Chapter 10

 

The ringing telephone woke Matt from an uneasy sleep, one disturbed by too many cups of reheated coffee, too much printed legalese, and frustrating, arousing, elusive dreams of a slender, red-haired woman who ran ahead of him in a circus parade, always just out of reach. He rolled to a sitting position on the sofa, sending the case file he'd been reading sliding to the floor, and groped for the cellular phone. In his hasty search, he knocked a pile of folders off the coffee table and onto the carpet, before finally wrapping his fingers around the instrument. He stabbed at the Talk button three times before the red light came on and the ringing stopped.

"What?" he barked into the receiver, more than ready to take his bad mood out on whoever had been unwise enough to make him or herself available.

"Matthew?"

"Mom?" Matt rubbed a hand up over his face and through his hair. "What is it?"

"I think you'd better turn on the television, Matthew," his mother said, her soft, even tones failing to hide the note of anxiety in her voice.

"The television?"

"Channel Two," she said. "The eleven o'clock news report."

Without taking the phone from his ear, Matt reached for the remote control and aimed it at the television. He punched it on. Two clicks brought him to the proper channel.

"Former San Francisco debutante, Susannah Bennington, owner of The Personal Touch dating service, is being held in connection with an alleged prostitution ring involving female minors. She was arrested at her Pacific Heights home earlier this evening. Two of her employees, convicted prostitute Judy Sukura and an unnamed minor female, were arrested with her. Several of her alleged customers were also taken into custody at the same location, where a wild party was in progress at the time of the arrests. We take you now, live, to the scene."

Matt sat bolt upright on the sofa. "Good God," he breathed as the scene shifted from the newsroom to the street outside of Susannah's house.

"Behind me, in this quiet Victorian house, in this pleasant, well-to-do section of the city, an alleged prostitution ring has been operating under the guise of a genteel dating service. The owner of this dating service, Susannah Bennington, is the daughter of Roger Bennington, founder and owner of Bennington Plastics, and Audrey Stanhope Bennington Harper, one of our city's most active civic leaders. Neighbors say that Ms. Bennington has always been 'a little different' and often had 'strange characters' going in and out of her establishment."

"But I never thought much of it," said another talking head, obviously the aforementioned neighbor. "San Francisco has a lot of strange people in it."

The on-location reporter signed off, the scene shifted to the outside of the police station and the news anchor began to give a description of the scene—but Matt wasn't listening.

He watched, shocked and disbelieving, as Susannah was helped from the back seat of a police car. She was wearing a slinky, shoulder-baring dress, spike heels and a pair of stainless-steel handcuffs. Her hair was wild, half falling in her face, giving her a wanton look. Her chin was well up, her carriage as haughty as a queen's despite the handcuffs. Her face was set in stubborn, unyielding lines, two spots of color flaming high on her cheekbones. Her brown eyes were huge in her pale face, wide and frightened despite her brave front.

Judy Sukura slid out of the back seat after her, wearing some kind of sexy maid's uniform. Beneath the sleek, sophisticated hairstyle and expertly applied makeup, her face was expressionless and cold, making her look as hard as nails.

In contrast, the "unknown minor female" being helped out of a second police car looked even younger than the sixteen Matt knew her to be. Her green eyes were defiant, her mouth was sulky, her slender shoulders were hunched in a way Matt already recognized as defensive and self-protective. The position caused the front of her pretty flowered dress to gape, exposing more of her chest to the cameras than it should have, and managing to make her look sexy and innocent at the same time.

"Matthew, are you there?"

"Yes, Mom," he said, his gaze glued to the television screen. "I'm here."

"Do you know what this is all about?"

"Not really," he hedged, automatically shielding what he knew of the facts. Despite his lapse this afternoon with Susannah, it was his usual procedure. A case under investigation wasn't supposed to be discussed until the investigation was complete. Apparently, this investigation was more complete than he'd thought, since they were already making arrests.

He wondered if they'd picked up Eddie Devine, too. And why the cameras weren't fighting for close-ups of him. Probably because the little slimeball wasn't nearly as photogenic as the women.

"According to a reliable source, the high-society madam has friends in high places. She was recently seen in the company of Assistant District Attorney Matthew Ryan at a campaign fund-raiser at the Mark Hopkins hotel. Ryan, son of the late State Supreme Court Justice, Francis Ryan, is currently running for district judge."

