Dial Me for Murder

Chapter 4

HAVE YOU EVER HAD THE SENSATION THAT you’ve been plucked off the Earth and plunked down on another planet? That you’re twirling around on a foreign globe in an entirely different galaxy? Then you know how I felt that Wednesday afternoon as I sat on the cream-colored couch in Sabrina Stanhope’s luxurious library, listening to a tale so aberrant and unexpected it was almost beyond my comprehension. My head was swimming and my stomach was churning (and it had nothing to do with the chugalugged cocktail-I swear!).

Sabrina was sitting calmly in her black leather chair, smoking a cigarette, sipping her whiskey sour, and revealing the shocking truth about her private life and her personal affiliation with Virginia Pratt as if there were nothing the least bit unusual about either. She had been talking for just a few minutes, but I’d experienced so many different emotions during her brief monologue, it felt more like a month to me. And in spite of Sabrina’s ordinary tone, and the casual, offhand way she concluded her confession, I still found her disclosure astounding, practically impossible to accept.

“I don’t believe it!” I said to her. “You’re making the whole thing up!”

“I promise you I’m not,” she insisted, thin lips curling in an enigmatic smile. “My situation is exactly as I have described it.”

“But how can that be?” I blustered. “You’re not the type to get involved in anything sordid or disreputable! You’re refined and sophisticated. You live in a posh apartment overlooking Gramercy Park. You have elegant clothes and jewelry, and a devoted maid. Jeez! You even have a library!” I sounded more Bettylike than ever.

Sabrina smiled again. “It’s really very simple, Paige, but since you’re so skeptical and confused, I’ll spell it out for you one more time. Please listen carefully. I don’t want to have to go over this again.” She paused for a moment, cleared her throat, then gave me a curt, matter-of-fact, but nonetheless mind-boggling summation.

“I was born into a wealthy and prestigious family,” she said, “raised by governesses and educated in Switzerland. I used to be a fashionable, celebrated socialite-a true lady of leisure- but my circumstances have changed. Now I have to earn my own living. Now I own and operate my own business-a very professional, very successful escort service. I am, in fact, what you would call a ‘madam,’ and I manage an exclusive salon of the smartest, loveliest, highest-priced call girls in the city. Virginia Pratt was one of my girls-the most desirable and high-priced of them all.”

“But the newspapers said she was a secretary!” I protested. “For a 23rd Street accounting firm!”

“And so she was. But only during the day. At night she was a luminous temptress who was wined, dined, and adored by some of the richest, most powerful men in Manhattan.”

“Men you procured for her, I suppose.” It was a statement, not a question, pronounced with a hint of sarcasm. The truth was finally sinking in.

“Yes, of course,” Sabrina agreed, straightening her shoulders and brushing a wave of ash-blonde hair off her forehead. “My upper-crust background is finally being put to good use. During my debutante days I became friends with many wealthy young men who were on their way to becoming important. Now they are important, and even wealthier than before, and some are clients as well as friends. They’re very eager to enjoy-and more than happy to pay for-the company of the beautiful, exciting, accommodating young women I provide.”

“Do your clients ever give your… er, girls expensive gifts?” I was thinking about the mink jacket, satin dress, diamond jewelry, and lacy lingerie found wrapped in the bedsheet with Virginia ’s body.

“Some do and some don’t. And sometimes it depends on the girl. Virginia, for instance, received many such offerings.”

I gave Sabrina a steady, penetrating look. “Was Virginia on an arranged date with one of your rich, important friends the night she was killed?”

She sighed and nodded sadly. “Yes she was, and I’m anxious to talk to you about that. But let’s go into the dining room now, shall we? We can continue our conversation over lunch.”

MINUTES LATER WE WERE SEATED AT ONE END of the long mahogany table in Sabrina’s formal dining room, savoring our freshly baked bread and French onion soup, and having a genteel dialogue about prostitution and murder.

“ Virginia was a wonderful person,” Sabrina said, dabbing at her mouth with a white linen napkin. “She was as bright and talented and kind as she was beautiful. All the other girls loved her-and so did I.”

The proverbial heart of gold, I thought, wondering if every hooker had one. “You said she was your most desirable and- how shall I say?-expensive girl, so I guess your clients loved her, too.”

“They did indeed. She was the fair-haired favorite. Only my top clients could afford her, though, and I had a hard time arranging her schedule to satisfy their frequent, often overlapping demands.”

I swallowed the last mouthful of my soup, set the spoon on the plate, and politely inquired, “Which one of your clients was having his demands satisfied the night of the murder?” (I wasn’t being sarcastic now; I was just being curious. Insanely, obsessively, about-to-lose-my-cool curious. Could the name of that one client be the only clue needed to crack the case?)

