“Meaning she wasn’t a virgin.”
“There aren’t many girls my age who are, you know.”
Georgia didn’t reply. “So, at the beginning it was just you and Sara?”
“Sara was the only one from Newfield.”
“What about Claire? Or Heather?’
Lauren snorted. “Are you kidding?”
“Why not? Were you worried what they would think?”
“Of course not. They weren’t—they just weren’t the type.”
“But there were others,” Georgia persisted. When Lauren nodded, she asked, “Where did you find them?”
“Grocery stores, restaurants, 7-11’s. The best place is the mall.”
“Why?”
“It gives you a chance to analyze them. See where they fit in.” Lauren pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look for girls who’re by themselves. If they’re thin and tall and blonde, even better.”
“Why?”
“Everybody wants a blonde. They work harder.”
Her matter-of-fact tone was chilling. “Like Sara.”
Lauren nodded. “So you go up to them and make friends, like. You talk about clothes or makeup or CDs. You get them to tell you they need money. Then you tell them you know where they can get it.”
“What if they tell you to get lost? Or threaten to go to the police?”
“Some say they’re not interested. But plenty more are.”
“And after they say yes?”
“We email back and forth. Sometimes I went shopping with them for the right clothes. Told them how to act. How to get the money up front. Made sure they knew what’s expected. What to do, what not to do. The best birth control stuff. You know, I’d mold them.”
Georgia sipped her coffee. Was Lauren playing the role of mother/ madam to compensate for the mother she never had? “How many girls are—were you running?”
“Last spring and summer about a dozen. But after Sara and everything, I’m down to four. Not including Jasmine.” She waved her spoon in the air. “They look up to me. I’m their friend, their big sister, their mother, whatever it takes to keep them happy. And,” she said proudly, “I always make sure they’re home by curfew.”
Georgia nearly spit out her coffee. “How—how did Derek get involved?”
Lauren explained how they’d first met up in a sex chat room and started emailing. “At first I thought he was just a john. But then he started to negotiate. He wanted a discount on girls, but said in return he’d help me expand the business.” She scraped up the last of the banana, the last bit of ice cream and put them in her mouth.
She did it. Made it all come out even.
“Turned out he’d gone to Newfield. I didn’t know him, of course. Anyway,” Lauren went on, “eventually we became partners.”
“When was this?” Georgia picked up the remaining half of her burger.
“Derek got involved around May. It all happened pretty fast. I figured I needed a guy anyway. For the heavy lifting. He helped me set up the website. Which brought in more customers. Then he brought in even more.”
“Through his job at the gas station?” Georgia said between bites.
“I guess. I never asked. After a while, we got into this pattern. He would get the johns, I would get the girls. But then, a couple of months ago, he started recruiting girls, too. He kept saying we needed to expand faster.” She played with her spoon. “I told him to cool his jets. That he was going too far too fast.”
“Tell me. The fish guts? Was that Derek?”
Lauren hesitated. Then, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“After you came to our house, I told him you were causing trouble. We agreed we had to do something.”
“Why fish guts?”
“I figured you’d think it was related to the Forest Preserve and the hazing. I wanted to keep the focus off us.”
“So it was your idea.”
Lauren kept her mouth shut.
“Tried to outsmart me, huh?”
She shrugged.
“The same way you did with Monica Ramsey.”
Lauren’s mouth opened. “How did you—”
“It wasn’t a bad move. You had me going for a while.”
And forced me to waste precious time
, Georgia thought.
Lauren tilted her head, as if she wasn’t sure whether to be proud or ashamed. Good. Keep her unbalanced.
“Let’s get back to Sara.” Georgia polished off the rest of her burger. “Was anything strange going on with her tricks, as far as you know?”
A sad look came over Lauren.
“What’s the matter?”
“Sara and I were—well—we weren’t close anymore. I still don’t really know why. We used to be best friends. We spent all our time together. But then, I don’t know. We drifted apart.” She looked down. “I had this Uncle Fred, you know? My mother’s brother. When we were younger he used to take us out to dinner. Sara and me.”
Georgia smiled. “Sounds like fun.”