"I've got to go, Mom. I've got to get down there."

"Sources at Ryan's campaign headquarters denied there was any relationship between the candidate and Ms. Bennington," the reporter intoned importantly as the scene continued to unfold.

Harry Gasparini's face suddenly filled the screen.

"Susannah Bennington was a guest at the fundraiser," he said easily, standing in front of a Matthew Ryan for District Judge banner. "She purchased a ticket, just like hundreds of other people. I believe she and Matt Ryan sat at the same table with seven or eight other people during dinner. But the suggestion that they have any kind of a close or intimate relationship is completely unfounded."

"I'll talk to you later, Mom," Matt said, severing the phone connection. Swearing viciously, he got to his feet, yanked his trench coat from the brass coatrack by the front door, and stormed out into the night like an avenging angel hell-bent on destruction and rescue.

The television continued broadcasting to an empty room.

* * *

"I told you," Susannah said to the police detective for what seemed like at least the hundredth time. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about. The Personal Touch is not a front for prostitution. I am not some kind of madam. I was not having some kind of lurid sex party. My God, have you looked at my guests? Most of them are over sixty."

"But you don't deny that Judy Sukura works for you?"

"No, I don't deny it. Why would I deny it when I've already admitted it?" Susannah said in exasperation. "Judy Sukura is my part-time receptionist."

"And Heather Lloyd? What does she do for you?"

"Heather doesn't do anything for me. She's a house-guest. She's been living at my home for a little over two months."

"Do you often have young female minors living with you?"

"I have a small bed-sitting room on the lower floor of my house. It's frequently occupied by someone who needs a safe place to stay."

"And is attending your parties one of the requirements of living in that room?"

"No, it is not," Susannah said evenly, telling herself not to let his insinuations rattle her. That's just what he was trying to do.

"Then what was Ms. Lloyd doing at that party tonight?"

"A favor."

"Does she do these kinds of 'favors' often?"

Susannah glared at him.

The detective didn't appear to be intimidated. "Does she, Ms. Bennington?" he repeated.

"No," Susannah said wearily. "She doesn't. This is the first time I've asked her to help out."

"And why is that?"

"Because my regular assistant had to go home early."

"That would be—" he glanced down at his notes as if he needed to refresh his memory "—Helen Sanford?"

"Yes."

"And Ms. Sanford went home early because?"

"She wasn't feeling well."

"Exactly what time did she go home?"

"About two o'clock. Maybe two-thirty. I don't remember exactly." It had been some time after Matt had left her office after their argument and she'd been too upset to pay much attention to the clock.

The detective took a sip of coffee from a paper cup. "What's your relationship with Eddie Devine?"

"I told you, I don't have a relationship with Eddie Devine."

"Who's Isabel?"

"I don't know any Isabel," Susannah said through clenched teeth. "I already told you that, too."

"Tell me again."

"Dammit!" Susannah exploded. Coming to her feet, she slammed her hand down on the table. "I just did!"

The detective was unimpressed. "Sit down, Ms. Bennington."

"I'm tired of sitting down," Susannah replied. "I'm tired of answering your ridiculous accusations. Most of all, I'm tired of you."

She looked at the woman who was sitting quietly in the seat beside the one she'd just vacated. She was a friend dating back to Susannah's days as a social worker. When the police detective had asked her if she wanted a lawyer present, Carole's was the only name she could think of, besides the one that came instantly to mind—and was just as instantly rejected. She couldn't call Matt.

"How much longer do I have to put up with this?" she asked her lawyer.

"Until I'm satisfied with your answers," said the detective.

"Carole?" Susannah said to the lawyer.

"You can refuse to continue this conversation at any time," Carole advised her.

"And then?"

"And then we lock you up," the detective said.

"How long can they keep me in jail?"

"Until tomorrow morning, at least," the lawyer said. "That's when you'll go before a judge for arraignment. Given your long-standing ties to the community, I can probably get you released on your own recognizance."

"What about the others? Judy and Heather and my guests?"

Carole shook her head. "Given Judy Sukura's record and the nature of the charges, her bail is likely to be fairly high."

"I'll take care of it," Susannah said. "What about Heather?"

