I moved closer and peeked into the room. It was a mess. Either Farmer was an absolute slob or somebody tossed the place looking for something. I had a fairly good guess what it was.
One of the policemen pulled us back into the hallway. The name badge on his uniform said Bierman. "May I ask what you two ladies are doing here?"
"We are private investigators. We were hired to talk with Mister Farmer."
"About what?"
"That's confidential between us and our client."
"I see." Bierman glanced into the open door of the apartment. "It looks like a typical drug-related robbery. We get a lot of them in this neighborhood. The deceased obviously knew the killer. No sign of forced entry. The killer shot the man point blank in the head and took his cash. We found the victim's wallet empty. It looks like the apartment had been gone through as though the perp was searching for any valuables."
"I take it you called the homicide division?"
"Yes. I think Detective Sweet is on his way over."
"Guy Sweet? Good man. We've worked with him before. Do you mind if we stick around until he shows up?"
"Suit yourself. Just don't touch anything in the crime scene."
"No problem."
My nose was not wrong. The stench was from his decaying corpse. Eddie Farmer was extremely dead. Luckily the window was partly open allowing some of the foul odor to escape. Otherwise the neighbors surely would have complained about the stink.
According to my estimation, the man had been dead two or three days. Gunshot wound to the head. Twenty-two caliber, if I wasn't too mistaken.
About twenty minutes later Police Detective Guy Sweet arrived on the scene. I knew Guy from when I was an investigator on the police force and he was working robbery. It was glad he made detective. As I recall, he was one of the few who objected to the mandate to dismiss Carla and me due to our sexual orientation. "Miss Pearl," he stated formally. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm working on a case for a client. Eddie stole something from him."
"I'll need to know the name of this client," Guy said. "If Mister Farmer here stole something, it looks like someone was desperate to get it back. Like maybe your client, for example. I'll need to establish that person's whereabouts at the time of the murder."
"And if he owns a gun," I added dryly.
"Exactly."
"I understand." I wandered casually about the rooms glancing around for the stolen pictures. It was possible Oliver Harland bumped off Eddie Farmer in retaliation for the boy stealing the photographs. Perhaps Harland couldn't locate the missing pics and hired us to find them. "You mind if I take a few pictures of the crime scene?" I asked.
Sweet shrugged with indifference. "Knock yourself out."
I removed my digital camera from my purse and switched it on. "What the hell?" I frowned. "Disc full." I set the display to show the images on the disc. "Oh," I winced sheepishly. "That's why."
Guy peered over my shoulder as I scrolled through the photos of Carla posing seductively on the bed. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed.
"Can't delete that one," I mused. "Or that one . . . and definitely not that one."
Carla materialized at my elbow. "Hmmmm, that's nice,' she grinned.
"Do you have a spare memory chip?" Sweet asked.
"Of course."
"Let me borrow the one that's in the camera."
"What? Why?"
"I want to download them for my own personal use before you delete them."
"Your own personal use!" Carla snorted with her hands on her hips. "You and about a hundred other cops."
"Consider this a gesture of special appreciation for the thankless job of being an underpaid civil servant."
"Not on your life," Carla smirked. "If these pictures got circulated among the boys at the station, it would give a whole new meaning to the term beat cop."
The man winced sheepishly as I ejected the data chip and tucked it in the pocket of my slacks. "You can't blame a man for trying."
I put a blank disc into the camera and took some pictures of the dead body and the living room. Carla called to me from the bathroom. Sweet and I joined her. The bathroom was set up to be a makeshift darkroom. I noticed some of the materials had been used.
"Amateur photographer?" Guy asked.
"He used to work for one." I moved a metal tray to reveal some snapshots hidden underneath. Apparently the murderer did not make a thorough search of the bathroom after he killed Eddie.
"What's this?" Guy asked, picking up the pictures.
I glanced at the photos in his hand. They were of a blonde teenage girl, very pretty and nearly naked. She was dressed in skimpy naughty lingerie, each photo more revealing than the last.
"Just some dirty pictures," I snorted in disgust, snatching them away from him. "As you said, he was an amateur photographer."
"Let me see those," Sweet insisted.
"Don't be such a pervert."
"These are evidence, Miss Pearl, and you know it." Guy took the pictures away from me and examined them in closer detail. "One of these ladies may be our killer."