Lauren nodded. “Sara liked him a lot. She used to say she’d adopted him as her own uncle. Which made us a special kind of family, she said. But then he had a stroke. And then he died.” Tears rimmed her eyes. “And then Sara did, too.”
Georgia swallowed. She knew what it was like to feel abandoned. To feel like you’ve been cast adrift, torn from the moorings of people you loved and whom you thought loved you back. She wanted to reach out to her but didn’t. It wasn’t the right time. She waited for Lauren to pull herself together. “You were saying—about Sara?”
Lauren cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah. Something changed. Over the summer.”
“Your relationship changed?”
She nodded. “I don’t know what or why. She just started to get—distant.”
“This was how long after she’d started turning tricks?”
“Months. She started in February.”
“So at least four or five months.” Lauren nodded. “Did Sara ever report any abusive behavior, like the guy with Jasmine tonight?”
Lauren shook her head.
“Would Derek have known if she had?”
“I don’t know. I guess I should check the files.”
“Files?”
“Derek had me fill out notes on each girl and enter it into a file sharing system. Along with the clients and the girls they went with.”
“Why?”
“He said you never knew when it might come in handy.”
Was Derek setting up a blackmail scheme—just in case? Georgia wouldn’t be surprised. Who were these johns, anyway? What kind of man takes the risk of hooking up with a prostitute he knows is a minor?
“I do think you should check the files. For now, though, think. Are you sure there wasn’t anything strange going on with Sara?”
The girl’s brow furrowed. Then she jerked her head up. “You know? There was something. But I don’t know if—it probably doesn’t mean anything.”
“What?”
“I got a text message from Derek.”
“A text message?”
“On my cell. The day he died. He texted me about a client.”
“Which client?”
“One of our regulars. Charlie.”
“And?”
“He asked if I’d heard from him recently.” “Who was Charlie?” “He hooked up with Sara all the time.” Georgia sat up. “Any idea why Derek would be asking about him?” “No. But Derek was killed a few hours later.”
DESPITE THE
worldliness and sophistication attributed to the North Shore, its residents live in small enclaves and villages. They all walk the same streets and patronize the same shops, which, in effect, makes for a tiny, insular community. Georgia waited for Lauren the following Saturday at one of those shops, the Starbucks in Glencoe.
Lauren had called that morning to report what she’d found in the website’s files.
“It isn’t much,” she began. “But I did—”
“I’d rather we do it in person.” Georgia cut her off.
“Why? Do you think someone—” Lauren’s voice was tense.
Georgia didn’t answer directly. “I’m going to need a print-out of what you have, anyway. Why don’t I swing by and pick it up?”
“Not the house.”
“Right. How about the Starbucks in town?”
“Okay.”
Now Georgia sipped a latte, watching the Saturday morning pulse of village life. Soccer was in high season, and harried parents with kids in tow hurried in and out. The kids wore brightly colored uniforms and socks. Other adults, past the young-children-at-home stage, relaxed over the
Trib
or the
New York Times
. Not too many
Sun Times
up here.
A few minutes later Lauren came through the door. She was wearing black jeans and a tight gray sweat shirt. But her jeans had rhinestone stitching and her sweatshirt looked like silk. Georgia felt underdressed in her Costco jeans and turtleneck.
“So what did you find?” Georgia asked when Lauren joined her.
“Like I said, there wasn’t much.” She threw her bag on the table and extracted a large manila envelope. “Just a bunch of entries for Sara with Charlie. Including her last one.”
“Her last trick was Charlie?”
“I think so. It’s the last entry in her file.”
“What about Charlie? What’s in his file?”
“Not much.” Lauren gestured to the envelope. “Just when he first signed up.”
“When was that?”
“The end of May. After Derek got involved.”
“Go on.”
“And how many times he’d used us.”
“Which was?”
“Over two dozen.”
Georgia whistled. “That’s some ‘regular.’”
“He was one of our best customers.”
“Do you know who he is or where to get hold of him?”
Lauren shook her head. “He was Derek’s john.”
“You have his email?”
