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11

JOANNA

I followed West to his car, a yawning pit of dread in my gut. Regardless of what he’d said about not being involved with Portia, I couldn’t help remembering how beautiful the other woman was, and how gently West had clasped her hand. I did my best not to let my unease show on my face, although I was certain West sensed it.

He knew me too well.

It wasn’t fair, when I hardly knew him at all.

West popped the locks on his car, and I got in the passenger side. As usual, the interior of the vehicle was impeccably clean. For the first time, I wondered whether that was because he didn’t want to risk me coming upon any of his work stuff rather than out of a personal preference for tidiness.

He stood outside and made a call. I didn’t eavesdrop. When he got in, he turned to me.

“She’s free now. She’ll meet us at a coffee shop near her apartment.”

I intertwined my fingers on my lap. “Thanks for setting that up. ”

“No problem.” He slotted the key in the ignition, turned it, and reversed out of the parking space.

“How long has Portia been one of your informants?” I asked as he drove.

“A little over five months,” he replied, glancing across at me before focusing on the road.

Huh. So she’d known my not-husband for longer than I had.

“You said she and Sasha Sloane were best friends. Did they meet at the Red Letter?”

His fingers tightened on the wheel as he veered around a corner. “My understanding is that they auditioned there together. They were friends from high school, although both dropped out before their senior year.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “And yet Sasha became the mistress of a mob boss, with an expensive apartment and nice things, while Portia has to work at a brothel to make ends meet. I wonder if that caused any resentment.”

“Possibly.” He was matter-of-fact about it. “But Portia adored Sasha, even if she was jealous of her. At the end of the day, they were both paid companions of a sort.”

“True.” One of them likely made out better than the other though. But I supposed a lot depended on whether Sasha had genuinely cared for Carlos Ortez or merely endured his attention. If she had feelings for him—was attracted to him—the situations were definitely not equal.

“Does Portia have much of an arrest record?” I asked.

“Beyond the time we intervened, she had one prior conviction for solicitation and another for shoplifting.”

So, not squeaky clean, but no major felonies either.

“Does she do drugs?” If she did, it could impact her reliability as a witness.

“Not that I’m aware of. I’ve never seen track marks on her arms or irritation around her nose. ”

Another positive.

“How… willing… was she to help you?” Reluctant informants weren’t always to be trusted.

West waggled his hand in a so-so gesture. “She appreciated us getting her out of a jam. I don’t think she’d have any problem with it except she’s worried her boss will find out.”

“Yeah, I’d be worried about that too.” I didn’t imagine Carlos Ortez was the type to give second chances.

I looked out the windshield. We were entering a more rundown part of town, and several of the buildings we passed were boarded up. The streets were less busy than in the city center, and groups of teenagers stood on the sidewalk, smoking or vaping and staring at us with a combination of hostility and curiosity.

When we reached a small group of businesses, including a hair salon, a vape shop, and a coffee shop, West pulled into the parking area and parked near the rear. I got out and waited for West to lock the doors, then we walked to the coffee shop’s back entrance together.

West held the door open for me and I slipped inside, past the bathrooms and into the main part of the shop. Tables were packed in and almost every one of them was occupied. A lively buzz of conversation filled the air. I quickly spotted Portia in the rear corner, walls behind her on two sides.

West nodded to her and guided me to the counter with a hand on my hip. I stepped away, not wanting to encourage any kind of touching.

I ordered an americano and West asked for a cappuccino. The cashier gave us a number and waved us off. West led the way to Portia’s corner table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to take it. Not wanting to appear rude in front of the woman watching us, I did. He positioned the other chair so that we were at angles to each other .

“Hi Portia.” West offered the blonde a smile. “This is my wife, Detective Joanna Lee.”

I jolted, surprised by his introduction. I wasn’t sure how I’d expected him to introduce me, but certainly not as his wife. It wasn’t true and there was no reason to lie to someone who already knew at least a little about his investigation. West’s assessing glance told me he’d noticed my discomfort.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said politely. Up close, I could see that the whites of Portia’s baby blue eyes were tinged with red, and lines of strain bracketed her painted pink lips.

Portia sniffed. “You too. What’s this about? West said you wanted to talk to me.”

