
He continued, “As of right now, we’ve cleared Madame Weiss of suspicion in Hedy’s murder. Evidence says she’s a legal businesswoman, though perhaps not a respectable one. If she’s breaking laws otherwise, I can help, but you have to tell me what’s really going on at Blanc de Noir.”
“If you cleared her, then why’s her photo hanging under the wordSuspect?” she asked.
“Your eyes might be worse than you realize. How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, raising his thumb, index, and middle finger.
“Three. My eyes are fine. If you ask me again, I’ve got only one finger to show you.”
