The Prostitutes Ball

Chapter 12.

"Instead of threatening let s try and work this out," Edith suggested.

"Tell me a little more about Chrissy Sweet and Paula Morgan," I said to Yolanda. She looked over at her attorney, who again moved a muscle or two, but remained almost still.

Yolanda leaned forward. "Paula Morgan was the dark-haired girl. She was an ex-actress who did some modeling for us, some massage therapy, full body rubs and the like. She was from Texas Dallas. Wonderful girl. Nice family. She came here to get into films. It didn't work. She was a dear friend. I'm going to miss her terribly. End of story." "And the other girl?" Hitch asked. "Ms. Sweet?" "Chrissy was born in Long Beach. She was fun and sort of goofy. One of those surfer girl, pixie personalities. But despite being sort of uncomplicated, she made a lot of bad choices in her personal life.

When she wasn't working, she hung with some extremely trashy people but, for some reason, didn't seem to know it. She was strikingly beautiful, but I think it's safe to say not too smart."

Yolanda glanced over at Edith, who gave her a tiny little head shake, so she stopped abruptly.

"You two are going to have to stop with this semaphore system of yours," I said. "I need answers to these questions. I know you were having a Christmas party of some kind tonight, so lets talk about that."

Yolanda lit a cigarette. So few people smoke these days that when it happens it often feels staged, like she was buying time to think.

"The party was my annual Christmas ball," she began. "We have it every year. The models, escorts, and massage therapists on our Web site get to pick their best client and invite him. It's all free to the client. They have a few drinks, they dance, they do what they want to do.

"The clients are very grateful and will often give the girl an expensive Christmas gift, a diamond ring or necklace. The client pays for nothing except any present he might choose to give. I've been doing it for three years now. It's been very successful and makes satisfied customers. As I said, Scott was one of Chrissy's regular accounts. I think he liked it that she was fun, but not too deep."

"Who did you rent the house up on Skyline from?" I asked.

"Brooks Dunbar."

"From his foundation," I clarified.

"No, from Brooks himself. Seven thousand dollars in cash. That was for the backyard only. We had use of the pool house but there were strict provisions that we couldn't use the main house. It was padlocked."

"Brooks says he doesn't know anything about it. That he never goes up there."

"He's lying. I met him up on Skyline two days ago and put the cash right in his pudgy little hand."

Hitch and I exchanged a look before I went on.

"Besides Scott Berman, how many clients were there?" I asked.

"About twenty."

"Did you see the shooter?" "No."

"Did anybody?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. It was over in seconds. For reasons of client confidentiality, we didn't use a caterer to serve hors d'oeuvres or drinks. After they set up, they left. Yeo-Sing and I did the serving. I was in the pool house with him pouring champagne. We heard the shots. It sounded like a machine gun. A lot of bullets, people screaming. We both dove under the serving table so we didn't see anything."

"You have no idea who the gunman was?"

She hesitated for just a second before she said, "No."

Her pause was the tip-off. She was holding something back. I set the cuffs on the table in front of her.

"I thought you were going to cooperate," I challenged.

She again glanced at Edith, who I don't think moved a muscle this time, but she was coaching her client to be quiet, nonetheless.

"I can go on the Internet and start downloading pages," I said. "We'll run every one of your models through Vice. We'll get old arrest records, start pulling people in. We'll sweat names and build this party list. It's a lot of work but we can do it, and then once we're through, I'll come back here and bust you for obstructing justice and failing to cooperate with a homicide investigation."

I looked her right in the eye. "I'm not Vice, Ms. Dublin. I may have opinions about what you do, but I'm not the morality police. I've got three dead bodies. One of them is an international celebrity.

"This is going to be big news tomorrow. It's gonna mushroom out until the politicians in this town get itchy and decide to make an example of someone. You look like a good candidate. Its as much in your interest to put this down fast as it is ours."

"I can't give you the names of my guests. Some are married. I'll go to jail first."

"Then you better find something to give me that goes someplace," I said.

She sat silently for a minute, considering it. Then she stubbed out her cigarette, got to her feet, and said, "Come with me."

She led us into her media room, where she sorted through a stack of DVDs until she found the one she wanted. Then she put it in the player and fast-forwarded until she came to a picture of a man pulling up on a motorcycle in front of her house. Obviously this was a security video.

On the screen we watched while the man took off his helmet. He was a blond, scruffy-looking guy with a low forehead who gave off a bad vibe even on video. He looked angry and slammed his gloves into the helmet as he dismounted the bike.

"That's Carl Sweet," Yolanda said. "He was Chrissy s about-to-be-ex. She had just filed for divorce. He's originally from Czechoslovakia and if you ask me, he's nuts. She moved out on him two weeks ago and into an apartment I helped her find. After Chrissy moved out, he came here looking for her. My security cam got that shot. He was screaming at me over the intercom. He wanted to know where she was. I wouldn't tell him."

"And you think this guy is the shooter."

"Maybe. He's violent enough. He used to beat Chrissy. There were times when she was so messed up I couldn't send her out on modeling assignments or dates."

She shut off the camera, then turned to look at us. "Does that buy me some space with you, Detective?"

"We'll see. I'm going to need that DVD." She nodded and handed it to me. "Do you have the address where they used to live?"

"After Chrissy left, she told me the landlord threw Carl out, so the old apartments been re-rented. Carls always broke. When they were married and living together, Chrissy paid for everything. After she split and filed, he had no steady income. I have no idea where he lives now."

"How about the address of the new place you helped Chrissy find?"

"I'll copy it down for you."

She got it from her address book, wrote it on a slip of paper, and handed it to me. It was an apartment in Glendale, on Brand Boulevard.

Once we were outside and back in the Carerra, Hitch paused before starting the car. "I've heard of that Christmas party," he said. "It's called the Prostitutes' Ball."

"But unfortunately for you, it seems Act One just fizzled big-time," I said. "Carl Sweet kills his wife and Scott Berman, hits poor Paula by mistake. Like you said bing-bang-boom. End of story. No movie."

"Yeah." He grinned. "But what a title, huh? The Prostitutes' Ball… Who wouldn't go see that one?"