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Catherine’s pause is barely perceptible, but I see it. “No. I think you’d be surprised by how many people need a genuine date for an event. And how many people don’t have sex with women who…get arounda lot.”
I don’t ask the question on the tip of my tongue, but somehow, she sees what I’m thinking. “It’s about sixty-forty.”
Clearing my throat, I push forward. “When Sade went to the Moonlight Lounge the other day—after our call—the bartender told us that Elizabeth came in, got plastered, and left with someone she met at the bar.”
Catherine lifts her head to look at me, her green eyes dark with grief. “Do you think he was the one who shot her?”
“I don’t know. We got a general description. White male, about six-foot, blond hair, blue eyes. Quiet type. The bartender said he threw a lot of cash around, ordering top-shelf liquor and such. Wore an ugly gold Rolex. He couldn’t identify him, but when Sade showed him a picture of Nico Drakos, he said it definitely wasn’t him. Do you know anyone else who fits that description?”
Her eyes gloss over for a second as she thinks about something, but then just as quickly, she recovers, making me wonder if I imagined the entire episode. “White guys with blond hair and blue eyes aren’t exactly rare…”
It’s not exactly the ‘No’ I was hoping for, so I clarify, “So, hedoesn’tsound familiar?”
“Mnhm, I’ll ask the girls too.” Catherine’s voice comes out a little choked, and she clears her throat before turning away from me.
Frowning, I continue with my interview. “Cat, would there have been any problem with Elizabeth going home with someone who wasn’t a client?”
“No. We can sleep with whoever we want.”
“But?”
“There’s a general house rule: No boyfriends. Relationships tend to complicate things when you’re an escort.”
“But Lizzie and Sascha?”
“They were lovers. But neither of them was monogamous and I don’t think they’d consider themselves acouple.”
I try not to compare them to Catherine and me, but my mind slips there anyway. I am quiet as I battle, internally sorting through personal questions from case questions.
“Toni said that Lizzie never showed up to her last date. The night she died…”
“Elizabeth wasn’t exactly dependable,” Catherine snaps. She closes her eyes for a moment and exhales one long breath. “I hate that I’m still mad at her.” Turning to me, she places her hands on her hips, bunching my shirt up around her waist and exposing more of her bare legs.
Fighting for control over my concentration, I ask, “Was she always like that? Volatile?”
“Not all the time. She went through extreme ups and downs. When she was up,” she smiles at whatever memory is playing through her mind, “she could be sofun. So charismatic. And even loving sometimes. But it never lasted.” Catherine’s eyes find mine. “When she was down, she was…dangerous. Yes, volatile. To the point where none of us wanted to be around her.”
“Was there anything that triggered Elizabeth’s downward spirals? A particular Repeat client? Or substance, maybe?”
“Lizzie was always mean when she drank, but no. I don’t really associate her mood swings with any particular client.”
When she falls quiet, her eyes far away, I push to a stand and go to her. “What is it?”
“Aiden…”
“You can tell me.”
“Lizzie wasn’tnormal. Ever. She lived her entire life like she was walking a tightrope a thousand feet above a major thoroughfare and having a ball doing it.”
“Do you think she could have committed suicide?” The question has to be asked. If Elizabeth sourced her cocaine from Sascha, who, by all appearances, loved her, she would have been warned about the fentanyl. Or, at least been given an unlaced sample. Or, maybe, her recreational habits had just gone too far? Maybe she knew about the fentanyl and liked the high anyway? It’s more potent, more addictive, than anything else out there, even heroin.
“I…” Catherine fights tears. “I don’t know. If she were a stranger, and I had just been given the details of her life and her psychology, I’d say yes. But I can’t reconcile suicide with the Lizzie I knew. She was raised seriously religious—likefanatical. Her dad is a pastor on one of those televised megachurches.”
I nod.
“And Lizzie…She was wild and reckless, but she also had moments of extremefearover the life she lived. She’d do something terrible and then cry and beg for forgiveness. Aiden, she still went tochurchsometimes…It was like she’d have moments where all that religious conditioning overrode the person she’d become and she’d just…freak out. Andsuicide…” She shakes her head sadly. “If she overdosed, it would have been due to recklessness.”
“That helps,” I tell her. But it still doesn’t tell me who killed Elizabeth. And why.
