The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (13 page)

After Boff closed the hidden space, they returned to the living room, picked up a couple of ripped cushions, put them on the couch, and sat down. Damiano moved close so she could see the pages of the address book for herself.

Boff read the entries out loud. “First one: Merrill Lynch. Two-twenty-nine 18
th
Street…. Naughty Dr. Dave. At 144 Henry Street.…Goldman Sachs, 39 Beekman Place.” He looked at Damiano. “There are quite a few stock brokers in here.”

She pointed to another page. “And here’s a judge. He’s only identified as Judge M. With no address. What do you make of that?”

Boff shrugged. “It’s possible she and the judge used a hotel.”

As they continued to leaf through the pages and read the contents, he recognized an address he had been to recently
. It was Emilio Benvenuti’s house, though he neglected to mention that fact to Damiano. He was about to turn a page, when she pulled his hand away.

“Wait!” she said, laying a finger on a name. “Here’s a state senator.”

Boff closed the address book and thought about what else was probably in it for a minute. “If someone had these addresses,” he said, “the identities of the johns could easily be learned.”

“So? At worst, the john would be guilty of a misdemeanor or might have to attend a first offenders prostitute program.”

“No. The worst would be that some of these people with high profile jobs and families would be open to extortion.” He pointed the book at her. “This little baby would be worth quite a bit to a blackmailer.”

At this, the detective tried to grab the book, but he closed his fist over it and stuffed it into a pants pocket.

“Hey!” she protested. “You can’t take that. It’s evidence.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. Your case is officially closed.”

“So I’ll get it reopened!”

“Do you
really
want to do that?” he said. “It’d mean that you’d have to share credit in the end with your fellow detectives. Working alone with the Boffer, however, you’d not only have a much better chance at cracking this case, but you could also get a solo collar.”

Damiano pondered this for about a minute. “Okay,” she said. “For now, I’ll let you keep it.”

“Thank you so much, detective.”

When Boff and Damiano reached the lobby and exited the elevator, the doorman was on his cell phone. Seeing them approaching, he quickly hung up.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Not so good,” Damiano said. She explained what had been done to Marla’s apartment and told him not to go inside because detectives from the 84
th
Precinct would be by to look.

Boff stepped closer to the doorman. “You said you saw their badges, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What color were the badges?”

“I don’t remember.”

Damiano showed the doorman her gold shield again. “Did they look like this?” she asked.

The doorman shook his head. “No. I think they might have been silver. And shaped a little different.”

She described what a patrolman’s badge looked like.

“Yes, that’s what they showed me,” the doorman said. “What does that mean? That they weren’t detectives?”

“Yes, they were,” Damiano said. “Thanks for the help.”

They left before the doorman could ask more questions.

“The most obvious answer,” Boff said once they were in Damiano’s car, “is whoever hired the two cops to kill the doer sent the same mutts here to look for the address book. Just to be sure, can you pull photos of the two cops and show them to the doorman?”

“Yes. And if it was these guys, I’m obligated to report them to IA.”

“Fine. But don’t mention what we’re pursuing. Just tell Internal Affairs you were doing a routine follow-up on the vic and stumbled onto this. We don’t want them meddling in what we’re doing.”

As they arrived at the gym, Damiano said, “What are you going to do with that little book you rifled from my crime scene?”

“Have a friend put some names next to the addresses.”

“Then what?”

“Pay a visit to one or two of the johns.”

“You want me to come along?”

“No. The presence of a cop would kill any chances I have of getting information from them.”

When Boff walked into Wright’s back room, the information broker was lying, fully clothed, on a portable massage table being worked on by a slender, olive-skinned woman. But what was happening didn’t appear to be a massage. All the woman was doing was pressing her hands against the top of his skull.

Wright turned his head. “Hi, Frank,” Wright said. “Take a seat. I’ll be done in a minute. This is Chana. She’s from
Israel.”

Sitting down on the couch, Boff watched as the woman slid her hands down across his cheeks to the sides of his rib cage, where she rested
them for several minutes. This still didn’t look like a massage. It didn’t look like she was applying any real pressure to the body.

Mildly curious, Boff said, “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“It’s craniosacral therapy,” Wright replied. “The energy flowing from Chana’s fingers is tuning into my craniosacral system.”

Boff pretended to be interested. “Really? What does that do?”

Chana looked at him for the first time. “It helps in the movement of cerebrospinal fluid through the spinal cord. In the process, it also rids the mind and body of the residual effects of lesions caused by trauma. Both emotional and physical.”

“Chana’s helping me r
elease suppressed emotions,” Wright further explained. “Usually I end up crying, but I always feel better after. Frank, you should try it.”