"She's already been turned over to the juvenile authorities. They'll notify her family and appoint a lawyer for her if she doesn't already have one."

Susannah closed her eyes for a moment. Heather would hate having her family notified. She'd be afraid, too, although she'd never admit it. "Will they turn her over to her parents?"

"Legally, she can be remanded to their custody. But I don't think that will happen, not given the history of abuse. They'll probably keep her in custody at juvie."

Susannah relaxed a little, knowing that, for now, Heather was safe. Probably mad as a wet hen, but safe.

"Can we get back to the subject here, ladies?" the detective said.

Susannah ignored him. "And my guests? What will happen to them?"

"They're being released as soon as they've given their statements," Carole told her. "Most of them are already gone."

"Ladies?"

Wearily, Susannah sat down.

"What's your relationship with Eddie Devine?"

"I don't have a relationship with Eddie Devine."

"Isn't he Judy Sukura's pimp?"

"He was Judy's pimp. He isn't anymore."

"Who's Isa-"

A knock sounded on the interrogation-room door. "Excuse me. Detective Martin, can I see you out here a minute?"

Without a word, the detective got up and left the room.

Susannah looked at her lawyer. "What's going to happen?"

"It's hard to say. I haven't seen the evidence against you yet, so—"

"There isn't any evidence," Susannah said, "because I haven't done anything."

"You haven't," Carole agreed. "But what about Judy?"

"She wouldn't." Susannah prayed it was true. "I know she wouldn't."

"Judy has a record going back seven years. She's a prostitute."

"Was a prostitute."

"Maybe," Carole said. "And maybe not. You have to face facts, Susannah. Judy might be guilty."

"How could she be? I mean, it's ridiculous if you just think about it for a minute. How could she possibly be running a prostitution ring from The Personal Touch, with or without Eddie Devine's help? Helen answers the phone as often as Judy does. More often, because she's there more hours. I answer it, too. Even Heather has answered it," she added, remembering that afternoon in her office a few weeks ago when she'd found Heather on the phone. With a friend, she'd said. "So tell me, how could Judy be running some kind of prostitution ring right under our noses and none of us know it?"

"Maybe she's not doing it alone. Have you thought of that? Maybe Heather is involved somehow. As far as we know, the trouble didn't start until after she came to live with you. She might very well be involved."

"No," Susannah said. "I refuse to believe Heather would—" The door to the interrogation room opened. Susannah's eyes widened in shock. "Matt."

"Susannah." In three strides, Matt was across the room and hauling Susannah out of her chair by the shoulders. He crushed her to him. "Are you all right?"

Susannah clung to him for a moment, her eyes closed in silent thanksgiving. She'd never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life.

"Susannah?"

"Matt," she said into his chest. Her fingers were curled into the lapels of his trench coat, her knuckles white from the strength of her grip. "Matt."

He lifted one hand to her face, turning it up to his. "Are you all right?" he demanded, tenderly brushing back her hair so he could look into her eyes.

She nodded against his palm, too near tears to trust her voice just then.

"They didn't hurt you?" He slid his hands down her arms, gently pulling her hands from his lapels so he could examine the delicate skin of her wrists.

"She hasn't got a single bruise on her lily-white skin," the detective said, his tone sardonic. "We hadn't got around to the rubber hoses yet."

Matt ignored him and enfolded Susannah in his arms once again. "Dammit," he said into her hair. "Why in hell didn't you call me?"

"You shouldn't be here," she said, trying to pull herself out of his arms. "Your campaign. The press. They were all over the place when the police brought us in." She glanced nervously at the detective who was leaning back against the wall with his arms folded, watching them with obvious interest. "You shouldn't be here, Matt."

Matt refused to let her go. "You should have called me," he reiterated firmly. "I should have been the first person you called."

Susannah deliberately misunderstood. "I have a lawyer," she said. "Carole's my lawyer."

Matt looked at the other woman over Susannah's head. "With all due respect, Counselor," he said. "I'll be taking over this case from here."

"Susannah?" Carole said, looking to her client for direction.

Susannah lifted her gaze to Matt's. "You know what this will do to your campaign, don't you?" she whispered.

Matt smiled tenderly, touched by her concern for him in the face of her own problems. "I have a fairly good idea."

"There's nothing linking us yet in the public mind. There've been no stories about us in the papers yet. No gossip. If you leave now, there probably won't be."

