The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (14 page)

On the ride back to Crown Heights, Cullen said, “If Rafael hung out with beautiful girls, and Marla was a hooker, isn’t it possible the other girls he went to Devil’s Own with were hookers, too? That would tie Rafael to the escort service. And if he was tied to it, I’m thinking maybe he was killed over something involving the service.”

“It’s all very possible,” Boff said. “But let’s sit on that for a while.”

Boff slipped Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” into his CD player and turned it down uncharacteristically low. “Did either of you guys find anything off-key about what Emilio said?”

Cullen looked at Bellucci. They both shrugged.

“No,” Cullen replied. “Did you?”

“When I asked Emilio how much he paid Marla he said, ‘I think it was around twenty-five hundred for the hour. Give or take. I can’t remember.’ He also said it wasn’t that long ago, about six weeks.”

“So?”

“Then when I asked him how much he paid for Laurie he said, ‘I believe it was close to four thousand or so.’ And he paid her in cash.”

“Again,” Cullen said, “so what?”

“Let me ask you both this, If you paid a few thousand for just one hour with a girl, and it was fairly recent, wouldn’t you remember exactly how much it cost?”

Cullen nodded. “I see your point.”

Bellucci said, “And it was cash. Meaning he had to count out the money. No way would I forget laying down four thousand in bills.”

“Where are you going with this?” Cullen asked. “You think Emilio lied about seeing the escorts?”

“No. I believe he was with them. I just have a hunch he didn’t pay. That would explain why he seemed to be struggling to remember.”

“Why would they have sex with him for nothing?” Bellucci asked.

Cullen replied before Boff could. “One reason could be Emilio’s the owner of the escort service. Or a partner.”

Bellucci shook his head. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “If the guy never got involved with the family business, why would he do something illegal now?”

“Money,” Boff said. ”Same reason pretty girls hook. It’s certainly conceivable Emilio got hosed in the market and was looking for a way to make back some tax-free cash.”

“Isn’t it also possible,” Cullen said, “that Emilio just knew the owner and got comped?”

“Yes, it is. So, like I said before, let’s not draw any conclusions yet.”

As Boff pulled over at the gym to drop off the boxers for an early evening session, he turned back to Cullen. “By the way, Danny,” he said. “I asked Perez about Marla and her parents. He confirmed everything Marla told you.” 

“Well, I guess that makes me feel a bit better,” he said. “Maybe she really was a law student at Columbia. How do I find that out?”

“Did she ever mention one of her professors’ names?”

“Yes. This one teacher had taken an interest in her. Like an unofficial advisor. Blasi. Phillip Blasi. That was it.”

“Call the college,” Boff said, “and say you’re a student and want to be connected to Blasi’s office. If he’s there, tell him you were Marla’s boyfriend. If you get voice mail, say the same thing and leave your mobile number so he can call you. If you can set up a meeting with this professor, then I’ll drive you to the college. He might know something that’d be useful for us. Assuming, of course, she really was a student at
Columbia.”

There were no parking spaces near the gym, so Boff double-parked and went inside with them. He had some questions for McAlary. The trainer was watching Big Alonzo hit the heavy bag. When he gave Alonzo a break, Boff walked over to him.

“Ryan, who taped Rafael’s hands?”

“Usually my assistant, Angel Sierra. Sometimes me. Why?”

“Can I talk to Sierra?”

McAlary turned to his assistant, who was watching a sparring session. “Angel, would you come here a second.”

Sierra walked over.

“This is the private investigator I told you about. He wants to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

“About ten days ago,” Boff began, “did you notice if Rafael had any bruises or cuts on his hands?”

Sierra thought a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, come to think of it, he did. There were some cuts on the knuckles of his right hand.” He looked at McAlary. “Nothing serious, Ryan, or I woulda told you.”

Boff said, “Could he have gotten the cuts from hitting the heavy bag or sparring?”

Sierra shook his head. “Bruises,
maybe
. But cuts on hands are rare in the gym because we wrap ’em and generally use fourteen or sixteen-ounce gloves with lots of padding.”

McAlary, who had been listening to Boff’s questions without saying anything, now stepped into the conversation. “Why do you want to know this about Rafael?”

“Just a theory I’m working on. I’d rather wait until I find out more before telling you what it is.”