“How much do you charge?” Boff asked in a serious voice.

“Ninety dollars a session,” Chana replied. “Which is anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half, depending on how much work is needed.”

With a nod, Boff walked over and opened Wright’s mini-refrigerator, grabbed a can of Diet Coke, popped the cap, and took a long sip. “When you leave, give me your card.”

“Frank, Chana believes the garbage the government puts in the chemtrails is penetrating our spinal cords and disrupting the flow of cerebrospinal fluid.”

Before Boff could comment, however, Wright suddenly burst out crying.

Chana’s eyes lit up. “What is it, Billy?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, you can. It’s part of your healing.”

“
Uh…okay. My, uh, father…when I was little, he locked me in a dark closet once. For a long time to punish me. I was so scared I pissed my pants. Almost lost my mind. I only remembered it just now.”

Boff brought a box of tissues to Wright, who pulled one
out, rubbed his eyes, then blew his nose.

About ten minutes later the session was over. Chana folded up her portable table, hugged her patient, gave Boff her card, hugged her patient a second time, and left with his ninety dollars in cash.

“Frank, you’re really gonna call her?” Wright asked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? She’s a joke. A con artist. I think those chemtrails really have affected your brain.”

Wright laughed. “Not my brain. My dick. I’m trying to get laid. I’m not making much progress, though, because Chana’s got some ethical issue with me porking her. Who can understand women?”

Boff shrugged. He always understood women. “Did you really just remember about your father locking you in the closet?”

“Shit, no. My dad never did that. I make up stuff like that and then cry so she thinks I’m a vulnerable, sensitive man. Women go for guys like that, ya know.”

Boff shook his head. “For the money you’re paying her, it’d be cheaper to hire a hooker. Speaking of which….”

After crumbling Chana’s card and tossing it in the waste basket, he pulled out Marla’s address book and gave it to his information broker.

Wright riffled through it. “What’s this?”

“Client addresses for a call girl named Marla Hoban, aka Marla Ramirez. The book lists clients with aliases. But the addresses look real.”

“So you want me to get names to go with the addresses?”

“Correct.”

“No problem. Hey, what are you doing with a hooker’s address book?”

Boff explained to him what he’d found out about Cullen’s girlfriend and her connection to Rafael.

“That’s pretty wild,” Wright said, and then flipped through the little book again. “There’s a helluva lot of names in here. It’d be highly unusual for a solo hooker to have that many clients. She almost certainly worked for an escort service.”

“I’ll dig into that,” Boff said. “Meanwhile, how soon can you supply the names?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Billy.”

As Boff headed for the door, Wright called out, “Next time, I’m going to ask Chana to do some craniosacral work on my scrotum. I have a lot of deep-seated issues there.”

Boff had to go through a switchboard operator and two assistants before he was able to connect with Emilio Benvenuti at the investment bank where he worked.

“Just wondering,” Boff said, “if we could meet at your place after work. What time do you knock off?”

Around five. Five-thirty good for you?

“Perfect.”

What’s this about?

“I’ll tell you when I get there. I won’t keep you long.”

Boff next stopped by the gym and waited for Cullen and Bellucci to finish their afternoon sessions. Cullen was working the speed bag when McAlary came over to him with Bellucci and two other young boxers. One was a wiry Hispanic, much smaller than Cullen, the other, a huge black kid who must have been a heavyweight.

“Glove up, Danny. I want you to spar nine rounds with Mikey, Alonzo, and Derrick.”

As Sierra put the gloves on Cullen and laced them up, McAlary explained the drill. “Danny, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go one round with Alonzo, then one with Derrick, a third with Mikey. You don’t get to rest between rounds. In the fourth round, we begin the rotation again.”

“Why not do three straight rounds with each guy?” Cullen asked.

“Because doing it this way, you’ll be facing a fresh
er fighter in each round and you’ll have to work harder.”

A half hour later, Cullen was done. As he and Mikey headed for the bathroom to wash up and change into street clothes, McAlary walked over to Boff.

“So, Boff, are you making any progress?”

Boff told him what he had learned about Rafael
Oquendo and his connection to Cullen’s girlfriend and her extracurricular activities.

The trainer took a few minutes to mull this over before he spoke. “I assume Danny knows all this about his girlfriend?”

“Most of it. I haven’t told him about her apartment yet.”

“Do you have to?”

“If he’s going to work with me, he has to be up to speed on everything. If he can’t handle it, then I won’t take him with me on this case anymore.”

“He’ll handle it,” the trainer said. “He’s a tough kid.” Seeing Cullen and Bellucci coming out of the locker area, he walked away.

“What’d Ryan want?” Cullen asked.

