Awkwardly, they stood there, both seemingly unable to get beyond the shock brought on by their meeting. Moskowitz instantly made up his mind to try to break the ice.
“I could tell you were a crusader. I couldn’t tell you were this lovely.”
With this statement, a flag went up for Angelina shaking her from the momentary spell brought on by the breathtaking encounter.
“Wait, you’re here to assist me in a case, Detective Moskowitz. That’s no way for one detective to greet another.”
“Sorry, Detective, Ramos, it is isn’t it?” His comment sounded disingenuous.
“Yes and that’s what you can call me, Detective Angelina Ramos.”
He reached out his hand. “I’m Detective Rob Moskowtiz. It’s nice to meet you.”
Following what had just transpired Angelina hesitated to take his hand. However, she gathered herself enough to take his hand, shake it, and then promptly let go.
The traffic was heavy, as the two traveled out of the airport. Angelina was behind the wheel.
Looking from the corner of her eyes, she spoke up. “Detective Moskowitz, let me bring you up to speed on the Phoenix case.”
“You know,” he said, “I’m very hungry. Nothing to eat on the flight! I hear that Phoenix has some great Mexican food restaurants. Can we hit one?”
“Yes,” she said, not at all pleased that he was more concerned about food than her valued information.
“Okay, now that we have gotten that settled, can I tell you about the case?”
“Oh, yeah, by all means. Go ahead.”
“There were 167 individuals through The Bulge on Friday evening, including four employees. Brice Williams, the twenty-three year old murder victim, checked in at 10:49 PM. He paid for a locker, checked all his valuables. From that time, he was wandering the facility, until, sometime around midnight when he must have made contact with his killer. The killer and he went to room #21 and had anal intercourse, with Brice being the receiver in the act.”
“A bottom,” interjected Moskowitz.
“Yes,” she continued. “At the point of his orgasm, the man having sex with him…”
“The top,” interjected Moskowitz she could finish.
“Okay…,” she gave him a funny look.
“Oh, I’m not mocking you. Just supplying the slang terms utilized in the gay community for sex.”
She blinked her eyes and proceeded, “The murderer, took his belt, or some sort of leather collar, and choked his victim to death. Brice was an athlete and most capable of defending himself. However, the circumstances and the strength of the murderer—along with his position in the sex act—enabled the latter to commit the crime.”
“That all sounds very familiar,” commented Rob, “The victim in Chicago, we believe, was strangled with some sort of leather belt!”
“We know Brice was a regular at the bath house. We have witnesses who say they saw him in the halls that night. But we do not have anyone who, as of yet, can ID him with another man.”
Rob silently weighed her words for a few seconds.
Angelina suddenly broke the silence.
“Detective, there is something else that’s got us stumped. The room where the murder took place was not checked out to anyone. It was suppose to have been empty. Interestingly, it is a room kept for employees to use, and checked out only when the manager gives the okay. The manager states, he did not give his permission for its use on that night.”
“That’s strangely familiar,” uttered Moskowitz.
“We had the same situation with The Unicorn. We figured it had to be someone on staff. However, everyone’s story checked out. The key for the room was still hanging on the wall, apparently unused, come the next day. Our guess was someone cleaning the room, accidentally, might have left the door unlocked by mistake. And the murderer took advantage of the empty room.”
“How did your interviews go with the possible suspects?” asked Angelina.
“We did not interview everyone. The Unicorn packs in upwards of 350 guys on a Friday. Some of the records were incomplete. We threatened to close them down if better records were not kept in the future. Beyond this, after talking to a few individuals we got the word form city hall to back-off from looking into the personal lives of the patrons. My guess was that some high profile person, or persons, happened to be there the night our kid got killed. Hence, I figured the gay lobby had started to apply pressure.”
“Savage,” Angelina quipped.
“Savage?” he asked.
“Never mind, it’s a radical guy I listen to sometimes on the radio named Michael Savage. Your observation sounds like the ones he makes.”
He got a cute smile on his face. “I’ve been with the Chicago P.D. too long to be a radical.”
She smiled back and then asked, “Did you know that the murders all took place in bath houses owned by an investment group called American Entertainment. They’re based out of Chicago and own bath houses in that city, New Orleans, Miami, Houston, Denver, Phoenix, San Francisco, and San Diego. Each bath house could have a room, maybe even rooms, set aside to be used by employees.”
“So you think there’s a link?” Before she could answer, he asked another question, “Were all the murders carried out in such rooms?”
“No,” said Angelina, “one of the murders took place in the victim’s own rented room. However, the evidence does seem to indicate that someone linked to the investment group, or its employees, is most likely the killer. My guess is that it is someone who travels for the group, handling business.”
With that comment, she entered the center lane. Several cars passed then Angelina gunned the accelerator and launched into a parking spot before Rob fully realized where they were!
He looked up at the sign. It read the “Tortilla Grill.”
“You wanted Mexican food. This is the best in Phoenix.”
“Gracias, senorita,” he responded. “Not bad for a gringo from back east, huh?
Angelina laughed.
“You have a great smile, senorita.”
She shook her head back and forth, “Enough with the Spanish already.”
Leading the way, she opened the door, and acting like a door attendant, drew her free hand toward the interior encouraging him to go in.
As he stepped forward, Angelina could not fail to check out his posterior. She got a twinkle in her eye…
CHAPTER EIGHT
The arms on an antique grandfather clock, located in Attorney Adam Speck’s office chimed 1:15 PM, Wednesday afternoon. Attorney Speck was just returning from lunch, entering his high-rise posh office via a side door. He sat in the chair behind a polished wooden desk and reached for the intercom.
“I’m back from lunch, Melanie.”
“Mr. Speck, your one o’clock appointment is here.” Then she whispered under her breath, “He’s most impatient. I wouldn’t keep him waiting any longer…” Her message tailed off. Adam Speck could tell by the sound of her voice that she was curiously troubled.
Before he could take any action, the door opening to the waiting room swung wide! There in the doorway stood an overpowering tall, large and stocky built man in a dark pinstripe suit.
“You always keep new clients waiting, Attorney Speck?”