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“He didn’t see the connection, and it’s not his department. The hit and run shook him up though, I think. I haven’t spoken to him for a couple of days.” Because she’d been too busy with her new boyfriend. “I was supposed to have dinner with him, but we haven’t got it together yet.”
“He’s not Homicide; those guys can be territorial.”
“The victims don’t care who catches the asshole, or assholes. They care they stop getting away with it, that no one else dies.”
“Ludlow does make it more interesting,” Sersha murmured. “What do you know about him, Strat? Tell me, pretend your kids aren’t here.”
Like that would work. Her father kept his secrets locked up tight and never—
“Porn. He’s into porn.”
She couldn’t believe it. Her mouth dropped open, though her father only saw Sersha.
“Who cares?” the woman asked. “A lot of guys are. A lot of people are.”
“Not like this, not watching it.”
The two chatted away like they were shooting the breeze, putting pieces together, tossing around ideas. It was… unfathomable.
“Making it?” Sersha asked. “Is that what you mean?”
“It’s an easy area to break into, cheap, quick cash.”
“For the men holding the cameras,” Sersha said. “What happened?”
“When I found out what he was doing, how he paid his Manzani dues, I walked away.”
“It wasn’t so simple. Walking away is not a choice most men get.”
“Ludlow was like me, our allegiance was more fluid than anything. We dipped in and out of deals or schemes as they came around. But he was into this, like I’ve never seen, and the better he did, the deeper into the Manzani world he got. He wanted me in, tried to get me involved…”
“The women weren’t willing, were they?” Sersha asked, now solemn.
That was going around.
Even Ford shared the thought. “Hookers?”
“Who signed on, maybe, at first, but they didn’t know what they were getting into. It was a meat market until they eventually…”
“Eventually…”
“They were selling them off. Guys paid to star in their own film. Nothing was too much. Any fuck with a fistful of cash abused the women night after night.”
“Now we’re in Lachlan’s arena,” Sersha murmured.
“This was years ago,” her dad said, shaking his head. “I haven’t heard about it for years. If they got too close to the—”
“Russian dolls.” What the hell did that mean? She frowned at a distant Sersha. “A few weeks ago, Evander tried to bring in a shipment of women, the cops intercepted them. Got them out, got them help.” That was something. Though anything better may not be awaiting the women if they got deported back to wherever they’d come from. “I thought his plan was to distribute them around, Lachlan thought that, at least that’s what he said. Steeple mentioned you were into something. How long has this murder spree been going on?”
“I don’t know,” she said, searching for a specific list. “Could be a year, could be more. Without knowing how he chooses his victims, I can’t ID every one to pinpoint it.”
“It’s a computer search. All the women who match the profile and are wearing the Manzani mark.”
“The cops think the mark means nothing.”
Translated, Lachlan thought it meant nothing, just like Jagg.
“They’re not seeing these women for what they are. They see the Manzani mark and toss them aside, assuming they’re prostitutes.” Which deserved a whole story of its own. “The method of death is different, the dumping of the bodies—where did they make these porn movies? If a john was willing to pay for a more respectable woman… Supply and demand.”