“I have the email he uses to contact us. It’s probably not his real one. Most johns have anonymous or secret emails when they deal with us.”
“But they check them regularly.”
“Sure.”
“There’s nothing in the files that would indicate whether he was a crazy?”
“Sara wouldn’t have been seeing him if he was,” she said confidently.
“And you know that because...”
“Because of what I said before. Most of our johns are just family guys who aren’t getting any at home.”
“What about the asshole last night?”
Lauren didn’t reply for a minute. “There is one thing.”
“What?”
“In the file, it says he only wanted to see girls who were seventeen.”
“Really? Why would he do that?”
“Because seventeen is the age of sexual consent.”
“Of course.” Georgia shifted. In Illinois a john caught with a minor under seventeen could face statutory rape charges. But if the minor was over seventeen, the penalties were less severe. Which meant that Charlie knew the law. Although that might not be significant. Wouldn’t most professional men check before engaging in this kind of sport?
Lauren handed the envelope to Georgia. “Look. I answered your questions. Now, I need you to answer mine. Do you think I’m in danger?”
Georgia stowed the envelope in her lap. “The truth is, I don’t know.” An anxious expression came over Lauren. “But I’m going to do my best to protect you.”
Lauren threw her a look that said she wasn’t sure her best was good enough.
Georgia shifted. “So that’s it? From the website?”
Lauren nodded.
Georgia was about to ask another question about Charlie when Lauren’s purse started to vibrate.
“That’s my cell,” Lauren picked up the purse, fished inside, and pulled it out. “Oh.” Relief flooded her face. “It’s just Claire. On the personal line. I’ll call her back.” She put the cell on the table and smiled, then leaned back against her chair. She seemed much more relaxed today.
Georgia pointed to it. “You have more than one cell?”
Lauren dug into her bag and pulled out a second phone. “This one’s for business. The other is personal.”
“Your parents don’t know about the business phone.”
She slipped the business cell back into her bag and shot Georgia one of those disdainful glares that told Georgia that despite her sophistication, Lauren was still a teenager.
Georgia sipped her coffee. It was cold. “Lauren, you know how I told you to close everything down on the website?”
“I—I haven’t had the chance,” she stammered. “But I will. Today.”
“I’ve been rethinking it. I think we should keep it going for a while.”
“But—”
“Not you. Me.”
“You’re going to run the business?”
“I want you to give me the passwords and talk me through whatever I need to know.”
A sly look came over Lauren. “You’re gonna fake Charlie out, aren’t you?”
Georgia didn’t answer, but Lauren’s expression said her opinion of Georgia had just gone up. “Let me help. I can—”
Georgia cut her off. “No. You’re out of it. But I will need you to help me delete the whole thing when it’s over.”
Lauren’s face scrunched into a frown. “At least let me—” Suddenly she stopped and slouched deep in her seat. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
Lauren’s chin jutted toward the door.
Georgia turned. Andrea Walcher had just walked in and was heading to the counter. She was perfectly dressed in a pair of corduroy slacks and a plum sweater, but her expression was grim. Did the woman ever smile?
Lauren shot Georgia a panicked look and started to squirm. “Shit on a stick. I’m not supposed to be in the same state as you. What do I do?”
Georgia sucked in a breath. There was no way to prevent what was coming. “I’ll do what I can,” she said quietly.
It was another few seconds before Andrea wheeled around and saw Lauren. Her eyes flicked over to Georgia, then narrowed. She was at their table in three angry strides, her body so tense she was almost quivering.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she barked in a voice that carried through the coffee shop.
Lauren seemed to shrink.
Andrea glared at her daughter. “How dare you meet with this—this—”
“Private investigator,” Georgia finished. “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Walcher.” She smiled coldly. “How are you?”
“Don’t you dare suck up to me.”
Georgia marveled at the woman’s fury. It took enormous energy to be so hostile. “Mrs. Walcher, your daughter was a friend of Sara Long’s. I’m investigating Sara Long’s murder. Lauren could have valuable information.”
“My husband’s warning was clear. You are to stay away from us and our daughter. I should call the police right now. I’m quite sure I could have you arrested for stalking, or trespassing or—”