Sabrina returned her napkin to her lap and gave me a penetrating gaze. “Before I answer your questions, Paige, I must ask you to answer mine.”

“Oh?” I said. “What questions are you referring to?” I didn’t recall being asked anything other than what kind of cocktail I wanted.

“There are several things I need to know before we can proceed,” she said. “First on the list is how much you will charge to undertake this private investigation for me. Don’t be shy. I intend to compensate you handsomely for your time, and if you succeed in identifying the murderer, I will give you a generous bonus.”

“You don’t have to pay me one dime, Sabrina. I was determined to investigate this story before I ever talked to you. Virginia died a horrendous death, and I’d like nothing better than to see the creep who killed her behind bars. I’m sure my editor will feel the same way, and I expect he’ll assign this story to me as soon as I get back to the office. So, you see, I’ll be delving into this homicide for Daring Detective magazine, and couldn’t possibly accept any money from you. I will, however, be very grateful for any information you can give me.”

Her penetrating gaze turned into an ugly grimace. “But that’s impossible!” she shrieked, emotions erupting like a volcano. “I can’t allow you to write about Virginia ’s murder! That would be the worst thing that could happen.”

Hey, wait a minute! She can’t allow me? When did Sabrina Stanhope become my boss-or should I say my madam?

“Sorry, Sabrina, but I have a job to do. And writing about murder is my job. If that disturbs you, I-”

Charlotte entered the dining room with a large tray in her hands and walked over to the table to collect our soup bowls and plates. “Shall I bring in the main course now, mum?” she asked, voice soft as a spring shower.

“Yes, of course,” Sabrina snapped, so distraught she forgot to say please.

When Charlotte disappeared into the kitchen, I turned to Sabrina and said, “What’s your problem? Why are you so upset? I thought you’d be glad to hear I’ll be working on this case at no cost to you. What difference does it make who pays me? All that matters is finding the monster who killed Virginia.”

Sabrina gave me the kind of look that said, You are, without a doubt, the stupidest woman I ever met in my life. Then she composed herself and vocalized a more civil version of that thought:

“Are you out of your mind?” she cried. “I told you about my business-and Virginia ’s leading role in my business-in the strictest confidence! If I had thought for one moment that you would expose us both in a national magazine, I never would have breathed a word about our profession. Prostitution is illegal, in case you haven’t heard.” She shot me another ferocious glance. “If news about my private enterprise gets out, I’ll lose my entire livelihood. And I’ll probably be sent to jail! And what about Virginia ’s grieving family? If it’s revealed that she was a call girl, they will suffer even more grief, plus an intolerable amount of public shame.”

Oh, I muttered to myself, embarrassed by my unthinking reaction. Is being a dope the same as being stupid?

“And that’s not all,” Sabrina went on. “If the police find out that Virginia was a call girl, they will feel little or no sympathy for her. And they won’t work very hard to catch her killer. And then the psychotic beast who tied her up and stuffed turpentine-soaked cotton into her poor nose and mouth may get away with murder! Such things happen more often than you can imagine, Paige. When a prostitute is killed, the police like to think she asked for it-that she got what she deserved for being a whore-and they simply don’t bother to carry out a thorough investigation.”

“But that’s not true!” I objected. “My boyfriend is a NYPD homicide detective, and he’s the most honorable, most compassionate, most determined seeker of justice you could ever hope to-”

I stifled myself when Charlotte returned to the dining room and glided over to the table, wheeling a small chrome and glass serving cart in front of her. She put a platter of poached salmon, a bowl of mayonnaise-caper dressing, and a dish of asparagus vinaigrette on the table, then placed two silver-rimmed china plates in front of Sabrina and me. After refilling our water glasses and checking to see that we had enough bread, Charlotte asked Sabrina, “Will there be anything else, mum? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you, Charlotte. We’ll have coffee with dessert. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

The minute Charlotte left the dining room, Sabrina resumed her rant against the police. “I hate to burst your bubble, Paige, but if your detective boyfriend is as noble as you say he is, he’s an out-and-out oddity.” She sat up straight as a stick and poked her chin out in defiance. “Every officer of the law I’ve ever known has been arrogant, dogmatic, misogynistic, and unbearably cocky-including those who are my clients. They are, after all-in spite of their big, shiny badges and guns-merely men. And like most men, they think a woman who sells her body is more of a criminal than the man who buys her body- and if bad things happen to her body in the bargain, she has only herself to blame. Believe me, I follow these kinds of cases carefully, and I know what I’m talking about.”

