The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [50]
“None.”
I then asked the man how often Turk patronized the establishment, who he generally dined with, and if he seemed to have any acquaintances among the staff. I learned only that Turk ate at Barker’s at least once per week, either alone or in the company of women, and that he did not seem to have had any intercourse with employees beyond general banter.
Perhaps I might succeed in establishing a link between Turk and Rebecca Lachtmann without speaking to Turk at all. I removed the photograph that Eakins had given me from my jacket. “Is this one of the women he dined with?”
The man looked at the photograph carefully with what seemed to be surprise. “No,” he said. “One this pretty, I’d remember. Mr. George went in for the … well, more obvious, if you know what I mean.”
I did indeed. I thanked him, left, and made for the Front Street Theater. It was still early, so I had no doubts that if Monique and Suzette had arrived, I would find them unengaged.
I had little trouble gaining entrance backstage, this time paying only five cents and, for no additional cost, was told by the grizzled sentinel at the stage door that the dancers all shared a single dressing room. I walked down a darkened, musty corridor to the room he had indicated and knocked on the door.
“Who’s that?” yelled a voice from inside. “Open the damn door and come in.”
I continued to stand in the hall, certain that the woman who had called out assumed another woman was outside. After a few moments, when no one came to the door, I knocked once more, this time loudly announcing that a man was waiting.
“I don’t care if you’re a horse,” a voice yelled back. “I’m not getting up.”
Having no choice in the matter, I tentatively opened the door, although not sufficiently to allow me to see inside. “Is Monique or Suzette here?” I called.
I heard another voice, distinctly Monique’s. “It’s Ephie,” she said happily.
A second later, the door swung upon. Standing before me was a tall woman with red hair, wearing a thin silken robe that hung open, revealing the undergarments beneath it. The woman I gazed upon bore almost no resemblance to the lithe, sexual dancer I remembered from the other evening save for her eyes, which shone the same striking green as before. Her skin was pocked and puffy, and there were lines visible around her eyes and mouth. Mostly, however, she wore an air of decrepitude, as if she were a ramshackle tenement that might collapse in a strong gust of wind.
Monique seemed oblivious to the distaste I felt looking upon her, and reached out and threw her arms about my neck, her breasts pressing against me. She began to kiss me, but I pushed her away with disgust, astounded that this woman had been the object of sexual fantasies just days before.
I required information, however, so I could not simply turn and leave. “I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I’m not in the habit of behaving in such a fashion in public.”
Monique turned about and addressed the others in the room. “Ephie here is a shy one,” she trilled. “I think that just makes him cuter, don’t you think so, girls?”
There were six of them, including Suzette, all in approximately the same stage of undress. One of the women, hard-looking with straw-colored hair, had her breasts exposed, but she made no move to cover herself. Instead, she stared intently in my direction in a kind of dare. The effect was more repugnant than arousing.
“I need to speak with you,” I said to Monique, backing into the hall. “It is a matter of some urgency.”
Monique had enough experience with men to sense lost ardor, and her expression instantly went cold. She pulled her robe shut and stepped into the hall. “What is it?” she demanded.
“I need to find George.”
“Why ask me?”
“Because you know him well … well enough to come along the other night.”
“What do you want with Georgie?”
“I think he may be ill. Have you seen him?”
“Ill, is it? Sure it isn’t about money?”
“Certainly not,” I replied with umbrage.
Monique found my indignation