the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) by Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell Page A
Authors: Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
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that I don't have to discuss anything with you guys," Yolanda said in a sexy, contralto voice.
"So you know then, that two of your working girls were found dead in a swimming pool up on Skyline Drive along with an unidentified man."
I thought it was best not to throw Scott Berman s name out at first. I wanted to see if she volunteered it. We were still on the front steps. Nobody had asked us inside yet.
Hitch shot Yolanda Dublin a smile that showcased his whole sparkling porcelain tray and said, "I could really use a glass of water."
Yolanda looked over at Edith, who said nothing, but Hitch's request worked, because Yolanda stepped aside to allow us to enter.
There was a Chinese man wearing a white shirt and black pants standing in the kitchen doorway that adjoined the entryway.
"Yeo-Sing, could you bring us a tray of ice water, please?" Yolanda said and he left quickly to get it.
"By working girls, are you implying that they are prostitutes?" Yolanda Dublin said. "Because no matter what you think you've heard about me, I run a legitimate modeling, escort, and physical therapy service. It's not a prostitution ring."
I let that go and replied, "Since you didn't ask us who the dead girls were, I'm going to assume you're pretty caught up on what happened on Skyline tonight."
"I think it would be foolish for you to assume anything, Detective," Edith Stillwell said. She was big in a way that made her appear uncomfortable. However, above the linebacker shoulders her hard, dark, gun - fighter eyes left no doubt that she was all business.
"We re investigating a triple homicide," 1 said. "This is not going to go away. Your best bet is to cooperate with us."
"Lets sit in the living room," Yolanda suggested.
She led us over to a grouping of sofas and chairs by a large floor-to - ceiling window overlooking the ocean. The outdoor spotlights were on, illuminating a low surf, which was pushing a line of bubbling foam up onto the damp sandy beach.
Yeo-Sing returned with a silver tray and passed out four iced glasses of water, each with a lemon slice perched festively on the rim.
After he left, we settled in and Edith Stillwell immediately took the offensive.
"Yolanda admits to nothing. At this point we re willing to listen nothing more. She has rights and I'm here to make certain they are scrupulously observed."
"Here's the bad news, Ms. Dublin. I happened to be the one who got the initial shots-fired call. I saw that black Mercedes out front coming down the hill on Skyline Drive. I was in the MDX you almost hit."
"There are lots of black Mercedes 350s in L . A .," Yolanda countered.
"Not with a partial plate of 4 L M C. You're busted as a participant at that Christmas party. That makes you anything from a material witness to an accomplice in a triple murder. Don't be lying to us. If we decide to make you an accessory after the fact, you're as good for this as the doer."
"Hardly," Edith said. "But it's good rhetoric."
"Okay, then I'm going to make an arrest."
I stood and reached for my cuffs.
"Wait a minute. Put those away," Edith said. "I guess Yolanda can answer a few nonincriminating questions."
I kept my cuffs out as an unstated threat, but sat back down and said, "Let's start with the dead man. You know who he was?"
"Scott Berman," Yolanda said softly. "I guess you know he's a world - famous producer."
I nodded. "Why was he there?"
She glanced at Edith, who dropped her head imperceptibly in a subtle affirmative. "He was a client. He was also an amateur figure photographer who sometimes hired our models for stills. He was nice. He treated the girls well. Since they're both dead, I guess I can tell you Chrissy Sweet was there as Scott's date. What he and Chrissy did on a date was their own business. He was divorced many years ago. That's about all I want to say right now."
"Who else was up there? What other clients?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"That's sorta not your choice," Hitch said.
"Sure it is," Edith
"So you know then, that two of your working girls were found dead in a swimming pool up on Skyline Drive along with an unidentified man."
I thought it was best not to throw Scott Berman s name out at first. I wanted to see if she volunteered it. We were still on the front steps. Nobody had asked us inside yet.
Hitch shot Yolanda Dublin a smile that showcased his whole sparkling porcelain tray and said, "I could really use a glass of water."
Yolanda looked over at Edith, who said nothing, but Hitch's request worked, because Yolanda stepped aside to allow us to enter.
There was a Chinese man wearing a white shirt and black pants standing in the kitchen doorway that adjoined the entryway.
"Yeo-Sing, could you bring us a tray of ice water, please?" Yolanda said and he left quickly to get it.
"By working girls, are you implying that they are prostitutes?" Yolanda Dublin said. "Because no matter what you think you've heard about me, I run a legitimate modeling, escort, and physical therapy service. It's not a prostitution ring."
I let that go and replied, "Since you didn't ask us who the dead girls were, I'm going to assume you're pretty caught up on what happened on Skyline tonight."
"I think it would be foolish for you to assume anything, Detective," Edith Stillwell said. She was big in a way that made her appear uncomfortable. However, above the linebacker shoulders her hard, dark, gun - fighter eyes left no doubt that she was all business.
"We re investigating a triple homicide," 1 said. "This is not going to go away. Your best bet is to cooperate with us."
"Lets sit in the living room," Yolanda suggested.
She led us over to a grouping of sofas and chairs by a large floor-to - ceiling window overlooking the ocean. The outdoor spotlights were on, illuminating a low surf, which was pushing a line of bubbling foam up onto the damp sandy beach.
Yeo-Sing returned with a silver tray and passed out four iced glasses of water, each with a lemon slice perched festively on the rim.
After he left, we settled in and Edith Stillwell immediately took the offensive.
"Yolanda admits to nothing. At this point we re willing to listen nothing more. She has rights and I'm here to make certain they are scrupulously observed."
"Here's the bad news, Ms. Dublin. I happened to be the one who got the initial shots-fired call. I saw that black Mercedes out front coming down the hill on Skyline Drive. I was in the MDX you almost hit."
"There are lots of black Mercedes 350s in L . A .," Yolanda countered.
"Not with a partial plate of 4 L M C. You're busted as a participant at that Christmas party. That makes you anything from a material witness to an accomplice in a triple murder. Don't be lying to us. If we decide to make you an accessory after the fact, you're as good for this as the doer."
"Hardly," Edith said. "But it's good rhetoric."
"Okay, then I'm going to make an arrest."
I stood and reached for my cuffs.
"Wait a minute. Put those away," Edith said. "I guess Yolanda can answer a few nonincriminating questions."
I kept my cuffs out as an unstated threat, but sat back down and said, "Let's start with the dead man. You know who he was?"
"Scott Berman," Yolanda said softly. "I guess you know he's a world - famous producer."
I nodded. "Why was he there?"
She glanced at Edith, who dropped her head imperceptibly in a subtle affirmative. "He was a client. He was also an amateur figure photographer who sometimes hired our models for stills. He was nice. He treated the girls well. Since they're both dead, I guess I can tell you Chrissy Sweet was there as Scott's date. What he and Chrissy did on a date was their own business. He was divorced many years ago. That's about all I want to say right now."
"Who else was up there? What other clients?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"That's sorta not your choice," Hitch said.
"Sure it is," Edith
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