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If We Can Win, The Earth Will Surive
"Edric Parks?" Holly asked, flashing her badge at the man who answered the door.
"That's me," he replied.
"I'm Detective Bayre and this is Detective Perry. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about Theresa Banks?"
"Sure, come one in," Edric said, stepping back and opening the door the rest of the way. With a sweep of his arm, he invited them in. "What's Trip done this time and how much is it going to cost me?"
Holly walked into the apartment and was instantly mesmerized. It was huge, and in San Francisco it would undoubtedly be costing a fortune. The ceiling was at least twenty feet off of the floor, and was made of two intersecting arcs. The living room was massive, and tastefully decorated in whites and blacks. As she was taking in the view, Holly spotted three large, expensive-looking suitcases sitting by the entertainment center.
"Are you going on vacation?" Holly asked.
"No," Edric said. "I actually just got back from a shoot in Sydney."
"Can you prove that?"
"Well," Edric said. "There's three models, two producers, three agents, four assistants, and my girlfriend, all of whom saw me there. And my cancelled airline tickets are on the kitchen counter."
"It's circumstantial," Holly smiled, "but I'll have to believe you. How are things in Sydney?"
"Well, they're still putting it back together," Edric smiled, "if that's what you mean."
"Shame," Holly mused. "Let me ask you, how well did you know Theresa?"
"Wait," Edric said. "What do you mean, 'did?' Did something happen to her?"
"Theresa was found dead yesterday morning in the alley by The Rage," Holly said, apologetically.
"Oh no," he said, holding his hand to his forehead. "She, uh, she crashed here a lot."
"Were you physically involved?"
"No. No, not at all. She was like my kid sister. She was always telling me about the guys she was stalking; always bumming a couple bucks here and there for food or smokes."
"A kid sister that you took pornographic pictures of," Holly noted.
"Nothing hardcore," Edric said. "I snapped a glamour series of her once in a while when she needed money."
"Do you know who would want to kill her?" Lorna asked. "Another photographer maybe?"
"Do I know who wanted to? Or who was capable of it?" Edric asked. "Those are two separate things. No, I don't know anyone who would want to kill her; she was a very fun person to be with. I can't imagine anyone hating her. But some of the people she hung out with weren't exactly salt-of-the-Earth."
"Can you give me any names?" Holly asked.
"No, I didn't know any of them. You'd have more luck asking around The Rage."
"Well, I appreciate your time," Holly said, opening up her purse. "If you think of anything else, here's my card."
"Thanks," Edric said, taking it.
Outside in the hallway, Holly pulled out a pen and crossed Edric's name from the list.
"Four to go," she said with a smile.
"Who's next?" Lorna asked.
"Alan Strauven," Holly replied. "Sounds German. A German photographer. I bet he looks like that guy Mike Meyers used to play on 'Saturday Night Live.' What was his name?"
"Deiter."
"Well, that's definitely Alan Strauven," Lorna said.
"Definitely him," Holly replied.
"Hmm," Lorna mused.
"Hmm," Holly replied.
"I don't think he did it," Lorna said.
"Me neither," Holly replied, scratching Strauven's name from the list. "But it's a very nice urn, doncha think?"
"Beautiful urn," Lorna agreed. "So who's next?"
"Des Locke."
"The Gamillon?" Lorna asked.
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
"Can I help you?" the woman at the door asked. Only her right eye and the side of her mouth were visible, the rest of her was tucked around the door, which was closed except for a half-inch of space.
"I'm Detective Bayre," Holly said. "This is my partner, Detective Perry. We're looking for a Des Locke."
"The master doesn't want to see anyone," the woman said.
"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Holly said, her voice dropping an octave. "I'm Detective Bayre and this is Detective Perry. We're with SFPD Homicide. We can talk to Mr. Locke here or at the station."
"I don't know," the woman said timidly, seeming to weigh her options. After a moment, she put her head down, and then slid the security chain out and opened the door. As she opened the door, she kept it between herself and the two detectives.
"Thank you," Holly said, walking in. The room was a living room and kitch in one, with an island seperating the areas. The living room was empty except for a large, black leather chair and a television on a pedestal. The walls were decorated with an assortment of whips, restraints, and medieval weaponry. A pair of manacles hung from the wall to their right.