"I doubt that. They're only kids."
"I've seen kids younger than these do some pretty nasty things." Sweet furrowed his brow with a perplexed expression. "Hey! I think I know this girl."
Carla glanced over his shoulder. "Oh my God!" she gasped. "He's right! That's Trista Purnell!"
"Who?" I asked.
"The famous fashion model. These must have been taken years ago when she was much younger. Ten years ago at least."
The police detective frowned at me. "How could an amateur photographer have in his possession a photograph of a supermodel from ten years ago?"
I raised my palm to him. "All right, all right. I'll come clean. I'll tell you everything, only let's get away from this dead body and this foul stench first."
"Fair enough."
I led the way out of the apartment complex to my little Honda in the parking lot. I was relieved to find it was still there and not up on blocks. I leaned my butt onto the front fender and crossed my arms over my chest. "Our client is Eddie Farmer's former employer, Oliver Harland. He hired us to get those pictures back for him."
"Where did Harland get them?"
"He took them himself years ago and hid them in his personal files. Harland told us Eddie stole those photographs from him. Harland begged Farmer to give them back. Harland was afraid Farmer would try to blackmail Miss Purnell with those photos. Apparently the man tried his hand at blackmail and got a bullet in the brain for his trouble."
"Or maybe Harland shot Farmer to get the photos back."
"I thought about that. If Harland called the police and had you discover the body, you'd find those photographs too. They'd be booked as evidence. I doubt he would take the risk. Eddie was dead at least two days, maybe three. That's a long time to leave a corpse while you ponder what to do about it. I can't imagine Harland sending us over here to investigate knowing that Farmer was already dead."
"Maybe Harland was getting anxious for someone to discover the body."
"He could have made an anonymous phone call to the police to do that."
Sweet nodded in agreement. "You realize I have to ask Harland if he had anything to do with Farmer's murder."
"Yes, I know. You want Carla and me to help you out on this case?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
Sweet drew in and expelled a long breath. "In that case, I will accept your help, Miss Pearl."
I extended my hand to him. "Call me Linda."
The man accepted my shake. "Guy."
"The photos, if you please, Guy."
"What? Why?"
"Carla and I are going to pay a visit to Miss Trista Purnell and ask if she was being blackmailed by Eddie Farmer. I think she may be a bit more forthcoming if two ladies approached her rather than a hard ass cop."
The detective scowled at me as he handed over the pictures. "I am not a hard ass."
Carla moved up to him and patted him on the rear. "No honey, you have a very nice ass."
Sweet snorted and ruefully shook his head. "I know I'm going to regret this."
We hopped into my car and headed home. I furrowed my brow with a perplexed expression. "So how do you propose we go about finding Trista Purnell?"
"Leave that to me," Carla smiled. "I'm the computer genius of this partnership, remember? If she's anywhere on the web, I'll find her."
I grinned and patted her knee with my hand. "I love it when you flaunt your brains at me, lover-girl!"
"How's about we stop and pick up some food on the way? I could eat something."
"Me too. I worked up quite an appetite modeling at Harland's. Let's get something with a great aroma to counteract the stench in my nostrils."
"Chinese takeout?"
"Perfect!"
Carla selected the speed-dial number to 'Wok Fast' on her cell phone and placed an order for pick-up. A few minutes later we had moo goo gai pan and pineapple chicken from the drive-up window. Fast and easy, and we didn't even have to leave the car.
My partner set up her laptop on the island counter in the kitchen while I fixed our food onto dinner plates. Carla was whiz at navigating the internet. "Hot diggety!" she exclaimed in victory as she brought up a screen displaying Trista's portrait. "Miss Purnell is working for a modeling agency called 'Crystal Blue' right here in town. I have an address and a telephone number."
I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist and nibbled her neck. "You know how much it turns me on when you flaunt how brilliant you are."
"Yeah yeah," she sighed, patting my hand over her tummy. "I'm not simply another pretty face, I know."
"You have a pretty everything, my love."
Carla turned her head and met my lips in a quick smooch. "If we didn't have hot food ready, I would show you my pretty everything."
I kissed her neck and hugged her body. "That's what microwaves are for."
My friend giggled. "Food first, and then we'll see."
"You are such a tease!"