“Progress report.”

They left the gym and walked to Boff’s car, a block away. As Cullen reached for the back door handle, Boff said, “Wait a minute, Danny. Before you get in, I want you to know something. If you can’t deal with it, then there’s no point in your coming along.”

Cullen let go of the door. “Since when can’t I handle things?”

“Are you sure of that?”

“I just told you, didn’t I?”

“Fine.” Boff took a breath, more for Cullen’s benefit than his own. “Then I want you to know that Marla had dominatrix paraphernalia in a hidden compartment of her closet at her condo.”

Cullen just looked at him.

“I also found an address book in her apartment listing all of her johns. Danny, she was a high-class call girl.”

The boxer’s jaw muscles were twitching, but he kept a lid on his temper. After a minute, he said, “Okay, so I was in love with a kinky whore. Let’s fucking move on.”

Boff studied his face before dropping the next bomb. “We’re going to meet one of her johns right now.”

“Great! Maybe we can compare notes.” With a bitter laugh, the boxer opened the back door and got in
with Bellucci.

As Boff put the car in gear and pulled away, he said, “We’re going to see Emilio Benvenuti. What I didn’t tell you the first time you met him is he’s the son of a powerful mobster.”

“So?”

“So I want you to be aware
, Danny that if you lose your famous temper and hurt him in any way, there’ll be repercussions even I won’t be able to stop. Are we clear on that?”

“
Crystal.”

When they reached the second floor landing, Emilio was standing at his open door holding a glass of red wine in one hand.

“Come on in, guys.”

As they walked into Emilio’s stylish condo, Boff’s eye was caught by a large book lying on the coffee table.
Five Families.
He pointed to it. “I would’ve thought you already knew all of that mob stuff,” he said.

“Actually, I don’t.”

As his guests sat on the couch, Emilio opened a small refrigerator behind his bar, brought out two Pepsis and a Diet Coke, and handed them the cans. Then he sat on a stool at the bar. “I mean, yeah, sure, I knew what was happening with my father while I was growing up. But I never got involved in the family business.”

“Your brother did,” Boff said.

Emilio nodded. “Yeah. And now Antonio’s serving time for manslaughter.”

Boff purposely kept the conversation light so he could ease into the tough questions. “Why’d you go into banking?”

“To distance myself from Pop. Not that I disapprove of what he does, but banking kept me from being tempted to join him. Plus, I wanted to get out from under his shadow. Anyway, what brings you here?”

Boff took a long hit on his Pepsi before responding. “Marla,” he said. “She was a high-class call girl. I found her address book. It listed all her johns. Your name was in it.”

Emilio glanced at Cullen, but said nothing.

“For reasons you don’t need to know,” Boff said, “I think Marla’s murder was a set up, a contract hit disguised to look like a rape gone south.” He took another swig. “As for your involvement with Marla, well, I can understand why you didn’t mention it at the bar.”

Emilio turned to Cullen. “Look, Danny, I’m sorry it was your girlfriend.”

“Me, too.”

“You were so shaken up at the bar, there was no way I was going to tell you then. You can understand that, right?”

“Yes. I understand. How much did she charge?”

Emilio frowned and looked at Boff.

“Tell him,” Boff said.

“I think it was around twenty-five hundred for the hour,” Emilio said. “Give or take. I can’t remember.”

“I guess I was lucky,” Cullen said. “I got her for free.” He paused, then, “Was she worth it?
”

The mobster’s son let out an anxious sigh. “Frank?”

“Tell him.”

After taking a quick sip of his wine, he set the glass on the bar, and nodded. “Yes. She was worth it. But not just because of the sex. She was great to talk to. She had a nice sense of humor.”

Cullen glanced away. “I know,” he said in a low voice.

“Danny, I—”

“Emilio, it doesn’t fucking matter now. All I want is to catch the scumbag that had her killed.”

Not wanting Cullen to get into it with Emilio anymore, Boff took charge.

“How many times did you see Marla?”

“Just once.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, about six weeks or so.”

“Did she bring a dominatrix outfit?”

Emilio looked surprised. “No. Why do you ask that?”

“Just curious.”

Bellucci chimed in. “I got a question,” he said. “Emilio, you’re a good-looking guy. You probably make a lot of money. I’m sure you could get plenty of pussy. So why’d you pay for it?”

“For convenience, Mikey. For convenience. There’s a lot of men like me who work really hard and don’t necessarily have time to look for women or go out on regular dates.”

“I’m assuming,” Boff said, “that Marla worked for an elite escort service.” When Emilio nodded, he asked, “What was the name of it?”

