Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [25]
“Tell me about her, Micki.”
She shrugged and wiped a single teardrop from her cheek. “We were friends, that’s all.”
“How’d you meet her?”
“The agency.”
“Which agency?”
“Beltway Escorts. I’m sure that’s on my rap sheet, too.”
“Yeah, it is. You both worked there for a while?”
“We both worked there for too long. More than one day is too long as far as I’m concerned.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The slob that runs it.”
His raised eyebrows said that he wanted the name.
“Billy McMahon,” she said. Jackson noted it. “He’s a low-class bastard.”
“He why you were leaving D.C.?”
“It’s time I left,” she said. Her laugh was sardonic. “Ah came here because I thought living in the city would be neat, you know? Small-town girl makes it big. Jesus, what a dope I was.”
“Did you have any jobs here besides turning tricks?”
“Sure. Lousy ones, low pay, long hours. That’s why…”
“That’s why turning tricks appealed. Money.”
“Why else do it?”
“I don’t know. Tell me about Rosalie.”
“She was great. Man, she had a sense of what was going on and how things went down. She made me look like the naïve jerk that I am.”
“Did she like the life?” Micki’s expression was quizzical. “Prostitution,” Jackson clarified.
She sat back and blew a stream of air at a red strand of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “She hated it as much as I did,” she said, “only she knew how to make it work. How do I say it?—She was worldly. I guess that’s the way to say it. She knew how to make the most out of a bad situation.”
His immediate thought was of the video recorder and tapes found in Rosalie Curzon’s apartment. Was that what the woman seated across from him was referring to, her dead friend’s ability to “make the most out of a bad situation”? He almost brought it up but thought better of it. Instead, he said, “Tell me more about the escort service and this guy McMahon.”
Her expression was worth a hundred words. “Billy McMahon is a creep. Maybe you should talk to him about Rosalie’s murder.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. When Rosalie decided to leave the agency and go solo, she encouraged me to go with her. I did. Billy never forgave her. Not only did I walk away along with her, he accused her of taking clients with her, lots of them. He said she promised them better service at lower prices if they’d come directly to her instead of booking through the agency. He threatened to kill her.”
“Literally?”
“That’s right.” She leaned forward, a sense of urgency in her voice. “Hey, look, don’t tell him I told you this. Right? I mean, I think the guy is capable of anything.”
“Including murder.”
She sat back, closed her eyes, and nodded.
He dropped the pad on the table and stood. “I forgot about the coffee,” he said, and went to the kitchen. He returned carrying two steaming mugs on a tray, along with sugar and a pint container of half-and-half. He placed it on the table.
“Do you have Sweet’n Low?” she asked.
He brought it from the kitchen.
“You won’t tell Billy what I told you,” she repeated.
“No need to. Did you and Rosalie share clients? I mean, did you pass them back and forth between you?”
“Sometimes. If Rosalie was away, or I was, we’d suggest that one of our clients see the other if they were upset or didn’t have much time. But we didn’t do that much, just now and then.”
“We’re looking for Rosalie’s killer,” Jackson said. “Chances are that it was one of her johns. Can you give me some names of men you sent to her when you were away?”
She shook her head with conviction. “I would never do that,” she said solemnly.
“Even if it might help solve the murder of your friend?”
She looked down and thought before responding. “Ah don’t think it’s right to just name a bunch’a names and have them dragged through the dirt. If you know somebody who you think did it, and if I know that person, then I might talk about it. But ah don’t want to be sending you on some wild-goose chase that’ll hurt people for no good reason.”
He silently agreed with her, although he knew he shouldn’t. Hatcher certainly wouldn’t have bought her rationale. So what if a