Crystal Blue modeling agency was understandably reluctant to give out the location of Miss Purnell's photo shoot that afternoon. I managed to persuade the young lady receptionist by informing her that I was a private investigator working with Police Detective Sweet and she could call the police department to verify my story if she liked. It was either us or the cops and we were far nicer to deal with. The lass eventually acquiesced and told us that Trista was at a studio on the North Side of town.
Carla and I met a security guard at the door. He was a good-looking young black man with a shaved head and dark walnut eyes. I flashed a business card to the fellow. "Linda Pearl, private investigator," I stated matter-of-factly. "This is my partner Carla McBain. We're working on a case with the police department and would like to ask Miss Purnell a few questions. Would that be all right?"
"Questions about what?"
"I'd rather not say at the moment. It would only take a minute or two. Do you think she'd mind?"
"Well . . ."
Carla moved closer to the man and cooed seductively. "What's your name, handsome?"
He stared at her. "Uh . . . Ken."
"We would be very grateful, Ken, if we could have a word or two with Miss Purnell." Carla opened the top two buttons of her blouse. "Very grateful indeed."
The guard swallowed audibly. "Oh, well . . . I guess it would be all right. But don't interrupt the photo shoot, okay?"
Carla smiled seductively. "Thank you ever so much, honey-bun."
The guard opened the door for us to enter. I gripped Carla's elbow and ushered her through the door. "Honey bun?" I scowled.
My partner grinned with satisfaction and buttoned her blouse. "It worked, didn't it?"
I let out my breath in an irritated huff. "How come the hot looking babes with the perfect bodies always manage to get doors opened for them?"
Carla giggled with amusement. "That's why you have me along."
The photography set was little more than a big empty garage. I think they used to work on semis and dump trucks in the building before that. There was a huge open space with a grayish sheet on the floor and a black backdrop suspended from metal poles. A number of bright lights illuminated the area from high telescoping stands. I guess they needed the space to get the proper lighting effect and have plenty of room to move about for the best camera angles. Plus they needed extra room for makeup tables and a booth for costume changes. I suppose I imagined a lavish Hollywood set with people bustling back and forth pushing racks of clothing and a director with a pencil thin moustache hollering through a paper cone, "Quiet on the set!" This was nothing more an abandoned garage with fake furniture and muslin backdrops. So much for the glamorous world of high-fashion photography.
We found Miss Purnell seated in a chair by a makeup table with a large lighted mirror. A slender young lady with short auburn hair was touching up the model's mascara. Trista's normally shoulder-length blonde hair was now a pile of tight curls atop her head with a few twisted strands dangling beside her ear. She wore a white and gold tunic and looked like a genuine Greek Goddess. Even at a distance I could tell she was a very beautiful woman.
I walked over to her side. "Miss Purnell?"
Trista moved her eyes to see me without turning her head. The makeup girl dabbed at her lashes. "Oh hello!" the model lilted prettily. "I didn't realize this was a group session."
"I beg your pardon?"
Miss Purnell's attendant turned to her supplies on the vanity table. The model gave us a bright warm smile. "I'm so glad you can join me on this shoot. It makes me feel rather self-conscious when I have to pose on a set all by myself."
"Well, actually we'd like to chat with you for just a moment."
"Yes yes, I know . . . you are my biggest fans, admire my work, etcetera, etcetera. We can talk all you want after this session is over, okay?"
I glanced at Carla and she returned an apathetic shrug. "Okay."
"Wonderful! Hey, Larry! Come over here, will you?"
A tall man with a gray beard in a red polo shirt and tan slacks came over to us. A Nikon camera hung from a strap around his neck and I deduced he was most likely the photographer. "Yes?"
"Larry, I think it would be absolutely marvelous if these two models were to be in the shot with me. I mean, I'm supposed to be some sort of goddess, right? These ladies . . . what were your names again?"
"I'm Linda and this is Carla."
"Linda and Carla can be like nymphs in the background. It would add a bit more animation and depth to the shot, don't you think?"
Larry looked at us and nodded thoughtfully. "Sure. Why not?" He glanced over at the set. "Hey Stan! Get me a roll of that sheer white gossamer fabric we're using for the backdrop. I want to make some makeshift togas for these two girls." He turned to me. "You don't have a problem wearing semi see-through, do you?"
"Hell no," Carla snorted. "We both did a nude sitting only a couple hours ago."
