Don't Say a Word by Beverly Barton

jotting the license number down on a notepad. Pulling out his cell phone, he said, “I’ll get Quantico to check out this plate and then I’ll put a call in to the security company. Go ahead, run the tapes. Yell if anything else comes up.”
    Julia watched him walk out into the library, already punching numbers on his cell phone. She could hear him talking as the monitors stopped again and the woman got out of the Lincoln underneath the side porte cochere. Her skirt was very short, twelve inches at the most, and her red heels were almost that high. She was an obliging call girl, out to do her duty, by hook or by crook. The woman climbed the steps on those ridiculous spike heels. How, Julia couldn’t imagine. It must be like walking on two reinforced ballpoint pens.
    Ginger looked directly into the camera at the side door and made some very suggestive movements with her mouth. She obviously thought that her judicial client was working the monitors. She looked extremely relaxed and comfortable, even eager to get her particular brand of show on the road. Oh yes, she’d been out to visit Lockhart before, probably plenty of times, and probably every time Mrs. Lockhart was enjoying her mama’s balmy weather way down yonder in N’Orleans.
    “The number traced out to the Elite Escort Service. The address is downtown, near the river, I think.”
    “Well, surprise, surprise. Maybe we ought to pay them a quick visit. See how many pretty women we can run in tonight.”
    That got a grin out of Serious Will. “The security company got no alerts or calls last night, only a couple in the last six months—once when squirrels got into the cameras. Another time, Mrs. Lockhart’s dogs messed with a camera wire. They’re concerned over the lapse in this system.”
    “Well, duh. I’d say they’ve got a major breach of security here.”
    Will returned his gaze to the monitors. “Okay, let’s sit down and watch the surveillance all the way through. Odds are we’ll get a glimpse of the killer. I hope to hell we will.”
    Julia sat down in the other swivel chair. No one else appeared on the films, not even a dark-cloaked figure lurking around in the shadows, which was probably exactly what the killer did. “It looks like the call girl’s the only lead we’ve got.”
    Will nodded and pulled out his cell. “Right. Let’s give them a call. Get her full name.”
    “Give me the number.”
    Will stood back, handed her his phone, and watched her dial the number. She hit speaker phone so he could listen in. Two rings and then a husky come-hither-sucker female voice came on the line. “Elite Escort Service. How may we help you?”
    “This is Detective Julia Cass at the Chattanooga Police Department.” Her own title sounded strange rolling off her tongue; she’d said Nashville PD for so long. But it was the first day she’d used it out loud, so there you go. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge.”
    Loaded silence. “May I tell her what this is all about?”
    “It’s about a joint TBI and CPD murder investigation. I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you at this time.”
    “Oh shit. I mean, one moment, please.”
    Several minutes later, a different female voice answered. Billy Goat Gruff, as if she had smoked three packs a day since she was two. “This is Donatella Casey. I’m the owner of Elite. How may I help you?”
    “You can help me by telling me which one of your girls serviced Judge Lucien Lockhart last night.”
    “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
    “Ms. Casey, please don’t play games with me. You either cooperate or we’ll have to come down there and take you downtown for questioning.”
    Donatella was suddenly eager-beaver agreeable. “Her name is Ginger. She won’t be available until tomorrow morning.”
    “Ginger who?”
    “Ginger Jones.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “She’s in Charlotte for a party. She’ll be there overnight.”
    Surprise, surprise , Julia thought. “We need to see her