Okay, she had a point. I’d run across enough sexist, racist, and otherwise prejudiced police in my line of work to know that Sabrina’s words carried some weight. The last story I’d worked on, in fact, involved a hateful, hotheaded detective who wanted to convict an innocent man of murder just because he was homosexual. But that was an uncommon case, I believed, and by no means indicative that all homicide dicks were bigoted or chauvinistic. Not on your life! I’d met a lot of fine, upstanding cops in my day, and one was so fine I’d fallen in love with him.

Trying to think of a way to defend the NYPD without provoking another argument, I squared my shoulders, took a drink of water, and fished around in my muddled brain for a few convincing but noncombative points to raise.

I could have saved myself the trouble.

“That’s enough about the police!” Sabrina sputtered. “I can’t bear to talk about them anymore. It disgusts me just to think about them!” With an angry toss of her head, she thrust out her hand and gripped the rim of the silver salmon platter, steering it across the crisp white linen tablecloth and mooring it, like a yacht, in front of me. “Please help yourself.” It sounded more like an order than an offer.

“Thank you,” I said, although I wasn’t very hungry anymore. I took a small portion of the perfectly poached fish and placed it on my plate. Maybe Charlotte will give me a doggie bag, I mused.

Watching me like a hawk, Sabrina kept talking. “Now do you understand why I can’t let you write about Virginia ’s murder?” Her fierce gray eyes were staring into my soul. “So many people would be hurt! And I don’t mean just myself and Virginia ’s family. I’m worried sick about the rest of my girls. If my business is shut down, they’ll lose most, if not all, of their income. And many of them are raising young children and supporting needy relatives. And don’t think they can just go to work for another agency. I’m the only madam in the city, and I manage the only decent escort service in town. The others are run by men who abuse their girls and pay them next to nothing.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said in all sincerity, “but it still doesn’t change my position. I’m a writer, for heaven’s sake! And you knew that when you called me. Whatever made you think I would investigate this murder without writing a story about it?”

Suddenly breaking eye contact, Sabrina reached for the asparagus and put three spears on her plate. She cut them into bite-size pieces, forked one segment into her mouth, and chewed it slowly. Very slowly. Then finally, after she’d stopped her merciless chewing and swallowed what was left of the mutilated morsel, she turned her attention back to me.

“You’re a widow,” she said, “so I thought you’d be more understanding. The papers said your husband was killed in Korea – that you had to turn to crime writing to support yourself-so I hoped you’d grasp the seriousness of my situation and take pity on my single working girls. You know what it’s like to be a woman alone, and how hard it is to make your own way in a man’s world.”

“Yes, but the way I make my own way is by writing.” Would she ever get my drift?

“But that is not a problem in this case!” she argued. “I will pay you much more just to investigate the murder than you would ever make by writing the story.”

I released a tired sigh. “I’m not a detective, I’m a writer.” How many times would I have to say it?

Sabrina sat up straight, took careful aim, and shot her next question-like an arrow-straight into my conscience. “What’s more important to you, Paige-helping to bring a savage killer to justice, or writing a sleazy story about him?”

Aaargh! I groaned to myself as the arrow hit home. Justice was-and always had been-my primary objective, of course, but I couldn’t tell Sabrina that! The knowledge would give her too much power. She’d have me pinned to the wall (and signing on the dotted line) in no time.

“Both,” I said, refusing to fall into her trap.

She shrugged and gave me a crooked grin (or was it a smirk?). “Well, I’ve got news for you, Paige Turner,” she said, sounding far less polite and refined than she had earlier. “You won’t be able to accomplish either of those goals without me.”

And she called the police cocky!

“I don’t need your permission, you know.”

“No, but you do need my cooperation,” she said. “You’ll never get anywhere without it.”

I hated to admit it, but Sabrina was right. I simply had to have the name of that client-the one Virginia was supposed to have been with the night she was murdered. And I needed the names of Virginia ’s other regulars, too-plus those of her closest girlfriends. I might never get to the truth without those specifics, and Sabrina was the only one who could supply them. She had me right where she wanted me-and we both knew it.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You won’t give me any further information unless I swear not to write the story?” I already knew the answer to that question, but I asked it anyway.

“That’s right,” she confirmed, forking another tiny asparagus segment into her mouth and chewing it to a pulp. Then she swallowed and said, “But you mustn’t condemn me for that, Paige. I have to protect myself and my girls and Virginia ’s family. And I’m obligated to protect my clients, too. Some of them hold very important positions in government, business, and society. If their lecherous, philandering, and illegal activities were exposed to the world, it would mean the end of their careers. Perhaps their marriages as well.”

“But one of them could be a cold-blooded murderer!” I screeched. “How do you feel about protecting him?”

“Awful,” she said, with a cunning smile. “That’s why I called you.”