McAlary shrugged and walked away.

Boff continued with the assistant trainer. “Angel, how does a boxer get cuts like that?”

“Well, a few ways come to mind. Obviously he might’ve hit somebody without gloves on. Then, I’ve known boxers with bad tempers who’d punch a wall when they got mad. Others have a heavy bag hanging in their cellar, and if they don’t feel like going through the trouble of wrapping and gloving up, they punch it barehanded. They’re not supposed to. We warn them about that, but outside the gym, boxers tend to do as they please.
”

“Did you ask him how he got the cuts?”

“Yes I did. But he just brushed the question off, saying it wasn’t important. Now I gotta get back to work. I hope I was of help.”

“You were. Thanks.”

Before leaving the gym, Boff called Damiano. “Marla worked for an escort service named Club Cachet
VIP,” he told her.

Do you know who owns it?

“Not yet. When I get that info, I’ll let you know.”

Next, he took out the card Emilio had given him with the bartender’s phone number. If Matt didn’t start work until nine, there was a good chance he could reach him now. On the third ring, the bartender picked up.

“Matt? This is Frank Boff, the private investigator Emilio introduced you to.”

What can I do for you, Frank?

“I was just wondering if Rafael ever came into the bar with a beautiful girl named Laurie.”

Yeah, he did
. She was stunning. Hard to forget.

“Was Rafael touchy-feely with her?”

He tried to be, but she always pushed his hands away. Once they got into a pretty heated argument about that.

“Have you seen her in Devil’s Own recently?”

Let me think…No, not in about ten or twelve days. Frank, I’ve got to shower and get ready for work.

“Go ahead. Thanks for talking.”

Boff stopped at a McDonald’s on the way to Wright’s shop and got a takeout bag. When he walked into Billy’s shop with the bag of food, he found Wright standing behind the counter talking to a customer holding a laptop. The customer was around thirty and grossly overweight. The armpits of his blue T-shirt were heavily
stained with sweat, and the smell coming off the fat man was ripe, so Boff moved a few feet away, where the odor was weaker.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with the thing,” the guy said to Wright. “One day it was working great. The next day? It went haywire. Now I can’t do a thing with it. And when I tried to scan for a virus, I couldn’t get Norton to run one.”

Wright pointed to a crack on the side of the computer. “How’d it get this?” he asked.

“Uh, I dropped it a couple days ago.”

“And when did your machine start acting funny?”

“About two days ago. You think that had something to do with it?”

Wright nodded. “Leave the machine with me. If you broke your circuit board, you’ll have to replace it.”

“Okay. No more drinking margaritas when I work on the computer, huh?”

“Sounds like a smart idea.”

After the guy left, Boff walked over with an amused look.

“It amazes me, Frank, how stupid some people are when it comes to computers.” He set the machine down on the counter and closed it, then walked around the counter to the front door and flipped the OPEN sign around to the back to read CLOSED. Looking at the McDonald’s bag, he said, “Let’s go in the back.”

As they entered the rear room, Boff handed the bag to Wright and said, “Double quarter-pounder. Chicken McNuggets. Super size french fries. And a chocolate shake. I splurged, Billy, but you’re worth it.”

Wright frowned. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

Boff laughed. “Billy, you don’t need my help for that. You’re doing a fine job on your own.”

Giving him a sour look, the information broker took the burger out of the bag, bit into it, then carried it and the bag over to his desk, where he set the bag down near his computer and continued eating.

“Billy, I have a couple of other things I want you to look into. First, I found out the name of that escort service. I’d like you to dig around and see what you can come up with about it. Here’s the name and web address.” He handed over the card he had written it down on. “And the second thing I want is for you to find out everything you can about an investment banker named Emilio Benvenuti.”

At this, Wright put his hamburger down and frowned. “Is this guy related to Bruno Benvenuti?”

Boff nodded. “Bruno’s son.”

Wright raised his eyebrows. “Man, are you sure you want to go messing around with Benvenuti’s kid?”

Boff shrugged. “Not really. But I have to. I’ll tread lightly.”

