Securing the hat on my head, I turned to him. “Let’s go.”
Putting on a pair of sunglasses and a hat as well, Jason smiled and got out of the car. Chatfield’s chauffeur sat in the driver’s seat with the window down. He was an elderly man, probably in his mid-sixties. Hopefully, we wouldn’t give him a heart attack.
“What if she’s a part of what’s going on? This could blow our whole cover,” I said, rushing across the parking lot.
“It could, but I’m hoping with her being out of business it’s a good sign. We have to take risks. When I get in, hop in the back and be prepared. As soon as she gets in the car, I’ll get us moving.”
“Got it.”
We approached the car and the driver looked up. Jason flashed his badge and opened the door. “If you don’t mind, sir, I need you to move over, now.”
The driver held up his hands and moved over, his voice shaking. “Is something wrong, officer?”
“I just want to talk to Madame Chatfield.” Nodding at me, I got in and the driver turned a weary brow my way. “Please don’t hurt my lady.” He was genuinely scared.
“We just want to talk to her,” I assured him.
“She’s been so upset with everything going on. I don’t want her stressed any more than she already is.”
Jason snorted. “Take it easy. We’re the good guys here.”
The man still stared wearily at us. Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long for Madame Ronnie Chatfield to waltz out of the hotel. I moved over to the far corner of the limo so she couldn’t see me until after she got in. Before the driver could heed a warning, I jumped up and slammed the door shut, just as Jason took off.
Gasping, Ronnie clutched her chest, dropping her bag on the floor. “What the hell is the meaning of this? Who are you?” To be the owner of a well-known whorehouse, you wouldn’t suspect it by the way she looked. She was older with long, white hair, dressed in a chic pantsuit, and no doubt the product of extensive plastic surgeries. I guess she could afford it having over a hundred women and men under her belt.
“We’re just here to ask you a few questions. If there’s nothing to hide, there won’t be a problem. I’m with the FBI.”
Her gaze narrowed. “How do I know that?”
I quickly flipped out my badge, putting my thumb over my picture and name. “Believe me now?”
She sighed and sat back. “What can I do for you? I already told the police everything I know.”
“Yes, but you failed to give them the names of your johns.”
Swallowing hard, she choked back a sob. “Believe me, I would if I could. The kind of men I deal with aren’t just your run of the mill crowd. They’re powerful. They would run me into the ground and take everything I have. The deals we make are basically written in blood. I can’t verbally tell you the information.”
“But someone’s killing your girls. Doesn’t that make you want to do something about it?”
Her eyes blazed. “I am doing something about it. I shut down my business so none of them could get hurt. No matter what I’ve done, it hasn’t helped. My girls are still disappearing.”
“Are they accepting contracts without your knowledge?”
“That’s what I’m assuming. Some of my girls don’t mind the added risk. They want the money. I saw on the news about that young girl from Vermont who was reported missing yesterday. Do you think she’s another victim?”
“We don’t know,” Jason spoke up. “From her stats, she doesn’t exactly fit the hooker profile. She’s an elementary school teacher here to have some fun with her friends. The killer doesn’t seem to want that type, but I could be wrong. It’d be good to have some names.”
She huffed. “I told you, I can’t verbally tell you. What part of that do you not understand?”