She’s still pale, but her eyes widen as I peel off a couple of hundreds and press them into her hand.
“Okay.” She licks her lips and gives a hesitant nod. “What do you need to know?”
“What’s your name?” I ask. She presses her lips together.
“Blanche,” she replies. I’m pretty sure it’s not her real name.
“Blanche, I want to know about Mark Whitlock.” She swallows convulsively. “What do you know about him?” I saw how she reacted at the mention of his name earlier. It’ll be pointless to hide what she knows.
“I…I…” she croaks the words out. “I don’t want any trouble.” She’s not just pale now. Her chest has begun to heave. Her eyes dart around in a panic.
“You won’t get in any trouble, I swear it.” When I put my hand on her shoulder to reassure her, she jerks as if she’s been slapped. “What does that name mean to you?” I press, though I feel like a dick for doing it.
“He’s…not a good man.” She looks down. She’s folding and unfolding the hundred-dollar bills as if taking comfort from them.
“I know that, Blanche.” I’m tempted to pat her shoulder again but think better of it. “I’d like to see him taken out. I’ll do anything to make it happen.”
Something flashes in her eyes. “Me too!” The words are said with such venom that I know I’ve struck a chord.
“What do you know about him?”
“Nothing…except…except that he’s a fucking pig.” She spits the words out. “A fucking rapist pig!” I take a step back, giving her room. She relaxes a little and goes on, “Me and my friend Lyla were sent to a party there…at his fancy place.” She swallows hard. “Boss said it paid well.” She scoffs lightly. “If only I’d known…”
“Known what, Blanche?” I keep my voice low.
“They put Lyla in hospital. Him and his friends. Nearly me too…after…after what they did.” I feel my jaw clench but just nod for her to go on. “It was so bad, even the boss was mad. He went back there. They gave him money.” Her lip curls. “Money! Like that would make it all go away. Lyla can’t have kids anymore. Do they think money’s going to fix that?”
“I’ll make them pay…for Lyla and for you, Blanche.” I keep my voice steady. “I swear, he’ll be sorry.”
Her lips twitch in a tight smile. I’m sure it’s cold comfort, but at this point, any kind of comfort is better than nothing.
“Is there anything you remember about that day? Anything about where you went to?”
She nods. “Big fancy place, out there where the rich folks live, you know? Took over an hour to get there.”
Knowing Whitlock, he’ll have taken her out to his Hampton home. Someplace quiet. Someplace where nobody could hear the screams.
“Funny thing was, the party started out pretty nice,” she goes on. “Cocktails, champagne. It was only later, everyone started to leave. Till it was just me, and Lyla…and them.” She shudders. “They took us out downstairs. He had a room there. Like an old-fashioned study or something. Gentleman’s room, they called it. But the walls were covered in shit. Tall shelves with weird boxes of stuff. And framed photos everywhere – of girls. Lots of girls. Naked. Some of them weren’t much more than kids.” What she’s saying has my radar pinging. It ties in with what Bennetti’s man had told him. Everything’s coming together.
Blanche swallows so hard I hear the sound of it. And this time I do pat her shoulder.
“Maybe I got off easy, huh?” She looks at me.
“Don’t dismiss what you went through, Blanche.” I squeeze her shoulder and feel her flinch a little. I shouldn’t be touching her. Law enforcement protocol says there should be a woman handling this. Someone trained to deal with these situations. Though I’m not working in any official capacity right, now, which makes me feel like a dick for making her relive all of this. “No man should be allowed to treat a woman that way.” The words feel hollow.
“You’re right. Those girls especially. Some of them…” She shakes her head. “One kid looked like she was in her highschool dorm room. Just a girl. Long auburn hair. Sweet baby face. Just a girl…just a young girl…” Her voice breaks.
I’m having flashbacks of the conversation with Andy’s parents about how her photo had been spread around the school. Mark Whitlock took those photos. And he still has them on his walls. He’s going to pay for every one of them. Every fucking one.
Chapter 6
Andy Carter
Screw him! Fucking asshole! Who the fuck does he think he is?
I toss and turn in the bed, punching my pillow into shape yet again – supposedly to make it more comfortable, but I know that’s not true. I’m imagining punching his stupid face.
Goddamn bastard!