I barely resisted the urge to withdraw my notepad from my pocket to take notes. I got the feeling that doing so may limit any rapport I’d be able to build with Portia.

“Jo is investigating Sasha’s death,” West said gently.

I eyeballed his hand. If he went for hers again, with me sitting right here, I couldn’t be held responsible if I stuck a fork through it. No jury would convict, right?

“Oh.” Portia’s teeth scraped through the lipstick on her lower lip, and I chastened myself. This woman was anxious. She’d had bad experiences with the police, and she’d recently lost her best friend. I needed to stop being so selfish and help her find the person responsible. “Well, I guess if West loves you then you must be all right.”

I glanced at West, curious whether her statement would make him squirm, but he was gazing back at me with an intensity that made me shiver.

“I’ll do everything I can to bring Sasha’s killer to justice,” I told Portia with complete honesty. It was no less than I’d do for any murder victim, although some of them definitely deserved justice more than others.

“Good.” Portia’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Her boyfriend—you know who she was seeing?”

I nodded.

“Anyway, her boyfriend has the resources to cover it up. He has cops in his pocket and I’m sure he’s counting on them to make certain no one ever knows what really happened to Sasha.” She wrinkled her nose, the expression making her seem much younger. “In fact, I’m surprised his pet police haven’t already been assigned the case.”

So, she really did know something about corruption in the police force. How much would she be willing to share?

“My partner and I were the only ones available when West made his anonymous call about the discovery of Sasha’s body.” I placed my hands on the table, hoping it would set her more at ease if she could see that I wasn’t doing anything beneath. “Do you know which of my colleagues he has on his payroll?”

Portia wrapped her hands around a half empty cup of coffee. “In the murder department? No.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “One of the other girls spent some time with one of them though.”

I forced myself not to give away how desperate I was to know more. “Did she happen to catch his name?”

She pursed her lips. “Sorry, no. She said he was an older guy though. A little overweight. That’s all I remember. She only mentioned him because he kept going on about his wife afterward and how she’d leave him if she ever found out.”

My heart squeezed, and I schooled my features. So what if her physical description matched Detective Hanson? He wasn’t the only detective in homicide who could be described as an overweight, married older guy. And I had no way to be certain the person she’d heard about was even from our precinct.

I leaned toward her across the table and lowered my voice. “Is there anything else you can think of about any police who could be involved? If you want to see Sasha’s killer locked away, then I need to make sure the wrong people don’t interfere. You understand?”

She sighed, and there was a world of weariness in the sound. “I get it. And I hope you slap cuffs on the bitch responsible and never take them off, but I know how the world works. Even if you and your partner are clean, your boss—or their boss—might not be. I doubt this will ever get to trial.”

Determination to prove her wrong flowed through me. Okay, perhaps she had a reason to be jaded about the justice system, but I wouldn’t let that happen. Not on my case.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure it does.” I held her gaze, allowing her to search my eyes, and eventually, she nodded. “Now, do you have any idea who might have done it?”

She didn’t hesitate for a second. “That bastard’s psycho wife.”

A server appeared at our table and set down a tray. They passed the americano to me and a smaller cup with a foamy top to West. I waited until they’d left before I spoke.

“What makes you say that?”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Sasha wanted to oust the bitch. She was smart. Much more than me. She was learning everything she could about their business. Who was important, who she needed on her side, how they did what they did… She was fucking obsessed with knowing everything, so she could replace his wife when the time came.”

I raised my coffee to my lips as I considered this. I sipped but the liquid was still too hot. “How much do you think she knew?”

“Much more than she ever said to me.” Portia tipped her cup back, even though the coffee looked cold at this point. She grimaced at the taste. “It took her ages to piece things together from bits of pillow talk and overheard phone calls, but she could be very determined when she wanted something.”

“Sounds like it.”

Sasha Sloane may have been a formidable woman, in her own right. It would be easy to dismiss her as Carlos Ortez’s stripper mistress, but if Portia’s assessment of her was correct, Sasha was seemingly far more cunning than most people had given her credit for.

Sasha was a climber, and those were dangerous.

“Do you know if her boyfriend knew that she wanted to replace his wife?” I asked, since West remained silent.

