Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [86]
Still frowning, Isabel said, “I wish we could find that damned box of photos.”
“We can't even check for more safe-deposit boxes in the other banks in the area until tomorrow morning.”
“I know, I know. I just think it's important. We need to see what's in that box.”
“Agreed.” Very deliberately, Rafe took a chair on the side of the table where she was sitting. “On another subject . . .”
Her frown vanished, and she smiled. “Where the hell am I, and how do I get to Detroit?”
He smiled slightly in response. “Are you a Richard Pryor fan, or do you just know that I am?”
“Both.”
“Any more one-liners you want to throw at me?”
“No. I'll be good.”
“Just tell me what's going on, Isabel.”
She closed the autopsy file and set it aside, then drew a breath and let it out slowly. “The short, perfectly truthful version is, I don't know what's going on.”
“And the long version?”
“I'm not picking up anything from anyone. I don't hear any voices. All my extra senses closed up shop last night, and I think it has something to do with you. And I don't know what the hell is going on.”
5:10 PM
Mallory hung up the phone and rubbed the back of her neck as she looked at Hollis, who was perched on the corner of her desk. “They'll get back to us once they've interviewed Hope Tessneer's family and friends. But just from the information they already had on her bank accounts, it looks like she'd been paying for something about twice a month for the last year or so. Checks made out to cash, and cashed by her.”
“For how much?”
“Always the same amount. Fifteen hundred.”
Hollis raised her eyebrows. “I guess Jamie's services didn't come cheap.”
“I guess not. If we're right about all this, that's an extra three grand in undeclared cash Jamie was pulling in per month—and from just one client. Who knows how many regulars she had?”
“Where the hell did she hide all that money?”
“There has to be another bank. No unexplained deposits show up in any of the accounts she kept at two banks here in Hastings. Her salary, declared income from real estate and other investments—all documented, everything on the up-and-up. The public part of her life was squeaky clean.”
“And the secret part was buried deep.”
“I'll say. Buried deep and probably under an alias, at least financially; it's obvious she's been hiding at least some of her financial dealings for a long time, maybe years. Hell, her other bank or banks could be out of state. Or out of the country.”
“If so, we may never find them. We've got people set to start checking out all the other area banks tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. With pictures of Jamie and the information that she could have been disguised and using an alias.”
“And it seemed like such a nice little town,” Hollis said.
Mallory leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “I always thought so.”
“You grew up here, I think you said.”
“Yeah. Well, from the time I was about thirteen. Both my parents and a brother still live in the area. I thought about leaving when I was in college, but . . . I like it here. Or did. Never knew how many people kept nasty secrets until I became a cop.”
“It's been an eye-opener for me too,” Hollis confessed. “Still, this sort of thing has got to be unusual for small towns. I mean, a dominatrix practicing her . . . art . . . for paying clients, while also working as a top real-estate agent?”
“If it's not unusual, I'm moving.”
“I don't blame you a bit for that.”
“You know, she picked a good public job to hide a private second one,” Mallory mused. “Real-estate agents often keep erratic hours, so nobody would question if she wasn't in the office at any given time. She could probably meet clients day or night, accommodate their schedules easily.”
“And since she was the dominant,” Hollis said, “she could probably take on as many clients as her energy allowed. No need to take a day or week off now and again to allow those ugly bruises and burns to heal. Or whatever else there might be. She'd be the one dealing out the punishment. Jesus.”
Hearing the distaste in the other woman's voice, Mallory grimaced in agreement.