After wiping his hands with a napkin, Wright began typing commands into his computer. A minute later, he looked up. “Okay, Frank. I’ve got names for the addresses in Marla’s book.” Boff walked over and looked at the screen. “You do know, Frank, that this book is trouble, right? I mean, there are people who would kill to get their hands on this list.” He looked at Boff. “Where exactly are you going to hide it?”

“Any suggestions?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah.”

Wright typed rapidly for a few minutes, then turned back to Boff.

“I just made a Word attachment of the address book, encrypted it, and emailed it to several mail accounts I have in other names. Like on Yahoo, Gmail, and EarthLink. The list will be safe. You can burn the book.”

Boff shook his head. “No, I can’t do that. It could be valuable evidence in court.”

Wright sneered. “But only evidence
if
the killer reaches court, right, Dirty Harry?”

Without replying, Boff pointed at the screen. “What was the judge’s name?” he asked.

Wright scrolled down the list. “Morant.”

“I’ve met him.”

“In court?”

“At a restaurant. I was speaking with the owner when he came over to compliment the food. What kind of cases does Morant handle?”

“Divorce. I Googled him and found out the Brooklyn D.A. investigated him a couple years ago on suspicion of taking a bribe. But the D.A. came up empty.”

Boff thought about that a minute. “If the judge was corrupt,” he said, “Marla could’ve stumbled onto something about him she shouldn’t have. And that might be the reason she was killed.”

Wright nodded. “Yeah, it could be,” he said. “I’ll take a deeper look at this guy for you. Tell me something, Frank. In a divorce case, the judge is the one who decides who gets the kids and the property, right?”

“Yes,” Boff replied. “Except
for Georgia and Texas, there’s no jury.
Sometimes a lot of money in assets is at stake. Not to mention the kids. In the majority of cases, unless the wife’s a drunk or an abuser of some kind, the decision’s in her favor. So check out Morant’s cases for the last year or so. See what percentage of the time the husband won and check it against the national average.”

“I’m on it.”

Boff drove to Giancarlo’s the next day to meet with Mantilla again. On the way, he thought again about why he had been so willing to take on another case involving a killer. Reluctantly, he conceded to himself that maybe he liked going after the scumbags better than defending them. Sure, the money was great in working for most of his high-profile felony clients, but some part of him felt tarnished by helping to set them free.
At that revelation, Boff dropped the line of thought.

Daysi took him to a table where Mantilla was waiting for him.

“Frank,” the restaurant owner said, “up for a different bowl of soup?”

“Sure.”

Mantilla called over a waitress and ordered
malanga
soup, iced tea for himself, and coffee for his guest. As soon as the soup arrived, Boff took a spoonful, looked at Mantilla, and smiled. “Another winner,” he said. “So what is
malanga
?”

“It’s a root vegetable. Resembles a yam. But tastes more nutty than potato-like.”

“No Sudden Death for you this time?”

Mantilla shook his head. “It would overwhelm this mild soup.”

Boff rested his spoon in the bowl. “Alberto, you said if I needed help on my case, I could come to you.”

Mantilla set his spoon down, too. “Yes, of course, Frank. Tell me what you need.”

“How much do you know about Judge Morant?”

Mantilla hesitated, looked around a moment, and then lowered his voice. “He’s a good eater and big spender.”

“What about in court?”

Mantilla paused again. “Anything I say to you is confidential, right?”

“Give me a buck.”

Mantilla took out a billfold, peeled off a single, and handed it to him.

“Now that I have your retainer, I’m prohibited by law from divulging any information you give me.”

Mantilla nodded, then leaned closer to Boff and lowered his voice even more. “There’ve been a lot of rumors about this judge.”

“Such as?”

“Bribes. Case fixing. Bad decisions. Again, these are just rumors. The entire
Brooklyn court system has come under investigation more than a few times. Why do you ask about this particular judge?”

“His name was in the address book of a high-class hooker.”

Mantilla raised his eyebrows. “Really? I wouldn’t have thought he was the type. What’s your interest in this hooker?”

“She was raped and killed recently. I’m trying to find out who did it.”

Mantilla narrowed his eyes. “And you think Judge Morant had something to do with it?”

Boff picked up his spoon and took another sip before answering. “I really don’t know,” he said evasively. “I’m just trying to get a fix on some of the men in her book.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up. I have powerful friends in the court.” Mantilla suddenly looked over Boff’s shoulder and frowned. “
Ay, caramba!
My beloved Alicia is about to pounce. Pardon the interruption.”

