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"Ms. Radcliffe, you've been extremely helpful. Thanks for your time."
"It's always my pleasure to help you officers."
I resisted the urge to smile, but couldn't help feeling sorry for the local cops. They were going to be seriously bombarded by the old girl's "helpful" reports over the next few days.
I retreated to my car, barely getting there before the skies opened up and the rain came down. As water pounded the windshield, I threw the photo on the seat then got out my phone and called the Directorate.
The caramel cow answered.
"Sal, Riley Jenson again. I need you to trace an ID for me."
"I'm not your personal servant," she replied coolly.
"There are proper channels to follow."
"I don't like proper channels, and I need this information quickly."
"Such requests have to be approved - "
"I haven't got the time for this shit, Sal. Just do it without arguing or I'll start whispering nasty things in Jack's car about his-hot-to-trot personal assistant." I quickly gave her Trudi's name and Dunleavy's address. "She apparently works as a waitress and part-time stripper. I need to know where."
"You are such an ass." Despite the annoyance in her tone, the soft tap of a keyboard was evident over the phone.
"But I'm an ass Jack listens to." Sometimes. I waited a few seconds, then said, "Anything?"
"Yeah. I'm sending you her profile."
"Including a working address?"
Salliane paused. "She works as a cocktail waitress at Cattle Club. There's no strip joint listed."
Meaning it was probably a cash-in-hand job at one of the underground strip joints. "Where's the Cattle Club? I've never heard of it."
"So much for you being a party animal," she said, somewhat cattily. "It's the latest hot spot."
"For weres, or for vamps who have the hots for their boss?"
"Humans, asshole. Anything else?"
"Nope. Such a pleasure talking to you again, Sal."
"Bite my ass, wolf girl."
She hung up and I grinned. I was going to get into trouble if I continued riling her, I knew that, but damn, it was fun. She was wound so tight her face would surely crack if she smiled. But at least she was efficient. I'd barely hung up when the information about Trudi Stone came through. I studied her file for several seconds, noting there was no criminal history and seemingly nothing out of the ordinary about her.
The daughter got a mention, as did the ex. I typed in a note asking that the dad be notified about the death of his little girl, then put the Cattle Club's name into the nav-computer and got the address and driving directions.
The club sat in the middle of the city's famed King Street dance club district, an area that was basically the human equivalent of werewolf clubs - but without the free sex. Though apparently was available, if you had ready cash and didn't mind a quickie in the alley or a nearby car. Part of me wondered if Trudi had been a part of that scene. I wouldn't entirely have been surprised if she was. In the file photo, her eyes had held that world-weary, bleak sort of look that hookers who'd been in the game for a while got.
Had the information she'd been killed for come from a client, or from somewhere else? Was the Cattle Club the connection at all, or was it the strip joint we knew nothing about?
The only way to know was to go there and snoop. While it was now early afternoon, I had no doubt the club would be open. Most of the King Street venues now had twenty-four-hour licenses, and served food, alcohol, and the promise of a good time to any who entered. It wasn't unusual to have lunchtime lines almost as long as the nighttime ones, as those on midday breaks tried to get inside for a little action. Trouble was, I wouldn't get in dressed as casually as I was, not without flashing my ID - and I had a feeling that was something I'd better avoid until I scoped out the place.
Clairvoyance, I thought, as I started up the car, truly sucked. I mean, if it was going to feed me little warnings, it could at least add why.
I headed home and changed into something a little more upmarket and sexy, then grabbed my thickest coat and drove on to the club.
There was a line out the front, but not a huge one. The rain was still coming down intermittently and the wind that whipped down King Street was icy, blasting away at the flyaway ends of my long woolen coat. By the time I got to the door, my bare legs had an almost blue tinge. Considering the red hair, it wasn't a good look.
