Chapter 6

Trevor Byron paced the full area of the Cube while he waited for someone to re-appear. They had showed him in, brought him to the lab and into this human fishbowl and then they asked him to wait while they made sure that everything was ready for the interview. Then they left the room. Not just the Cube, as they called it. The lab was now vacant, save for himself. He wanted to get this over with, get his story out and move on.

Congressman Pryce had told him that these people were experts in finding the truth. But Trevor knew he had a good story. A convincing one. He knew that a man like him would easily be believed over almost anyone who was in that bar last night, and anyone with as much respectability in this town as he had would surely take his side. Who was going to accept the word of a common thief, if she ever woke up, over him? It was a ludicrous idea. He would be fine, if he could just get passed this part and nobody looked beyond the basic facts of the attempted mugging.

But still, he paced in anxious strides. Waiting.


Cal and Gillian exited his office with the file that Bertrand Pryce had prepared on their newest case and ran straight into Eli Loker.

"What took you so long? Where's Torres?"

"Uh, I was sleeping, and I have no idea. Where's Turner?"

"Call Torres, and Turner wasn't asked to come in."

"Why doesn't Turner have to be here?"

"Because, Loker, it's a Sunday morning and he's a devoted father of a small child. I don't want a hyperactive two-year-old running around while we figure out if some rich kid tried to kill a woman in a bar."

Lightman sped towards the lab leaving the rest of them in his wake. Gillian spared Eli a quick glance that said 'I sympathise with you, but he's right' before she too left him standing, clearly expecting him to do as he was asked before joining them.

"Isn't she almost three now?" he asked her retreating form.

"Oh yeah, because three-year-olds are far less hyper," she replied to him from over her shoulder.


A few moments later, Eli Loker joined his two bosses in the lab to find a fit looking white man in his early twenties pacing the cube. The door was closed, sealing him inside, and while they could hear him, he would not be able to hear the sounds of the rest of the lab.

"Torres is on the way," he started. "What's so important that we have to come in again at the weekend? Breakthrough on the pickpocket case?"

"Not sure, but it could be connected," Gillian explained. She then finished briefing Loker on the details of the case that had emerged over night and why they felt it necessary, given the sensitivity of the case and the possible connection a bigger scandal, to call in some extra hands.


"Nervous?"

Trevor jumped at the sudden intrusion to his pre-occupied thoughts. His back had been towards the entrance of the Cube when Dr Lightman had made his entrance, and he turned to face him now.

"No. I just want to clear all this up and get on with things."

"You're not going to ask how she is then?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's just that, ordinarily, when someone witnesses an accident like that right in front of them, their primary concern is to find out how the injured person is. Not to just get on with things, as you put it. Are you at all concerned for the woman in hospital?"

"Of course I am," Trevor spat out, attempting to mask contempt for the woman with disgust at the suggestion that he didn't care.

"Really? Because you look pretty pissed at her from where I'm standing."

"Of course not."

"No? I would be."

Trevor wasn't expecting him to turn the argument back that way. He froze for a split second in confusion, hesitating in his next move. Uncertain in what he was supposed to say now.

Cal continued, "She tried to rob you didn't she? That's what you told Congressman Pryce. She tried to rob you and then she just slipped."

"That's right," Trevor replied. He brought his posture up straight, pulling his shoulders and head back, and sticking his chin out towards Cal with flared nostrils and a flattened-out mouth.

"And you're not angry about that?"

"I…"

"How do you feel about what happened?"

"I… I don't know. It all happened so fast."

"How'd you notice she was robbing you?"

"I reached for my pocket and encountered her hand."

"Then what happened?"

"I… I turned around and saw her there, she realised she was caught. She tried to get away and, she slipped."

"Did you grab her?"

"No. No I did not. She slipped."

"According to the police report, several people said that you grabbed the woman, shouted at her, then grabbed another woman, struggled with them both and one of them ran off and the other one ended up in the hospital."

