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By Root 296 0

one leg crossed over the other, the dangling foot pumping up and down. Jackson’s mind raced back to his locker room encounter with Hatcher. Had he inadvertently blurted out her name? He didn’t think so. At least he didn’t remember doing it. But he must have. Either that, or Hatcher assumed from his question about his days on the vice squad that it had to have been Micki who prompted it. Hatcher knew that Jackson and Hall had spoken with her about the Curzon murder, and having interviewed her at his apartment had prompted a snide remark. But he decided that how Hatcher knew to pay a visit to Micki wasn’t the issue, at least not at the moment. What was important was that he’d been right in his belief, unsupported by any facts, that Hatcher had shaken down Micki and Rosalie.

“Look,” Jackson said, “if I did something to cause Hatcher to threaten you, I’m sorry.”

“ ‘I’m sorry,’ ” she mimicked. “That’s swell. The guy’s capable of anything.”

Jackson made sure that no one was near. He moved closer and said, “I’ll make this up to you, Micki. I promise. Okay, so Hatcher has threatened you, and he was one of the cops who shook you and Rosalie down. Who were the other cops?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”

“From the force?”

“Yeah. I heard he retired, probably with a fat pension, to go with the money he squeezed out of me and the other girls.”

“What was his name?”

“Vazquez. And when Hatcher was transferred from vice, another cop took his place, a Russian name, or something that sounds Russian, I don’t remember.”

“They don’t matter for the moment,” he said.

“Jesus, when I saw him arrive I—”

“Hatcher.”

“Yeah, Hatcher. When he showed up, it was like going back in time. I thought I was through with him and his kind.”

“He said you’d end up like Rosalie if you talked to anyone?”

“You got it.” Now she faced him. “Look, I’m sorry if I took it out on you when you arrived. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you. It’s just that we make a date and then he shows up.”

“I appreciate your trust, Micki. The last time we spoke—I was with my partner, Detective Hall, remember?—I asked whether you’d told anyone about the tapes Rosalie had recorded of some of her clients. You said you had.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters a lot, Micki. I asked whether you’d told any of the cops. I think you said that you probably had told one of them. Was it Hatcher?”

“This is getting in too deep for me,” she replied.

“Was it Hatcher?” he repeated.

“Hatcher knew about them,” she said.

“Why did you tell him?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes he could be, well, friendly when he was collecting his payoff, joke around.”

“He ever put the make on you in place of cash?”

She laughed. “Hatcher? No. It was all money with him. He had a whole spiel to go with it. You know, coming up with reasons for taking payoffs—keeping us safe, helping us run our businesses. He used to say that if a john ever gave us trouble we should call him and he’d straighten him out.”

“The patron saint of escorts,” Matt quipped.

She grunted.

“How did it happen that you told him about Rosalie’s tapes?” he asked.

“I don’t know. No, I do know. It wasn’t me, now that I think of it. We—Rosie and me—we used to meet him for the payoffs at that greasy spoon owned by a friend of his, Joe Yankavich.”

“Joe’s Bar and Grille, in Adams Morgan.”

“Yeah. Joe’s a slob but he’s okay. He was always good to us. Hatcher had him on his payroll, too. Maybe he still does.”

Jackson thought of Kahil, owner of the Silver Veil, who admitted to being shaken down. Hatcher?

“Rosie was in a funny mood that night,” Micki continued. “She sometimes had a little trouble with the booze, just now and then. She’d get a snoot full and start talking—you know, gossip kind of things, funny stories about some of her johns.”

“And she was in that mood the night you were with Hatcher?”

“Yeah. I started to get uncomfortable. I mean, talking about your johns is a no-no. Breaks the rules.”

“Go on.”

“So, Rosie keeps drinking, and Hatcher is egging her on, buying the drinks, being buddy-buddy, even after we’d handed over that week