Beneath The Surface (21 page)

“That was some story,” Carmen said.

“You really believe her?”

“Don’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter if I do or not.”

“But I’m sure you have an opinion. Like you said, you know a thing or two about murder.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type; but that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it, or that Jack killed her. I know some women that get off on strangulation.”

“Do you?” Carmen smiled.

“All I’m sayin’ is things coulda gotten out of hand during sex like that.”

“I wouldn’t know. I never had sex like that,” Carmen said quietly and dropped her head.

“You never had hot, wild sex, pretty lady?”

Carmen punched him in the arm. “You know I have. It’s just—I don’t know—sometimes when I hear about things like that—maybe I’m just a bit of a prude.”

“Prude. Now there’s a word you don’t hear often, or one that I would have associated with you.”

“It’s called a vocabulary,” Carmen mused. “But after my sister, Desireé died, and Marcus and I were trying to find out who killed her, I read her diary.” Carmen shook her head. “Desireé was into some pretty kinky sex—kinky from my point of view, anyway.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Dez was bisexual and her husband, Roland used to like watching her have sex with other people. Both men and women; but Roland preferred men having sex with her.”

“Just watched? He never joined in?”

“Roland was impotent.”

“What; he never heard of Viagra?”

“Roland used Viagra until the doctor told him it was bad for his heart; so he had to stop taking it. After that, Desireé started seeing other men. Since Dez was always seeing somebody anyway, she’d bring them home so Roland could watch.”

“Sounds like a nice arrangement for him.”

“Yeah, except when it’s your little sister putting on the show.” Carmen paused. “Then I talked to one of her female lovers.” Carmen shook her head.

“Let me guess: she hit on you, right?”

“Not that that was all that big a deal; women have been hitting on me as long as I can remember. It got worse when I began modeling. But this chick, she had one more time to tell me how hard I was making her clit, before I slapped the black off her.”

“Now I’m gonna ask: What were you doing to make her clit so hard?”

“We were talking about Dez being bisexual, and then she asked me if I’d ever made love to a woman before and starts inching closer to me, and puts her hand on my thigh.”

“Aggressive.”

“I told her, no, I haven’t; and I’d appreciate it if she took her hand off my thigh. Well, she said she was sorry, but she comes right out and says that she could make me feel things that a man can’t.”

“Very aggressive.”

“But not original. That’s what they all say. Anyway, she says she knows what a woman wants, what she needs, and she’s very good.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her that I was sure that she was, but that there is something to be said for penetration. And she said she could give me that too.” Carmen leaned close to Black. “So I told her that I was sure she could, but there’s something I like about having real dick.”

“Doesn’t sound very prudish to me, Carmen,” Black said with a waving finger.

“I thought it would get her off me.”

“Did it?”

“No,” Carmen said. “That’s when she said told me to stop because I was making her clit hard.”

“You may think you started that, Carmen, but everybody gets off their own way,” Black said.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ever watch anybody having sex?”

“I wouldn’t say I was watching, but I’ve had sex in the same room while other people were having sex.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Carmen.
Me
and Bobby were pretty wild back in the day. And I’ve been to an orgy or two in my time.”

Carmen didn’t say a word.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“All that time you spent in Europe. I heard they don’t have American hang-ups about sex. I would’ve thought that you would have been to your share of orgies.”

“True. The Europeans have what they consider a more enlightened attitude toward sex. Yes, the orgy would start at the drop of a dime, but I always seemed to leave before it got started,” Carmen said as her cell rang. “This is Carmen.”

“Ms. Taylor, Margaret.”

“Margaret?”

“From Finch studios. You remember; we met the other day.”

“Oh, yes, Margaret. What can I do for you?”

“I got something I need to tell you about Crème.”

“I’m listening.”

“No. Not on the phone.”

“Okay. I could meet you somewhere.”

“Would you mind coming out to Staten Island?”

“No, we wouldn’t mind coming out to Staten Island,” Carmen said and looked over at Black.

Carmen agreed to meet Margaret in a bar on Staten Island. She told the driver where to go and he smiled, because he knew he’d have a big fare from Manhattan.

When they got to the bar, they got a table in the back and ordered drinks. An hour later, Margaret arrived, and Carmen waved her over.

