Fever(52)
“Old enough.”
“So are you,” Lassiter said. “Is it all right if I sit down?”
“Help yourself.”
Both of us sat. When he saw that I wasn’t going to bite on the “So are you” line, he followed it up himself. “Old enough to know better than to ask questions about things that don’t concern you.”
“Anything that concerns a case I’m working on concerns me.”
“Just what case are you working on?”
“As Ms. Corbin told you, that’s confidential information.”
He said, parroting me, “Anything that concerns my company concerns me.”
“This particular investigation doesn’t concern you or your company. At least not directly, so far as I can tell right now.”
“So you’re not investigating me?”
“Not you, and not QCL, Incorporated.”
“Then why the heat?”
“What heat?”
“Asking questions about us, bothering people associated with us.”
“That’s not heat. Stepping on your toes a little, maybe.”
“Whatever you want to call it. Why?”
“We’re an investigative agency, Mr. Lassiter. We ask a lot of questions of a lot of people. We step on a lot of toes, too, unintentionally most of the time.”
“But not all the time.”
“No. Not all the time.”
He studied his fingernails, polished one set on the leg of his slacks, studied them again. Very nonchalant, very much in control. But he was steaming underneath. In this business you learn to read people’s body language and emotional barometer, some more easily than others. He was one of the easy ones.
“What’s your interest in Jorge Quilmes?” Casual, off-hand, as if he were asking about the weather.
“No interest, specifically.”
“Ginger Benn.”
“Same answer.”
“Janice Stanley.”
Now we were getting down to it. I said, “She was Ginger Benn’s roommate this past month. At your request, I understand.”
“Who told you that? Ginger?”
“No.”
“Who, then?”
“Was it supposed to be a secret?”
“Of course not. I’m curious, that’s all.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Confidential.”
“All right.” He bit that off a little short. But he was still smiling when he said, “Suppose we dispense with the bullshit.”
“I’m always in favor of that.”
“Janice Stanley turned up missing and you’re looking for her. You think I had something to do with her disappearance?”
“Did you?”
“Of course not.”
“But she was working for you at the time.”
“Working for me?”
“For QCL then. Hooking for QCL.”
“That’s a ridiculous statement,” Lassiter said. “We’re in the business of lending money, nothing more.”
“That’s not the way I heard it.”
“You think we’re pimps, is that it?”
“For a highly specialized clientele.”
“Even if it were true, you couldn’t prove it.”
“I’m not interested in proving it.”
“No? What are you interested in?”
“Doing the job I was hired to do.”
“Finding Janice Stanley.”
“You wouldn’t have any idea of where she is, would you?”
“No. I’d tell you if I did.”
“Sure you would. When did you see her last?”
He thought the question over before he answered it. “Last week sometime. I don’t remember the exact day.”
“Friday, Saturday?”
“Before that. Early part of the week.”
“Talk to her after that?”
“No.”
“She have any dates scheduled after the one with Jorge Quilmes?”
“Now how would I know that?” he said through his cocky little smile.
“Somebody used her for a punching bag on the weekend.”
“Is that right? Sorry to hear it.”
“Could’ve been one of her johns.”
“Johns? She’s a prostitute, is she?”
“Call girl. I understand there’s a lot of money in that kind of work.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Could also have been someone she knows, someone who set up her dates for her.”
“We’re back to that again. Back to me.”
“I’m just tossing out possibilities.”
“Prostitutes get beat up all the time,” Lassiter said. “Sometimes by their husbands, if they have husbands.”
“Doesn’t apply in this case.”
“Are you sure of that?”