“No way. I said I didn't get the chance. And you sure as hell can't arrest me for what I wanted to do. If I even wanted to beat her in the first place, which I'm not admitting to, by the way.” He adjusted his position in his chair, more comfortable now, more sure of himself. “Like I said, she wasn't there. I went back three times during the afternoon, but my luck didn't change and I started getting antsy. When I get like that …” Reeve used his fist against his palm. “I do. I act. I don't go home like a limp dick pantywaist and wait for somebody else to screw me over.”
“Did you try to find her? You must have had a list of her clients, at least those she serviced when she worked for you. If she wasn't at home, it stands to reason that you'd begin a search for her. Especially if you were—how did you put it?—getting antsy.”
“I said I do, Lynley. I act when I'm getting riled, okay? I wanted to make a point with the whore and I couldn't do it and that pissed me off. So I decided to make a point with someone else.”
“I don't see how that served your needs.”
“It served my needs of the moment just fine because I started thinking it was time to put a tighter rein on the rest of them. I don't want them even beginning to think about taking a page from the Nikki-Vi book. Whores think men are cocksuckers. So if you want to run them, you'd better be willing to do what it takes to keep their respect.”
“It takes violence, I'd assume.” Lynley marveled at Reeve's hubris. How could the pimp not know he was digging his own grave with every sentence he spoke? Did he actually think he was ameliorating his position with his declarations?
Reeve went on. He'd begun paying visits to his employees during the afternoon, he said, surprise visits that were designed to reinforce his authority over them. He appropriated their bank books, diaries, and bills with the intention of comparing them to his own records. He listened to messages on their answer machines to learn if they'd encouraged their clients to bypass Global Escorts when booking a session. He went through their wardrobes checking for clothing that revealed a higher income than he was shelling out to them. He examined their supplies of condoms, lubricating jellies, and sex toys to see if everything matched what he knew of each girl's clientele.
“Some of them didn't like what I was doing,” Reeve said. “They complained. So I straightened them out.”
“You beat them.”
“Beat them?” Reeve laughed. “Hell no. I fucked them. That's what you saw on my face last night. I call it fingernail foreplay.”
“There's another word for it.”
“I didn't rape anyone, if that's where you're heading. And there's not a single one among them who'll say that I did. But if you want to bring them in—the three I fucked—and grill them, go right ahead and do it. I've come to give you their names anyway. They'll back my story.”
“I'm sure they will,” Lynley said. “Obviously, the woman who doesn't is inclined to experience your brand of … What did you call it? Straightening out?” He got to his feet and ended the taped interview. He said to DC Budde, “I want him charged. Get him to a telephone, because he'll be howling for his solicitor before we've even begun to—”
“Hey!” Reeve jumped up. “What're you doing? I didn't touch either one of those cunts. You've got nothing on me.”
“You're a pimp, Mr. Reeve. I have your own admission of that on tape. It's a decent start.”
“You offered a deal. I'm here to collect it. I'm talking and then I'm clearing out to Melbourne. You put that on the table for Tricia and—”
“And Tricia may collect it if she chooses to do so.” Lynley said to Budde, “We'll want to send a team from vice back to Lansdowne Road. Phone over there and tell Havers to wait till they arrive.”
“Hey! Listen to me!” Reeve came round the table. DC Budde grabbed onto his arm. “Get your fucking hands off—”
“She's probably had time to pull together enough evidence to hold him on a pandering charge,” Lynley told Budde. “That'll do for now.”
“You assholes don't know who you're dealing with!”
DC Budde tightened his grip. “Havers? Guv, she's not in Notting Hill. Jackson, Stille, and Smiley're doing the search. You want me to track her down anyway?”
Lynley said, “Not there? Then, where—”
Reeve struggled against Budde. “I'll have your butts for this.”
“Steady on, mate. You're not going anywhere.” Budde said to Lynley, “She met us there and handed over the warrant. Do you want me to try to—”
“Fuck this shit!”
The door to the interview room swung open. “'Spector?” It was Winston Nkata. “Need some help in here?”
“It's under control,” Lynley said, and to Budde, “Get him to a phone. Let him call his solicitor. Then get on the paperwork to charge him.”
Budde danced Reeve past Nkata and down the corridor. Lynley remained by the table, fingers on the tape recorder for want of something to ground himself through touch. If he did anything else without taking time to consider the consequences of every possible action, he knew he'd regret it eventually.