"She slipped. She got frightened when I turned around and she slipped."

"And the other woman?"

Trevor fell silent. He had thought about what he wanted to say, but now he hesitated. This was not going to plan. He was used to people just accepting anything he told them.

"I don't know who she was," he tried eventually.

"No?" Cal asked, "You sure?"

Trevor paused again before bowing his head fractionally and looking Cal right in the eyes. "I don't know her. I was talking to her when the other woman tried to rob me. When the accident happened, she ran off."

"What were you reaching into your pocket for, Trevor?"

"Excuse me?"

"You were reaching back to your jacket pocket for something. What?"

"Uh, my wallet," he said with the tiniest shake of his head.

"For what? You had a tab running at the bar. You'd paid for a lot of drinks that night. Several beers and a couple of dirty martinis, according to the bill."

Trevor didn't elaborate, so Cal continued.

"You live in DC, don't you?"

"Um, Richmond actually."

"Why did you have a room booked at the hotel?"

Trevor's shame was virtually a macroexpression, but there was something else there too.

"I sometimes stay in a hotel rather than go home if I've been working late and have an early start."

"On a Saturday night? When you've been at a bar for hours? Who was the other woman?"

Trevor's cheeks tinted pink; his eyes no longer able to meet Cal's. He finally moved to take a seat in the Cube for the first time since he had arrived.

"My girlfriend can't find out about this. Nobody can."

"That all depends on what the truth is, Trev. And how it affects your boss."

Trevor raised his hand to his forehead and stared at a fixed spot on the table.


"He's lying about almost everything but telling enough half-truths that he could almost get away with it if he wasn't so scared of getting found out," Gillian said.

They had allowed Trevor to leave a short time ago having informed him that they would be in touch and likely have further questions for him. They asked him to contact them should he think of anything else. He would likely have to speak to the police by the following day, and they would seek his permission to retrieve a copy of his statement from them.

"Yeah, but what's he trying to hide? There's tons of proof that he was out drinking with that woman, and that he was planning on getting a room with her, right?" Loker asked.

"I don't know. Maybe he's got another secret to hide, and revealing the truth about this will lead to it."

"Like what? Drugs or something?"

Gillian barely reacted to the insinuation; Cal's gaze snapped directly to her to make sure she wasn't upset by the suggestion given how closely Loker had just unknowingly referenced her own previous relationship. She ignored him deliberately so as not to call attention to it.

"I don't know. I don't think so though, he doesn't show any signs of it. My first guess would be that the woman is either someone he's having an affair with, or a call girl. I guess we'll end up finding out," she turned to Cal then for his thoughts.

"Once Torres gets here, get her to ring around some of the escort services that we've worked with in the past. Even if they don't know anything, word gets around. And do a bit of digging into his finances, credit card statements, all that. See if he'll hand them over to us, but otherwise do what you can, yeah?"

"Sure, what are you going to do?

"We," he said pointedly at Gillian, "are going to go and talk to the staff at the Gibson to see what they know about Trev and then, some hookers."


"Tell me why it is that you know where to find the best sex workers in town?"

He grinned at her, knowing she was just teasing and said, "Would you believe it was research?"

Her eyes rolled almost without volition, but she knew he was almost certainly telling her the truth, even if he did say it in a way to arouse suspicion.

The bar staff that were in the Gibson the previous night weren't around this early in the day. They had no information available to them to track down the customers who had been there. Some of the staff from the attached hotel were around, having worked double shifts, but they weren't forthcoming with any valuable information or evidence. They remembered the incident, of course, but they were unwilling to look up whether Trevor was booked into the hotel or not, nor if he was with someone. One of them, a young woman named Shola, had shown signs of recognition that suggested that he was a regular in the hotel, and that recognition had been accompanied by disgust and contempt. That could mean that he was a bad guest, that he didn't tip, or given the intensity of the emotion she had displayed it more likely meant that whatever he was using the rooms for was morally abhorrent to her. They had asked if he was usually with someone when he stayed, and Shola confirmed that quite often he was. They had asked if it was always the same person and before they could get an answer Shola's manager interrupted, but her immediate reaction suggested both a negative response and told them that she was fearful for some reason.