“No problem.”

Boff turned and saw a very attractive woman in her thirties approaching their table. She had high cheekbones, full lips, long brown hair, and fierce, angry eyes.

“Where the hell were you last night?” she said as she yanked out a chair and sat down.

“Gina has been very depressed,” Mantilla said patiently. “She hadn’t left the house since Rafael was killed. So I took her out for dinner to try and cheer her up.”

“You were supposed to come over to my place.”

“I didn’t remember we had plans.”

At this, she shot Mantilla a hard look. “If I find out you’ve been cheating on me, things are going to get ugly.”

“Cheating? With Gina? Are you crazy? She was the wife of my close friend.”

Alicia seemed to be studying Mantilla’s face, perhaps trying to see if he was lying. Then she said, “Let’s get this straight. I want to know what you’re doing at all times once you leave the restaurant. Are we clear about that?”

Mantilla let out a weary sigh. “Alicia, please. Can’t we discuss this tonight over dinner? This is not the time or the place.”

Suddenly she looked at Boff with feral eyes.

“Who the hell are you?”

Mantilla replied for him. “He’s a private investigator.”

Alicia turned back to Mantilla. “An investigator? Why would you need an investigator?”

“He’s not working for me,
querida
. Frank is investigating the recent death of a woman. He thought I could be of help.”

She asked Boff, “What woman? Was she seeing Alberto?”

“I’m not at liberty to talk about the case,” he replied. “It’s confidential.”

She glanced from Mantilla to Boff, then back to her boyfriend again. “What are you two hiding?”

“
Nada
,
querida
. You’re embarrassing me. Can’t this wait?”

Standing up abruptly, she pointed a finger at Mantilla. “If I find out you’ve been screwing around on me, I’ll wipe you off the face of the earth!” And she turned on her heels and stormed out of the restaurant.

“That one’s quite a handful,” Boff observed. “I hope she’s worth it.”

Mantilla smiled. “Unfortunately, she is.” He sipped some soup. “So where were we, Frank?”

“You were saying you had friends in the court system.”

“Yes. I also want you to know that a corrupt judge is especially repugnant to me. In
Cuba, the courts were filled with such judges. Everybody feared going before a judge because many who did were never seen again. Including an uncle of mine I was very close to.” He put his spoon down. “So if Morant is corrupt, or if he had anything to do with the hooker’s death, I’ll help you make sure he’s brought to justice.”

“I appreciate that.”

Mantilla signaled to a waiter and asked for more iced tea and coffee. As the waiter walked away, Mantilla said, “These high-class hookers are very beautiful, right?”

“Yes.”

Mantilla shook his head. “I don’t understand how a woman who can get any man she wants would degrade herself in such a manner. Can you explain it to me?”

“Well, there are any number of reasons why they do what they do. But for the most part, it’s usually about the money. I’ve been an investigator for a lot of years, and you’d be surprised what some people will do for money.”

The waiter returned with a fresh glass of ice tea and a new mug of coffee.

“Were there other judges in the book?” Mantilla asked.

“Just one. Most were stockbrokers and corporate types. There was also a state senator.”

“A senator? No kidding?” Mantilla leaned toward Boff and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Frank, I suggest you guard that book carefully. While I appreciate that you’ve confided in me, I wouldn’t tell too many other people you’ve got it.”

“I don’t plan to. Meanwhile, if you find out something about Morant, would you let me know?”

“Of course. And what about Rafael? Have you gotten anywhere with that?”

“I have some promising leads.”

“I’m taking steps to help Rafael’s wife. I’ve offered her a job here as a waitress on the best shift. I also told her I could get her and her daughter a place to live with a Cuban family. But she said she’s happy where she is now.”

After Boff finished off his soup, he stood up. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” he said. “The soup was great.”

“
De nada
. Tell me, Frank, are you married?”

“Twenty wonderful years.”

“Bless you. Anytime you want to come here with your wife for dinner, please call me. I’ll take care of everything.”

Boff thanked him and headed for the door. The address book was in his pocket. He had told Wright he was keeping it because it could be valuable evidence in court. But the truth was he saw it as a trump card. When the right time came, he intended to play that card.