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“The girls make triple what they can make other places, usually even more. He’s got more girls wanting to work there than he can handle.”
“Are the women ever harmed in the course of their work? Forced to take drugs?” Jo asked.
Hailey shook her head. “Nothing like that. Travis wouldn’t put up with anything that took his girls out of circulation for the next customer. He likes to think he ‘takes care of his girls.’”
There was a tone to her voice that contradicted what she was saying. “But you felt you had to speak to us in secret.”
The sleeve ripped in two and dropped to the table. “He may have delusions about how he treats women, but he’s deadly serious about not talking to the police.”
Jo’s brows knit. “How serious?”
Hailey swallowed hard, and seemed to make a decision. “Check out what happened to Louisa Lyndak. Travis spotted her talking to a cop outside Volcano. She turned up dead before the week was out.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
“I’ll drive again, you call your contact at Springfield PD,” Arnett said as they left the Starbucks.
“On it.” Jo put through a call to Senior Captain Ben Silva.
“Detective Fournier,” Silva said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.”
Jo gave him a quick recap of what Hailey Chartrain had told them. “So possible evidence for either drug trafficking or money laundering, and definite evidence for prostitution.”
Silva’s pen scratched in the background. “This may be enough for us to get some sort of surveillance on them. After our last call I talked to the guys on the organized-crime task force, and their ears perked right up,” he said. “This fits in with some current activity they’ve been following. If you can put us in touch with the waitress you mentioned, I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll reach out. In the meantime, we’d appreciate any details you have on Louisa Lyndak.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell. Hang on a second.”
The clack of keys replaced the scratch of his pen. “Young woman, twenty-four, found dead in her apartment last April of a heroin overdose. Toxicology report detected xylazine as well.”
Jo shot a look at Arnett, whose brows went up in response. Xylazine was an animal tranquilizer that had been making its way into street drugs; nobody knew for sure exactly where it came from or why, but the theory was it extended opioid highs. However, it also extended the possibility of an overdose.
“Any chance we can get a copy of the file?” she asked.
“I’ll shoot it over to you. What’s your email address?”
She dictated it, thanked him, and then hung up.
“Xylazine. That’s tricky,” Arnett said.
Jo opened her email. “Certainly is. I’m going to forward this to Marzillo and see if there’s any way she can check the tox screen. If they assumed this was an overdose rather than a potential homicide, they might not have thought twice about it.” Jo skimmed the rest of the file. “From everything I can see, I’m not sure I’d’ve thought it was anything other than an overdose. Tracks on her arm showed it wasn’t the first time she’d used. Her door was open but the only prints found were hers.”
“I have a couple of CIs that hang out in Springfield. When we get back to HQ I’ll give them a call, see if they’ve heard anything about her or The Volcano.”
“Sounds good.” A notification on Jo’s phone caught her eye. “That’s right, a call came through while we were talking to Hailey. Naomie Alexander, and she left a message. I’ll put it on speaker.”
Naomie’s voice filled the car, its normal confidence gone. “Detective Fournier? I’m calling because I’ve discovered something you may want to know about. It’s probably not related, but I’m working on the assumption you’d rather hear about something that turns out to be nothing thannothear about something that turns out to be something.”
The Naomie she’d met was far more self-possessed than this rambling indicated. “Something has her spooked,” she said to Arnett.
“One of our admins found a discrepancy with some funds we awarded to Madison. Long story short, she received two grants instead of one, and I think the second was forged because today I found two other clients with the same situation. I emailed Madison about the problem but didn’t get a chance to talk to her before she died, and now I’m wondering if it’s related to her death. If you’re able to call me back, I’d appreciate it.” After a series of clicks, the call ended.
Jo tapped to return the call. “Dammit—voice mail. Let me try again.” She did, but Naomie didn’t pick up; Jo left a message and told her to call again as soon as she was able.
“I don’t like the coincidence that there’s some pregnancy-obsessed creeper hanging out at The Volcano,” Arnett said.
“Me neither, but there’s not much we can do with that description. Nobody else mentioned the guy when we asked, and they must all know about it.”