"Sweetheart, there already is. Some 'reliable source' reported having seen us together at the Mark Hopkins."

Susannah's eyes widened. "In the coatroom?"

"At dinner."

"Then it's still all right," she breathed, relieved. "You can make some kind of statement about how I was just there to make a campaign contribution."

"A bleeding-heart liberal contributing to my campaign?" He shook his head. "The press'll never buy it. Besides, someone from the Fourth of July picnic is bound to come forward. No matter what I do tonight, by tomorrow morning we'll be the lead story in both papers."

Susannah closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Matt."

"Don't be." He leaned down and kissed her lightly. "I'm not."

"This is all very touching, folks," the police detective said then, still watching them from his position against the wall, "but I have an interrogation to conduct here."

Matt shifted his hold on Susannah, bringing her around to his side with his arm curled protectively around her shoulders. "The interrogation is over," he said. "I'm taking her out of here."

The police detective straightened away from the wall.

Matt stopped him with a look. "I've already cleared it with your lieutenant, Detective Martin. Ms. Bennington has been released to my custody until this mess is cleared up."

"Does that mean I'm fired?" Carole asked.

Susannah looked up at Matt, silently offering him one last chance to do the sensible thing.

"I'm not leaving here without you," he said.

"What about Judy? And Heather? I can't leave them here."

"And if they're guilty?"

"I still can't leave them here."

Matt nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can do about getting them released, too."

Susannah looked over at Carole with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, you're fired," she said.

* * *

Matt poked his head into the interrogation room. "You two ready to go?" he asked, looking back and forth between the two women sitting at the table.

Judy pushed her cup of coffee away and stood up. "I'm more than ready," she said fervently, although her face was devoid of all emotion. Whether she was upset or not, frightened or not, was anybody's guess. Matt assumed she'd had a lot of practice hiding what she was feeling.

Susannah, on the other hand, was an open book. Every emotion she was feeling showed in her expressive face. She was angry, frightened and determined. She was also shivering.

"Here, put this on," Matt said, shrugging out of his trench coat to wrap it around her bare shoulders. "It's colder outside than it is in here."

"Did you get Heather released?" Susannah asked as she slipped her arms into the coat sleeves.

Matt nodded. "I had to pull in a few favors, and promise a few more, but I got the juvenile authorities to release her to my custody. Carole went over to pick her up." Matt put his arm around Susannah's shoulders and slipped a hand under Judy's elbow, leading them toward the door as he spoke. "She'll meet us over at my mother's."

Susannah stopped dead. "Your mother's?"

"I can't take you back to your place, or mine, for that matter. Not right now. The reporters will be waiting for us."

"I don't mind a few reporters," Judy said, slipping her arm out of his hand. "I can get myself home."

"I'm sure you can," Matt said, reaching out to recapture it. "But you're coming with us. I plan to conduct a little interrogation of my own." His expression hardened into one any hostile witness he'd ever questioned would have recognized. "Before the night's over, I'm going to get to the bottom of this." He started toward the door again, a woman held firmly in either hand. "When we get outside," he warned, "don't say anything to anyone. Not even 'no comment.' Is that clear?"

Both women nodded.

"If any talking needs to be done, I'll do it." He paused, looking from one woman to the other. "Ready? Okay, here we go."

It was pandemonium outside the police station. They were instantly surrounded by reporters thrusting microphones and minicams in their faces.

"Mr. Ryan, what's your relationship to the High Society Madam?"

"Are you and Ms. Bennington lovers?"

"What does this mean to your campaign?"

"Ms. Bennington, were your parents aware of what you do for a living before tonight?"

"Are the rumors about young girls being coerced into providing sexual favors for elderly clients true?"

"Are you going to pull out of the campaign now?"

Silently, slowly, stoically, they made their way to the car parked at the curb, ignoring the noise and confusion swirling around them. Matt opened the front passenger door and assisted Susannah inside. Judy pulled open the back door and quickly climbed in, locking the door after her.

"Mr. Ryan, were you aware that Ms. Bennington was a prostitute before you became involved with her?"

Mart's head jerked around. He leveled a killing glance at the man who had asked the question. "My fiancée—" he placed a subtle but unmistakable emphasis on the word "—and I will have a statement for the press in the morning."