Page 6 of Shattered
“I don’t remember, but we all have our differences. Did they tell you about the time Iris and I got into an argument about scheduling?” Detective Foreman shook his head. I didn’t think so.
“Did Aldrich hurt either of you?”
That question disturbed me. The recognition in his eyes showed that he saw it in me too. I hadn’t wanted to believe it at first, but Haley was right, shehadwarned me; Aldrich had a reputation for breaking the boundaries of the servers. But did that qualify as harm? I wasn’t sure. But I remembered what he said about Haley’s mother and his late wives.
“I didn’t know him like that,” I said. We had never gotten that far. But we might have, if Haley hadn’t come there that night.
“What about Haley?”
The image of Haley crushed underneath Aldrich, his knife to her throat, as he was about to force himself inside of her crossed my mind. I blinked it away.
I had to protect Haley. That meant from the police too.
“I don’t know,” I said. The detective sighed. “Is there anything new about this killer? Anything I haven’t read in the papers yet?” I hadn’t read the news in a few days, but if anyone knew something, it was Detective Foreman. He was a new detective and therefore seemed freer with his information. Or maybe that was part of his interview tactics.
“At this point, all we know is that he goes after men who abuse prostitutes,” he said.
“Abuse?”
So the killer was no longer targeting men who simply bought sexual services, but ones who hurt the women they bought. Almost like a revenge spree.
“They’re calling him the Pros’ Angel,” Detective Foreman continued, “Pro, as in prostitute.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Haley and I are entertainers, Detective.” I didn’t want the club to be put in jeopardy for being a rumored brothel because of our association with the case. I was the reason we were being questioned, not a serial killer.
“You entertain men. Not exactly the same, but still along the same lines.” Fine. He could make that distinction himself. “The gunshot wounds don’t make sense though. This killer strangles his victims, but shootsandstrangles Aldrich?” He jotted down some notes on a pad, then stood.
“The killer could have been startled,” I offered.
“The wounds indicate it was at close range from behind. The killer wasn’t caught off guard. It was planned.” He tipped his imaginary hat. “If you think of anything, you know my number.”
I walked him back to the front door. When I turned around, Colin was pulling on his shiny red vest, his bouncer uniform for working at the Theater. It was how he had met Jake.
“Work already?” I asked.
“Took an early shift,” he said. “Going to Ivy Ledge after.”
Ivy Ledge was a bridge that was commonly known for having drugs and sex for sale. “You do know there’s a serial killer on the loose?” Why did I care about what happened to Colin? He proved time and time again that he could take care of himself. “They’re calling him the Pros’ Angel.”
He scoffed. “Angel? How stupid.”
“Seriously,” I said. I crossed my arms. “Don’t get mixed up in that though.”
“I’m not scared of a serial killer. I’ve got protection,” he said, his teeth gleaming. He meant the gun he kept in his car. “Don’t you have work soon?”
“I’m not on schedule today,” I said.
“I’d go in if I were you,” he said. “You remember last time.”
I turned towards my bedroom. Rent again. He didn’t need to remind me. “I’ll get your damn money.”
The room smelled like leftover food stuck at the bottom of a backpack. I choked back a gag, then rounded up the food I could find, putting it into a plastic grocery bag and tossing it into the kitchen trash. Talking to Detective Foreman was more than I had done in the last few days. It wasn’t our first interview, but it had motivated me to move. To stand up. Stretch. Wash a few bowls and plates crusted over with sauce. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored closet doors, and I grimaced. Bags under my eyes. Stringy red hair with the dark black roots inching out. A yellow stain on my shirt. I switched the shirt for a tank top that smelled clean.
A knock sounded on the front door. I waited for Colin to answer it, but when the banging interrupted my thoughts again, I remembered that he was at work. I opened it.
Dahlia, with her white-blond hair freshly styled into a neat a-line cut, her lips an apple red, tilted her chin.
“I see you’re doing well,” she said, her voice croaking. I blinked my eyes. Dahlia hadn’t come to our house before.
