CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Veronica went straight home from the rec center. She’d read the e-mail over again at every red light, filled with equal parts of revulsion and triumph. Not that I like having my direst preconceptions about humanity confirmed or anything. But I was right. Finally she had proof that Bellamy was, in fact, Mr. Kiss and Tell.
Once in her apartment, she pulled up his profile on The Erotic Critique, looking for Bethany Rose’s review.
1 star/5. It’s a real turn-off when I have to haggle over every nickel and dime. I guess that’s pretty close to the actual Girlfriend Experience, right? But seriously, an hour is an hour. If I’ve paid you for an hour, you owe me sixty minutes of your time.
Bellamy had gotten cocky. He’d gotten away with rape at least twice, and then he’d gone a step further and smeared his victims online. She could imagine that, in his mind, the fact that he hadn’t been caught or punished was like a mandate from heaven, a kind of tacit approval of his behavior. That was how psychopaths worked, how escalation happened.
“Loose lips sink ships, Mr. Kiss and Tell,” she murmured. “Who else have you been talking about?”
She started to comb through the other single-stars, jotting their names on a whiteboard she’d pulled out of the broom closet, along with their home city and the date of the review. Aside from Grace, there were four other one-star reviews. Nikki Valentine, the girl whose grooming he’d criticized, had been reviewed in March 2012. In April 2013 he’d reviewed Bethany Rose, and then in December he’d posted two at once: a “Tonya Vahn” in L.A. who “acted like a stuck-up bitch and looked nothing like her picture” and a “Madelyn Chase” in Vegas who “didn’t follow directions at all.”
The last two girls seemed to be either out of the business—or perhaps had changed their working names—as their websites had been taken down. Veronica noted that on the whiteboard as well.
No one but Bethany Rose had responded to her e-mail, and it seemed reasonable to assume no one else would.
Veronica held her phone for a moment. Then she dialed the number listed on The Erotic Critique for Tonya Vahn. The number had been disconnected.
She tried Madelyn’s next. A robotic voice mail recording answered: “Leave a message after the beep.”
“Madelyn, hi.” She gave a nervous giggle into the phone. “My name’s Angie. Oh my gosh, this is so awkward, I’ve never done this before but, um, my boyfriend’s thirtieth birthday is coming up, and I was looking to celebrate in a, uh, special way. I was calling to find out if you ever work with couples. Call me back at this number. Thanks!”
She rerecorded her own voice mail message in “Angie’s” chirpy falsetto. Alter egos all around. Then she glanced at the clock; it was just after nine.
“What time do you think escorts man the phones, Pony?”
The dog cocked her head to the side and wagged at the sound of her voice. Veronica scratched behind her ears, then dialed the number listed on Nikki Valentine’s profile, ready to record another message. She was startled when it was picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
Veronica’s fingers twitched slightly around the phone. “Nikki, please listen. A friend of mine, a working girl, was recently raped, and I think the same guy may have assaulted you sometime in the winter of 2011 or spring of 2012. Please, I’m not a cop. I’m not interested in getting you in trouble. I just want to try to get some answers and I need your help.”
The line went silent. Veronica held her breath, listening. For a moment she thought Nikki had hung up on her. Then she heard a tiny, soft snick. The sound of a cigarette lighter, followed by a swift exhale.
“No one’s ever raped me on the job.”
Veronica cradled the phone against her ear like it was something delicate, like if she clutched it too hard she’d lose this one slender thread.
“If I sent you a picture, could you tell me if you recognize this guy?”
“I don’t dish about my clients.”
“This guy’s a psycho, Nikki.”
There was another pause.
“Send me the picture.”
Quickly, Veronica paused the call and texted her the headshot of Bellamy from PSU’s basketball website. When Nikki came back to the phone, Veronica was surprised to hear her laughing, a low, humorless chuckle.
“This piece of shit. Yeah, I remember him. He thought he was going to get rough with me. He pushed me against the wall, got one punch in, chipped my tooth. Then I called for my boyfriend.” There was the little kiss noise of her taking another drag on her cigarette. “He could barely walk when Marty was done with him. I’m kind of shocked he tried it again with someone else.”
Veronica sat up straight. The basketball trip to Tucson, when the players had seen Bellamy’s injuries. “Wait—was this the night of February third?”
“I don’t know. It was about two years ago.”
“Did you ever report it to anyone? The cops, or—”
“Riiight.” Nikki interrupted, drawing out the word. “You think I’d still be working if I talked to cops? No, after Marty beat the shit out of him I figured it was over and done with.”
“Can I ask you a logistical question?”
“Shoot.”
Veronica put her forearms on her desk. “How did your boyfriend get there so quick? Was he somewhere listening?”
“Yeah. When I do outcall, he hangs out in the hallway in case I scream for him.”
“That doesn’t get people suspicious? Hotel staff, other guests?”
“You’d be surprised how little anyone cares what’s going on in the next room over.” The girl sounded weary, almost disgusted. “If anyone talks to him, he just says he’s waiting for a friend. If you act like you’re supposed to be there, people generally don’t ask too many questions.”
Fair enough. It was a strategy Veronica had used many times.
“Did he do anything else besides hit you?”
“Nope. I showed up to the room, he gave me a once-over and decided to be mean. Some guys are just looking for an excuse. He had a problem with everything I did. Kept calling me a stupid bitch. Whatever, it’s his dollar—and it’s not like that was the first time I’ve been called names—but he just got madder and madder, like he was deliberately working himself up. He got in my face and told me I looked like a whore, hit me, and that was it.”
Veronica was silent for a moment, thinking.
“Anything else? I’ve kinda got to clear the line here,” Nikki said.
“Should I assume you don’t want to give an official statement about this?” The girl just snorted. Veronica sighed. “Okay. Okay, thanks, Nikki. You’ve helped a lot.”
“I hope your friend’s okay.” There was a soft click as she hung up.
Veronica swiveled in her chair. Bellamy had learned from his mistake. He’d discovered what happened when he gave a girl a chance to scream. So he’d started choking them, at first just to keep them quiet, but then perhaps he realized he actually liked that part. Liked to strangle them, liked to hurt them.
Her reverie was interrupted by the phone cutting through the silence. Her screen displayed a number with a Vegas area code.
“This is Angie,” she sang into the receiver.
“Hi, Angie, this is Isabella.” The voice was young, a throaty purr. “I’m returning your call?”
Veronica frowned, changing the phone to the other ear. “I’m sorry, who?”
“You called for Madelyn but she’s not with the agency anymore. I thought I’d give you a call back and see if we couldn’t set anything up instead.”
Her heart picked up speed. “Madelyn’s not with the agency?”
“If you’re looking for a three-way…”
“Did something happen to her? Do you know where she is now?”
Isabella was quiet for a moment. “Just a minute.”
The line went on hold. Veronica waited. It was almost three minutes before Isabella came back.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“My name is Veronica Mars. I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator. I’m trying to find proof that a suspect has been raping and assaulting high-end escorts all over the country. I think Madelyn may have had an encounter with him.”
“I’m not talking about this on the phone,” Isabella said. “Can you get to Vegas?”
Veronica leaned back in her chair. “Maybe. Do you know Madelyn Chase?”
“Stay at the Mercury tomorrow night. Call me back at this number and leave your room number once you’re there.”
“Did something happen to Madelyn, Isabella?” Veronica asked urgently.
But the girl had already hung up the phone.