“Thank you for meeting me here. I woulda came to the city, but I ain’t got
no
car,” Margaret said.

“It’s okay. What did you want to tell me?”

“Finch closed the studio the day after you guys were there.”

“Why?” Black asked.

“I don’t know. He just paid everybody off and said he was closin’.”

“That’s too bad,” Carmen said, hoping that wasn’t what they rode all the way out to Staten Island for.

“Anyway, Finch was lying when he said that he didn’t know Crème. She didn’t make any movies, but she hung around and did other things on the set.”

“What kind of things did she do?” Black asked, even though he had a good idea.

“She would—you know,” Margaret said, “give the men blowjobs. You know—if they couldn’t get it up for the scene, they’d call Crème over and she’d blow them until they got hard.”

“Oh,” was Carmen’s one word response.

“When was the last time you saw her,” Black asked.

“Been about two months,” Margaret said.

“That would be about the same time she stopped coming to the club,” Black said. “You know if anything happened that would make her stop coming around?”

“All I know is that late one night, Finch was having a bad day, cursin’ everybody out for no-good reason and shit. I just wanted to get outta there. I was on my way out the door when Crème came in. I remembered Finch saying that he was glad to see her, and took her in the back. I left after that. That was the last time I saw her after that.”

“What about Vallie? Was she there that night?” Carmen asked.

“I don’t remember seeing her that night. But I didn’t see her no more neither, after that night.”

“You wouldn’t know where I can find Finch, would you?” Black wanted to know. He had a score to settle with Finch.

“No idea. Sorry.”

Carmen thanked Margaret for talking to her; and when she asked for a little money for her information, Black flipped
her a
hundred and they left the bar.

On the cab ride back to the city, Carmen was quiet. “What you thinkin’, Carmen?”

“Oh, I don’t know. But I think it’s pretty obvious that Finch killed those women. That’s why he tried to kill us; for asking about them.”

“You think,” Black said sarcastically. “Question is: What are you going to do about it?”

“I think I need to go to the police; talk to Detective Mitchell.”

“And tell her what?”

“Tell her what Margaret told us.”

“What about what Mrs. Winters told us?”

Carmen paused and thought for a minute. “No. I’m going to take your advice and forget we ever had that conversation; at least for the time being.”

As they drove across the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island back to Brooklyn, Carmen took out her cell phone and called Detective Mitchell. She wanted to make sure she was at the precinct before they went there, and that the detective had time to see her. Carmen had no intention of spending another hour sitting in the lobby waiting. When they arrived, Black walked Carmen to the door.

“You don’t mind if I sit this one out. I don’t like being around all those law enforcement types,” Black said.

“Not to mention what it might do to my credibility—associating with a known criminal.”

“Who, me? Carmen, I’m a businessman.”

“A businessman, huh?”

“Yes, a businessman. Who’ll be waiting right over there,” Black said and walked away. Carmen smiled and went inside.

Detective Mitchell was there waiting for her. “Evening, Carmen,” she said.

“Hello detective. And thank you for seeing me so late in the evening.”

“Not a problem, Carmen; seems like I never go home anyway. What can I do for you?”

“You know I’ve been talking to people about Tangela House to get background for my story. I went to the club she used to dance at.”

“Lace.”

“Right.”

“What did you find out? None of the women would tell me much. That cop thing, I guess,” Detective Mitchell said.

“I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know; but they did tell me about two other women who haven’t been seen in two months.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Carmen?”

Carmen went on to tell the detective what the dancers at Lace told her; about her visit to Finch Studios, and what Margaret had just told her. Then she gave the detective as good a description of the two women as she could. Mitchell listened, asked a question or two; then she took a deep breath. “Sounds like what you want to do
is
file a missing person’s report, Carmen.”

“I wanted to see if you could check and see if there are any bodies matching their description,” Carmen replied.

“Other than the fact that—Crème is it—hasn’t been seen since she went with this Finch character, and him lying to you about it, do you have any reason to think that they are dead?”

“Yes, I do,” Carmen said definitely.

“Well, what is it?”

“I rather not go into details, but Finch didn’t take my asking questions about Crème and Vallie very well.”