Portia shrugged. “Beats me. I’d guess that she hinted at it, but if he didn’t take her seriously, then she wouldn’t have pushed. She is—was—more devious than that.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she touched the tips of her fingers to her lips. “Fuck, I loved that sneaky girl. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

West glanced at me, obviously uncertain about whether to try to comfort her while I was present. I reached across the table and laid my hand on her arm, patting her awkwardly. I wasn’t exactly the soft and cuddly type, but maybe it would help.

“Thanks.” She sniffled and blinked rapidly. “Um, yeah. So, my money is on the wife.”

I squeezed her arm gently. “Thank you for talking with me, Portia. I know it must have been hard for you, but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to find Sasha’s killer, and you’ve really helped today.”

She visibly pulled herself together, and carefully removed my hand from her arm. I grabbed my coffee and sipped it again. It was still hot, but bearable.

“I’m going to grab a glass of water,” West said, pushing his chair back. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He left, and Portia wrapped her hands around her empty cup again, as if she needed to keep them occupied.

“You’re nicer than any of the other cops I’ve dealt with,” she said.

I let out a huff of amusement. “Not many people would say that.”

“West would.” Her lips curved slightly. “He’s crazy about you, but there’s something going on between you. Some kind of tension. What’s with that?”

I took a mouthful of hot coffee to delay responding for a few seconds. While I’d be within my rights not to answer, something inside me wanted to.

“He’s been lying to me,” I admitted, trying to keep my face blank. “About something massive. I’m not sure whether I can trust him anymore.”

Her expression turned sympathetic. “Men can be the worst. He’s one of the best though. He’s never made a move on me or been even slightly inappropriate, and the way he talks about you, it’s obvious you mean a lot to him. Whatever he did, I’m sure he wasn’t trying to upset you.”

My lips twitched. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with the woman I’d thought my husband might be cheating with. At this point, I’d accepted that nothing had happened between them. She seemed sincere, and I got the feeling she wasn’t the type of person to sugar coat things.

“Maybe not, but it’s still hard to be comfortable with someone when they’ve broken your trust before.” I sipped my drink, which was now just pleasantly warm.

“Yeah.” Her shoulders slumped. “Just don’t give up on him. Guys like West keep me hoping that I might meet someone decent one day, so if his marriage is on the rocks, then I’m doomed.”

There was movement behind me, and West returned to his seat, a half-empty glass of water in hand.

“Would you mind giving me your number so I can call if I have more questions?” I asked Portia, moving on from our discussion of my love life.

“Sorry, but no.” She pulled a face. “If anyone finds out I’ve talked to you, then I’m dead. My life might not be great, but I don’t want to lose it. We’ve probably been here together for too long as it is.”

I guessed that was our cue to leave. I stood, and West did too. I thanked Portia for her time and headed to the back exit, leaving West alone with her for a few seconds in case he needed an update on anything related to his operation.

When he joined me, he gestured for me to open the door. I did, and we left the building together. The cold wind nipped at the apples of my cheeks, and I instinctively huddled into my blazer.

“That was helpful,” I said as we walked to the car. “Thank you.”

He flashed a quick smile. “I hope it set your mind at ease about other things too.”

“Yes.” That’s all I was giving him. Perhaps the right thing to do would be to apologize for accusing him of infidelity, but considering the enormity of the lies he had told, I wasn’t inclined to do so.

He unlocked the car, and we got in. As he pulled away, he turned to me. “Have you found anything linking Ortez’s wife to the crime scene?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” To be honest, that part of what Portia had said wasn’t the part that most interested me. “She mentioned a homicide cop who worked for Ortez. Older. Overweight. Married. You don’t think it could be Hanson, do you? Is he one of the people you’re investigating?”

I hated to even ask. It felt like I was betraying my partner. But if Hanson was somehow involved, I’d have to tread very carefully. I needed to know if it was a possibility.

“It could be.” At least he hadn’t immediately claimed Hanson was dirty. “He’s not one of the guys we’ve already got our eyes on, but I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Great. How was I supposed to solve a murder if my partner—the man I’d trusted to have my back despite our differences—was trying to cover it up?