Without answering, Emilio got up, left the room, and returned with a laptop, which he fired up. Then he hit a bookmark and handed the computer to Boff. Cullen and Bellucci moved closer to him on the couch so they could see, too.

“NY Club Cachet
VIP,” Boff read off the screen.

Taking out a pen and business card, Boff copied the web address. Then he began to scroll down the site. Each girl had a section of her own describing her personality and interests in life. The women all wore provocative but tasteful dresses or designer lingerie. None were naked. And their heads were cropped in such a way that their eyes were not revealed. Two phone numbers were listed on the site. One with a
Manhattan area code, the other, a Brooklyn code. Boff read out loud what it said for one of the women.

“‘Heather is a beautiful college junior, an engaging companion with a sweetly pure personality. She has danced ballet for most of her life and prances through life with poise and grace. Her natural vibrancy and wholesome background make her presence as refreshing as the ocean’s mist on a summer night.’”

Then he looked up to Emilio. “Were they really as advertised?”

“Yeah. Classy girls. I used two others besides Marla. Dina and Laurie. Laurie was the highest priced girl on the website. And well worth it.”

“How much did Laurie charge?” Boff said.

Emilio took a quick sip on his wine. “Let me think. This was a couple months ago. I believe it was close to 4K.”

“Did you use a credit card?”

The mobster’s son shook his head. “Cash. I didn’t want to leave a paper trail. I imagine Laurie was a big earner for the service. You had to book with her weeks in advance.”

“Anything in particular you remember about Laurie?”

“Besides her being drop-dead gorgeous and the awesome sex? Well, one thing I was surprised about is how much she knew about the stock market. I thought she might be a broker or banker. Well, for a minute or two, at least…but that was obviously farfetched.”

Boff recalled how many brokers he’d seen listed in Marla’s address book. “Did she ask you for any investment tips?”

“Actually, Frank, all the girls did. Like they were programmed to. As much as I liked the girls, I wouldn’t give them a tip because I didn’t want to risk getting into trouble with the
SEC.” He emptied his glass, grabbed the wine bottle, and refilled it. “This you might find curious, Frank. About ten days ago, Laurie disappeared from the site.”

“Guess she lost the taste for it
.”

“I doubt it, Frank. She was making a ton of money and really seemed to enjoy her work. Laurie told me that on a couple occasions she even fell in love. And once she was booked for a weekend with this guy who had a major-league yacht. He took her to this private little island off the
Florida Keys. She said it was like living in a fairy tale.”

“What if she didn’t quit?” Cullen interjected. “What if she ended up like Marla?”

Boff had been thinking the same thing. Now, as Emilio shrugged his shoulders, he filed it away as something to look into later. “Emilio,” he said, “how closely were you vetted before you could date these women?”

“They asked a lot of questions, that’s for sure. I had to give my full name and the place I worked at so they could contact me there before we met. I wasn’t too keen on doing that, but they wouldn’t send a girl without the information. Another thing Laurie said was that most of the girls also used an outside verification service. The service had some kind of database that let the girls know if a new client had a history of giving escorts problems. But Laurie said she’d never had a bad experience.”

“There’s always a first time,” Boff said. “Maybe she ran into a guy who wanted some free time after he paid her. When she refused, he got rough. If he busted up her face, she couldn’t work. Which could explain why she disappeared from the website.”

“If a guy did that,” Emilio said, “chances are he’s in a hospital now. Or dead. I got the distinct impression these girls are well protected.”

“One last thing,” Boff said. “Would you be able to get me the mobile phone number of your bartender friend at Devil’s Own? I have a couple more questions I need to ask him.”

“Sure. Matt and I are big Yankees and Knicks fans. We go to games together once in a while.” Taking out his wallet, Emilio slid out a card. “Here’s his number.” He read it off.

After writing it down, Boff asked, “Do you know what time Matt starts his shift at Devil’s Own?”

“Around nine, I believe.”

Boff stood up. “Thanks for taking the time, Emilio. I owe you dinner. Any place you want.”

The mobster’
s son laughed. “Are you sure? I go to some expensive restaurants.”

Boff smiled. “I’ll bring my wife. We’ll make a night of it.”

“What about your son?”

“No way. Steven would ruin my evening. I’ll give him money for Taco Bell.”

Emilio slid off his stool, walked over to Boff, shook his hand, then Bellucci’s. Then he looked at Cullen, obviously hoping that the boxer would offer his hand first. When Cullen finally did, Emilio looked relieved and shook it.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Danny,” he said. “
My father’s a powerful man. If you ever find the person who had Marla killed, you might want me to give him a call.”

Emilio said nothing further. But Cullen understood exactly what he meant. He looked at Boff. He understood, too.