“Molly had to pay her own way up here and get a place to live,” Salazar said. “Duchaine’s people provided her with a photographer for headshots, and they paid to put her in mockups for possible advertising campaigns. Molly’s life went well for a minute.”
The detective said Molly was called in by Duchaine and another woman who worked for her, Paula Watkins. They told Molly that the market testing on her was lower than they’d expected and that she should get plastic surgery to fix some of her flaws so she could be considered for future campaigns.
“This sounds somewhat similar to the allegations in the dismissed lawsuit,” Bree said. “Keep going. What were they recommending?”
“Bigger boobs, porcelain veneers, a nose job,” Salazar said. “Molly told them that she could not afford any of that, and they offered her a company loan that they said she could pay back over time once the work was done.”
“Let me guess. She takes the loan, has the surgeries and cosmetic enhancements with doctors and dentists they recommend, and they still don’t give her any work.”
“Yes. And now she’s twenty-one and owes them like seventy grand.”
Molly had asked Paula Watkins if the company could forgive the loan; Watkins said no. Molly found a few jobs, but she earned nowhere near enough to pay off the loan.
Desperate, Molly feared becoming homeless and she wondered whether to return to her abusive family. One night, she went to her favorite bar around the corner from where she lived and started drinking.
“A woman named Katherine, early forties, pretty, put together, slides onto the stool next to Molly,” Detective Salazar said. “Katherine’s outgoing, sharp, easy to talk to. She picks up on Molly’s sadness, gets her to open up. She buys Molly a few drinks, gives her a shoulder to cry on. And then Katherine tells Molly she might be able to help her make real money, certainly enough to pay off her debt in a couple of years.”
“Katherine’s a madam,” Bree said.
“More like a scout,” Salazar said.
Two days later, with no luck on the job front, Molly called Katherine. They met at a coffee shop. Katherine told Molly there were many men and women who would pay well to sleep with her.
Molly was horrified; she was about to leave until Katherine said that with her looks and figure, she’d get two thousand an hour and as much as ten thousand for an overnighter.
“Lot of money,” Bree said. “Did she take the offer?”
Salazar nodded. “Three years ago. Long story short, they used her. Katherine’s ‘friends’ took a serious cut of Molly’s fees, so she never made quite enough money to pay off the loan, which carried a ridiculous interest rate. When she got close to getting all the money she needed, one of Katherine’s friends, a guy Molly knew as Candy, introduced her to cocaine and then oxy.”
“Get her hooked. Keep her working. Sounds like sexual slavery to me.”
“It did and does to me too. Interestingly enough, Molly did not come to me with her story until she happened to see Katherine one day in a different part of the city. Got a guess who Katherine was with?”
CHAPTER 19
Washington, DC
I DECIDED TO CALL it a day around six o’clock Friday evening. Sampson, a recent widower, had already left to spend time with his young daughter, Willow.
And I wanted to get home to see where my daughter Jannie’s head was the night before her big race and the decision about college. But before I left, the three paperbacks by Thomas Tull caught my attention. Each one was over five hundred pages.
A lazy part of my brain tried to convince me that Suzanne Liu was what Sampson had said she was: an editor scorned who was out for payback.
There’s nothing to it, I thought and almost walked out. But the obsessive-compulsive part of my personality wouldn’t let me. Shouldn’t you at least make sure?
I scooped the books up, dropped them in a day pack, and headed for the exit. On the Uber ride home, I read the back cover and the preface to Electric.
Set in metro Boston, Tull’s first book was about a series of electrocution deaths that police in separate jurisdictions had initially thought were unlinked accidents. The first three victims all worked at various high-end stores in and around the city.
The fourth victim, Emily Maxwell, attracted Tull’s attention because he’d met her several times at the Harvard Book Store, where she worked. Tull was a sophomore at Harvard, but he had a background as an NCIS investigator, and aspects of the bookstore clerk’s “accidental” death had not made sense to him.
He began to dig into the case and was soon convinced that Emily Maxwell and several others in the greater Boston area had been electrocuted on purpose. About the same time, Jane Hale, a young Boston police detective, also became suspicious about the electrocution deaths.
Hale ultimately let Tull shadow her during the investigation, giving him an inside look at the probe that proved riveting, especially when suspicions turned toward an unlikely serial killer operating in the open.
I had to admit, the back cover and the opening had me intrigued enough that I didn’t realize I was home until the Uber driver pulled over and told me.
My phone rang as I shut the car door. Caller ID said Paladin Inc.
“This is Cross,” I said.
Ryan Malcomb said, “I just wanted you to know that your request came through with all the correct permissions. The data is being loaded onto our supercomputers.”
“And then what? You start looking for the needle in the haystack?”
“First thing in the morning. I like to write the codes after a good night’s sleep.”
“You’re the expert.”
“We will let you know,” Malcomb said and hung up.
Inside, I found Ali engrossed by something on his laptop; he barely waved when I said hello.
Nana Mama was almost done with a shrimp and pasta dish with basil and garlic, and it smelled fantastic. Jannie was setting the table.
“How did practice go?” I asked.
“Light jog and stretching,” Jannie said.
My grandmother said, “She came in beaming with confidence.”
Jannie smiled. “I’ll do my best, but I honestly have no expectations. Whatever happens, I’ll be fine. Whichever school I decide on, I’ll find a home there.”
“Gotta like that attitude,” I said.
Bringing the steaming bowls of food to the table, Nana Mama said, “It’s the best attitude I can imagine. What time does your race start?”
“Around eleven, Nana.”
“Oh, good. Damon called. He’s got a week free before finals and he’s coming up for the race. He’ll get to Howard around ten thirty.”
I grinned. I hadn’t seen my oldest child in several months.
“How’s he getting here all the way from Davidson?” Ali asked.
Nana Mama started laughing. “Some college friend’s mother is turning fifty, and there’s a surprise birthday party in Chevy Chase tomorrow night, so the girl’s father is flying her home on the family jet.”
“And Damon is hitching a ride?”
“La-di-da,” my grandmother said and cackled. “I could never have imagined such a thing when I was his age.”