I balked slightly. Those shots were a private performance. These would get national exposure. However, I kept my mouth shut. I needed to get some answers from Miss Purnell. Besides, it wouldn't be too revealing. We would be wearing garments after all.
"Great! Go with Stan and he'll get you set up."
Carla and I followed Larry over to a heavy set dark-haired man with horn rimmed glasses. He was already gathering up a bolt of semi-transparent fabric for us to wear. Carla glanced at me and asked, "We're nymphos?"
"Not nymphos, nymphs. Female playthings."
She shrugged. "Same difference."
We stepped into a side room and quickly peeled off our clothes. This undressing for strangers was starting to become a habit. Good thing I had my beautiful and curvaceous partner along to draw the attention away from my unexceptional body or else I might feel a bit self-conscious about the whole ordeal.
Stan cut some of the see-through fabric and fashioned some wrap-around togas for us. The man didn't seem to be all that aroused by our blatant nudity. I guess he had seen enough models changing off-stage to make him somewhat cavalier about the whole thing.
Larry grinned widely as we strolled up to him in our bare feet and sheer outfits. Our skin showed through the opaque material like silhouettes making our bodies appear light and ethereal like a couple of angels or fairies.
"Perfect!" he nodded. "Go up onto the set, behind Trista."
We walked onto a staged area that looked like a Roman bath house. There were tall white Styrofoam columns and statues that looked like they were made of marble and draped sheer material similar to what we were wearing hanging from the dark gray backdrop. Trista lay on her side atop a stone curved bench propped up on one elbow. The photographer began snapping away, asking us to float and flit and dance behind her, tossing flower petals and olive leaves into the air. It was actually a lot more fun than I thought it would be. It felt a little silly prancing around as a woodland nymph. Carla of course had no inhibition about dancing half naked for strangers. Hell, the lady bared a lot more and for a bigger audience at the gentleman's club. But this was different. We were supposed to act sweet and innocent and ethereal. I pretended I was a ballet dancer in Swan Lake and my transparent toga was a tutu. I skipped about on tiptoe and twirled around my impish partner. Carla's big boobs made her look more
like Aphrodite than a flittering and floating fairy.
"Excellent!" Larry exclaimed as he set his camera aside. "You two lovely ladies really made the shot come alive!"
"It was fun!" Carla laughed. "I hope we didn't flash too much skin in these revealing outfits."
The man dismissed her with a flap of his wrist. "Don't sweat it. I can always airbrush out any over exposed areas from the final product." He gave Trista a smooch on the cheek. "You were marvelous, as always."
"Thanks, Larry." The model led us over to the makeup table. "I couldn't see what you were doing behind me, but Larry sure loved it."
"We were dancing and floating around like a couple of screwballs," Carla laughed.
"I'm so glad you joined me," Trista sighed with relief. "When Larry is alone with me, he gets to be so bossy and demanding, 'Raise your eyebrow! Turn your chin! Give me more! Give me more!'" Trista sat in the makeup chair and beamed brightly at us. "You made it more fun that it usually is for me. Thanks a lot." She pulled a baby wipe from the dispenser and began to remove her makeup. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"
I glanced down at my nearly transparent garment. "Well, seeing myself in this skimpy outfit almost fits in with what we wanted to ask you. I understand you posed for some very revealing photos in rather racy negligees when you were younger."
Trista frowned at the mirror as she dabbed at her eyeliner. "I don't remember every photo shoot I ever did. Sorry."
I nodded to my partner. "Carla honey, would you please get my purse from our clothes in the changing room?"
"Sure."
Carla wandered off and I turned to the model. "Has anyone approached you in the last few days demanding money for some pictures that were taken of you some years ago?"
"No." She glanced at me. "You sound like a detective on one of those police shows."
"Actually, I'm a private investigator working on a case with the local police department."
"What? Are you telling me you're not models?"
"I'm afraid not."
Her jaw dropped in shock. "Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! You two gals were so pretty I thought you were a couple of models sent here by the agency! How embarrassing!"
I rested my hand on her arm. "It's all right," I grinned. "Carla and I had a blast posing with you."
"You really mean that?"
"Yes I do. It was a lot of fun."
Trista checked out Carla's figure through the see-through garment when she returned with my purse. "You can't blame me too badly. You really do look like models."
