Claire opened the door and climbed in. “Yeah, now all we have to do is get to her before Simms.”
Chapter Twenty Three
The slab of meat on the platter oozed blood. The man eyed it for a moment, then rotated the platter once before finally sinking his fork into it and cutting next to the bone.
“God, Paul, I don’t see how you can eat steak that raw. And what about mad cow disease?” Rye said.
Paul Casey chewed with a smile on his face then took a drink of his pale ale, swallowed and looked at Rye with a grin.
“First of all, this is a once-in-a-blue-moon meal, a celebration for having just collected on the biggest case of my career. As for mad cow, this is Harris Beef—open range, grass fed, the absolute best there is. Now, let’s get down to business. What’s on your mind?”
“Did you read about the four-car pileup on I-5 the other day?”
Paul chewed on a piece of steak and just nodded.
“Claire and I were dispatched, and in the middle of stitching one of the victims back together, this young woman grabs me by the arm, looks me in the eye and says, ‘Help me,’ then walks away. But when I go over to her van she doesn’t have a scratch on her, isn’t in shock and the guy she’s with whisks her off, but not before she slips a video tape into my jump kit.”
“Take a breath, Rye. Was Claire with you? And what’s a jump kit?” Paul asked, shoving another peace of steak into his mouth.
“Claire said she only vaguely remembers the woman, and a jump kit is the giant fishing tackle box that holds all the first aid items I might need while I’m away from the ambulance. Anyway, I’m at Phil Panther’s bachelor party, they start playing a couple of porn tapes—and she’s on one of them! And the tape she slipped into my jump kit is from a security camera focused on the back of a porn set.”
Rye paused to take a couple bites of his salad.
“OK, I’m starting to get the picture. Some buxom beauty gets caught up in a porn ring and she bats her baby blues at you asking for help and you melt. What’s a guy to do?”
Rye glared at Paul over the top of his mug of tea and took a sip to wash down his salad. “I don’t think you have the picture at all. This woman looked to be about eighteen or nineteen tops, and appeared to be anything but a hooker.”
Paul just shook his head. “Thousands of young women break into pornography every year; most are never heard from again, many become involved with drugs or prostitution. But I’ll get off my soapbox now. Unless next of kin files a missing person report, there is nothing for me to do.” Paul finished his statement by stuffing another peace of steak in his mouth.
“Sure, fine.” Rye paused for effect. “I understand what you’re saying, but here’s the kicker. Claire and I were coming back from Raven Reservoir and spotted a blue sports car in a ravine off of Hillsboro Drive, it looked new so we checked it out. The driver was one of the guys in the other porn tape at Phil’s party. Not only was he dead but he was eviscerated, someone had cut out his liver.” Rye sat back expectantly.
“I don’t know what to tell you. These people who do pornography are generally the scum of the earth. Occasionally, I’m sure some small town cheerleader gets tangled up with the wrong people, you know, promised instant fame and big money. Still, others like your guy in the car get the ugly end of the stick. Nothing to be done, nothing I can do. And definitely nothing you can do.” Paul pushed the platter toward the edge of the table, empty except for a bone.
Chapter Twenty Four
He felt her foot rub up and down his calf. In turn, he snaked a hand down until it found her buttocks. Claire was on her side.
Slowly he rolled on his side to spoon, his hand cupping her breast.
“You know Rye, this is a really good book and you’re distracting me,” she said, closing the book, her finger holding the place.
“How was I supposed to know that you were reading?” Rye asked, in a mock indignant tone.
“You didn’t notice the reading light?”
In answer, Rye dropped his hand from her breast and stuck a finger in her navel. Claire shrieked and rolled onto her stomach.
“Do you mind?” she said
“Just checking for navel fuzz.”
Claire laughed, put her book on the floor and rolled over onto her back. “So, I gather that you don’t want to read and you’re not sleepy, which means you must want to talk.”
That was not exactly what Rye had in mind, but he took her up on her offer anyway.
“I was just thinking about the girl on the tape and then finding that dead guy who was also on a porn tape by the same company. What if she comes up dead?” Rye said.
“I think Paul was right; there’s nothing you can do. Let it go. Take the tapes back to the Foxy Lady, they’re probably late by now, and forget the whole thing,” Claire said, leaning over and nibbling on Rye’s neck. “You learn any new moves from those tapes?”
“C’mon, Claire,” Rye said, pulling the covers up to his chin. It’s not just the circumstances of knowing two people who do porn, the girl actually asked me for help. That changes everything.”
Claire rolled away from Rye to lie on her back again. “OK, what would you like to do about it?”
“I think the starting point for me is to track down the company that made the tape. I’m thinking of flying down to LA. to see what I can dig up.” Rye turned on his side to make sure he had Claire’s attention. “And if you’re up for it, I’d like you to track down the license number of that Dodge van; I know the fire department has it.”
“I can‘t really have you pulling this misdirected waif from the den of inequity all by yourself, can I? I’m in.” Claire rolled on her side to face Rye. “When was the last time you were in LA?”
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Twenty-five, thirty years. Not since college.”
“Sounds kind of like a long shot,” Claire said.
He rolled back on his side, facing her. “I planned on hitting a couple of the porn shops. I figure they could probably direct me.”
“That at least gives you a starting place, but you didn’t answer my question.”
Puzzled, Rye wasn’t sure what she was referring to. “OK I give, what was the question?”
“I was just curious to know if you learned any new moves from all this porn.”
Rye retained a stone face. “As a matter of fact yes, can you put either foot behind your head?”
“Oh, gross! I should have known better than to ask.”
Rye ducked under the covers and made a beeline for Claire’s right breast just as she started to roll onto her back. Wham! Her elbow met his right eye.
“Ouch! I’m blind!”
She rolled over to see what all the yelling was about.
Rye was gingerly feeling the tender tissue just under his eye. “Jesus, you elbowed me in the eye.”
“Oh honey, I’m sorry. Let me get some ice.” He enjoyed watching her nude figure throw the covers back, climb out of bed and walk through the door. But he forgot all about his eye when she returned with the ice.
“Take your hand away and let me see,” Claire said, looking at his eye first from one angle then from another.
Somehow, as she peered at his eye, the covers managed to get pulled down to his ankles. But Rye, fully distracted by her nude presence, didn’t seem to notice. Suddenly the ice slid from her hand into his lap. Claire yipped with laughter, as she bounced off the bed and ran from the room, leaving Rye moaning with the shock of something so cold in such a hot spot.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The parking lot at Pier 39 was one of the few along the tourist wharf in San Francisco that wasn‘t closed off or chained at night. And because the Alcatraz cruise boats moored somewhere else, at night the wharf was empty. There was nothing to vandalize. What was left of an active pier was directly in line with the entrance. To the left of the entrance stretched a wide walkway cordoned off with cement-filled poles three feet high. The wall of the next pier was to the right. There was only one way out of Pier 39—the same way you came in.