Page 35 of The Liar

I opened another file, entitled Red Letter. Inside was a copy of Sloane’s employment contract, a headshot, and several photographs of her scantily clad, spinning on a pole. My eyes nearly bugged out when one of the images showed her holding herself upside down using only her legs. She must have been a strong woman.

Yet she hadn’t fought back against her attacker. Had she been caught by surprise? Or had it been someone she trusted?

I hated it when people betrayed their loved ones’ trust. And no, that wasn’t only because it was too close for comfort after my recent discovery of who West really was.

Forcing myself to focus on the final sheet in the file, I skimmed the relevant information. Over twenty womendanced at the Red Letter, but Sasha Sloane was a regular. She performed under the stage name Diamond and usually worked Friday and Saturday nights.

“Lee, you reckon there’ll be staff at the strip club by now?” Hanson called over the divider.

I glanced at my watch. It was late morning. “Worth a shot.”

I closed the files, returned my notepad to my pocket, and packed everything I might need into my jacket. There was no point in lugging my duffel bag across town.

“I’ll drive,” Hanson said, coming around the end of my desk, a set of keys already in his grasp.

“Let’s go then.”

We took a squad vehicle to the strip club and parked outside. The club had a surprisingly low-key exterior, with only a small, red neon sign above the door. Hanson tried the handle and the door swung inward, revealing a set of stairs that climbed into darkness. Dance music played from somewhere beyond.

Hanson and I exchanged a glance.

“Ladies first,” he said.

I smirked. “Age before beauty.”

He scowled, and I relented, and strode up the stairs ahead of him. Whatever we were about to walk into, I doubted it would be dangerous.

At the top of the stairs, the space opened out into a large, shadowed room. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so dark, but I supposed the black paper across the windows kept the sun out. The only light came from directly above the stage, where a pair of women were practicing their routine while a chubby white man and several other women watched from the floor.

Hanson puffed up the stairs behind me and stoppedwith his hands on his hips, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice his need to catch his breath.

I approached the people clustered around the stage and drew my badge from my pocket, holding it up for them to see as they turned to face me. “Detective Lee, CPD. My partner and I have a few questions.”

The chubby guy frowned and gestured for the dancers to continue.

“What’s the problem here, detective?” he asked in an oily tone that sent a creeping sense of unease down my spine. The way his eyes roved over me left me in no doubt that he was imagining me with my clothes off.

Rat.

“We’re here about Sasha Sloane,” I said, refusing to allow my disgust with him to creep into my voice. “I understand she worked here.”

“Ah, yes.” He adopted a hangdog expression that didn’t have an ounce of sincerity to it. “I’m Ed Keenan. We were all so sorry to hear about what happened to poor Sasha.”

“So, she was one of your dancers?” Hanson clarified, still wheezing.

I couldn’t help but wonder how he continued to pass the department’s fitness tests. Perhaps they cut him some slack for being a well-respected veteran officer.

“Of course.” Keenan’s lips curved slyly. “She danced every Friday and Saturday, and occasionally for special events.”

“Such as?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Stag parties, usually. Often, they’d have specific ideas about the type of dancers they wanted. Some like blondes, others prefer brunettes. Sasha had this Snow White thing going on that men loved.”

“Did she ever do any private performances?” Hansonasked, having finally got his breathing under control. “For particular customers?”

“No.” Keenan’s lips pinched together. “Sasha didn’t do that. She danced in public, or for small groups, but nothing more. If she saw any customers outside of the Red Letter, I don’t know about it.”

Hmm. He seemed awfully defensive. But then, we could hardly expect him to admit to facilitating anything too hands on, could we?

---