"Whoever it is," a heavyset man said walking into the room. He had long, greasy black hair, which draped over a black tank top. Not surprisingly, he was also wearing black jeans and a pair of Doc Martins. He stopped short when he saw Lorna and Holly standing in his living room and, for a moment, looked like he might turn violent. After taking a deep breath to calm himself, he pointed past them at the woman who let them in.
"Over here," he growled. "Now."
The woman shuffled past them and, for the first time, Lorna and Holly got a look at her. The right side of her head had been shaved to the skin, and her thick, blonde hair hung in ragged clumps around the left side and back of her head, like it had been randomly cut with scissors. She was naked, except for a pair of thigh-high, black leather boots and a black, vinyl bra. A shaggy length of black hair, like a horse tail, hung down from between the cheeks of her backside; Lorna decided she really didn't want to know how it was attached. The woman ran over to the man's side and knelt down in front of him.
"I thought I told you I wasn't to be disturbed," he said, pulling her chin up so that she was looking at him.
"But I..." she started to say.
"Are you talking back?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"No, master."
"I didn't think so," Des said. "Bathtub. Now. And wait for me there."
"Yes, master," she said, then stood up and disappeared down the hallway.
"Now," he said, addressing the two officers, "who are you and why shouldn't I call the cops on you for trespassing?"
"Because we are cops," Holly said.
"You have a warrant?"
"No, we want to ask you some questions."
"Really," he said with a smile. "So if you don't have a warrant and I don't have an attorney, I don't technically have to answer your questions."
"That's one way to look at it," Holly said. "Another way to look at it is: if you don't answer my questions, I arrest you for interfering with an investigation."
"Silence!" he bellowed at her. Holly jumped with surprise, her jaw moving as if she wanted to say something, but forgot how. When he spoke again, he kept his voice loud, and barked his workds the way a drill sergeant would. "You will not threaten me or speak to me in any way that does not show humility, is that clear?"
"Excuse me?" Holly asked defiantly. In a second, he was across the room and standing in front of her with the back of his hand raised, as if he were going to slap her. Without thinking, Holly flinched and shied away from the attack. But he never struck her. Instead, he stood over her, grinning at her fear.
"You're not ready for me," he said. He lowered his raised hand a bit and brushed the back of it across her cheek, then he took up a pinch of her hair and rolled it between his thumb and fingers. "But you will be. You long for someone to be strong for you. Leave now," he snapped, turning his back toward her. "Come back when you're ready. You can show yourselves out," he added, as he disappeared around the wall of the hallway.
Holly stood stunned, shaking lightly, until Lorna walked over and led her out the door. Once in the hallway, Holly seemed to come back to herself, and lit up with rage.
"Shit," she growled. "I let him get to me."
"It's ok," Lorna said.
"No, it's not ok," Holly replied. "That's exactly what he wanted to do, mess with my head. How can women stay with jerks like that?"
"I imagine it's some mix of Battered-Wife Syndrome and Stockholm Syndrome," Lorna said. "You get abused long enough and you start to believe it. Then you start to think you're so hideous that you're thankful this person will even put up with you."
"The thing that really pisses me off is that we blew any chance of getting information out of him," Holly said.
"Well, it wasn't a total loss," Lorna grinned.
"How so?"
"Well..." Lorna said, holding up her hand. Pinched between her index finger and thumb was a tuft of pink hair. "Fur. I yanked it from a pair of handcuffs that was hanging on the wall."
"You're a genius!" Holly laughed.
"Not really," Lorna replied. "Mike Webber would kill me. It's evidence taken illegally. But still," she mused, wrapping the fur in a tissue from her pocket, "it'll let us know if we should continue to chase this guy or not. Who's next on our list?"
"Ok, the next one I can't pronounce," Holly said. "Shree... Shreevassa Moobafasora, or something like that."
"We'll call him Fred, for short," Lorna smiled.
"Good idea," Holly said, with a shake of her pen. "And after Fred is David Brule."
"What?" Lorna said, looking over Holly's shoulder. "Let me see that... aw, jeez."
"Know him?"
"Yeah," Lorna said, shaking her head. "He's my assistant, and the last guy I would have suspected of making porn."
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