The 5th Horseman - James Patterson [39]
Clearly, she’d been crying.
Jacobi had his “Uncle Warren” face on. It was short of a smile, but I could read happiness in his eyes.
“Lieutenant,” Jacobi said, “this is Barbara Jane Ross. She was throwing out newspapers when she found this.”
He pushed the newsprint picture of Jag Girl into the center of the table, the pretty blond girl we’d found displayed like a mannequin in the Jaguar convertible on Chestnut Street.
Innumerable dead-end tips had flooded our phone lines since Jag Girl’s picture had run in the Chronicle. From the look on Jacobi’s face, I knew this young woman had something valuable to say.
Barbara Jane Ross and I shook hands. Hers were cold as ice. “May I see that?” I asked of the photo she clutched in her left hand.
“Sure,” she said, handing me a snapshot of herself and Jag Girl on the beach. Both girls were wearing wide-brimmed hats and small bikinis; they had identical braids, and both were grinning broadly.
“She was my college roommate,” said Barbara Jane, her eyes scrunching up with tears. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe that Sandy is dead.”
Chapter 57
I HANDED BARBARA JANE a box of tissues, stared over her head, first at Jacobi then at Conklin, as she blew her nose. Holy shit. We’d finally gotten a break on Jag Girl.
“Barbara, what’s your friend’s last name?”
“It’s Wegner. But Sandy goes by other names. I don’t know them all.”
“She’s an actress?”
“No, an escort.”
I was stunned. Sandy Wegner had been a party girl. So how had she kept her prints out of the system?
“Are you an escort, too?” Conklin asked.
“No way. I teach. Special ed, right here in the city.”
Jacobi loaded up the Mr. Coffee as Barbara Jane Ross told us how she and Sandy had been roommates at the University of California, Santa Barbara.
“When we were in school, Sandy needed some extra cash, so she went on a few ‘dates’ for an escort service. A lot of girls do it,” Barbara said. “You never, ever have enough money in school.
“She didn’t do it often, but when she did, she thought it was exciting and fun,” Barbara continued. “Sandy loved having a secret life. She wasn’t the only coed doing it, either.”
“Did she ever mention that one of her dates was giving her a hard time?” I asked. “Maybe someone got possessive? Or violent?”
“Nothing like that,” Barbara said. “She would have told me. We talked about everything, even her work.”
“Did Sandy have a boyfriend? Maybe someone who could have found out that she was doing this kind of thing on the side?”
“There was no one special in her life or she would have quit her night job,” Barbara told us. “She wasn’t a slut. I know how that sounds, but honest to God, she wasn’t—oh, God! Her parents don’t know. They live in Portland.”
“Do you know their names? Maybe you have their phone number?”
Barbara Jane dug into her Coach bag; she pulled out her PDA.
“Listen,” she said, “I just remembered who she worked for. The escort service. I think it was called Top Hat.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a big help. Hang around, won’t you, Barbara Jane? Inspector Conklin has some more questions for you.”
As I walked out of the door, Conklin took my chair. I saw Barbara Jane Ross look into his face and smile.
Chapter 58
THE THREE-STORY beige-stucco apartment building was on California Street at the edge of the Financial District.
I badged the doorman, and he called up on the intercom.
“SFPD is here to see you, Ms. Selzer.”
A female voice crackled over the speaker. “I’m not home. I didn’t see anything, don’t know anyone. I’m a shut-in. And I mind my own business.”
“A comedienne,” Jacobi said to the doorman. “We’re going up.”
A tiny, small-boned woman was standing at her apartment door when we got there. She was definitely under five feet, glossy hair pinned up with a tortoiseshell comb, pale lipstick, wearing a black silk V-neck sweater and