They had left their business card and requested that Shola might get in touch for a further chat when she finished work. That wasn't for several more hours, so now they were essentially kerb crawling with Trevor Byron's photograph in the streets of D.C where the higher-class street walkers tended to work. It was highly unlikely that the woman he was with worked the streets. She was far more likely to work for a discreet escort agency, that was usually how the political circles paid for sex if they were headed to places like the Gibson, but it was also possible that some of these ladies might recognise him anyway. They might have worked for agencies in the past, or he might engage their services otherwise or they might know someone who had. It was worth spending an hour or two if it paid off.

They parked the car on a side street and headed towards a small group of women whom Cal knew to be sex workers. As they approached, several of the women noticed them.

"Ladies," Cal opened in friendly greeting. He was met mostly with suspicion until one of the women looked a little closer at him.

"Hey, you're the lie guy."

"That's me. How are ya?"

"Can't complain. What do you want this time?"

Cal took the photo from Gillian's hand and presented it to the group. "Any of you recognise this guy?"

A chorus of "no" rang through the congregation and a few simply shook their heads. Both Cal and Gillian noticed the fear on one of the women simultaneously. She shook her head, just like everyone else, but she took half a step back and hugged herself just a little. He eyes widened for a split second, her brows drew closer and her whole body tightened up.

"You," Cal pointed to her, but his voice was soft. "Did he hire you?"

She shook her head quickly and said "No," in an unconvincing tone accompanied by a reflexive mouth shrug. She did her best to hide the tremble in her voice, but Gillian heard it clearly and she was sure that Cal must have too.

"What'd he do to you?"

"What do you mean?"

She evaded his gaze, and her eye was drawn instinctively to her own arms as her hands instinctively began to rub them in a self-comforting motion, her mind reflecting inwards.

"Did he do something to you?"

"Nothing worse than the usual. Guys can be like that."

"Did he come back, hire you more than once? Work with anyone you know?"

She shook her head to the negative.

"You warned people off him? Right?" Gillian asked, seeking to confirm the answers the woman hadn't spoken aloud.

The woman looked at her then, surprised that she had said exactly what had happened.

"What did he do?"

"He was a little rough. Ok? He was… I didn't like the guy. But I haven't see him around again. I just told a few of the girls to watch out for him."

Gillian nodded, understanding the general idea and not wanting to force the woman to re-live the experience.

"Ok, thank you," she got Cal's attention to imply that they had gotten enough information to move to the next step.

"Thanks, ladies. Here's my card, and hers," he indicated Gillian, "if you remember anything you want to share, or if you hear of anyone else who might want to tell us something, give us a call, yeah?"

Gillian nodded a grateful smile to the group and then specifically to the woman who had dealt with Trevor, and the two of them turned and made their way back to the car.

Cal handed the photo back to her and began to speculate on the case.

"He uses prostitutes and he's not very nice to them. You think that's enough of a scandal for him to want to hide?"

"We should look into some of the escort services who allow clients to get violent with their employees. Seems likely that he targets both street walkers and call girls. Word tends to get around the streets quickly and he's more likely to get found out if a girl runs screaming from his car. Call girls don't tend to get that much choice, and their madams and pimps will often cover for the clients."

"Agreed. I'd say that's exactly the scandal that Pryce doesn't want."

"You think he has any idea that's what it is?"

"It's Washington. I doubt he'll be surprised."


"You use prostitutes, Trevor?"

"No!"

"Oooh, that's a yes. Call girls?"

"I told you I don-"

"Yeah, Call girls. What do you do to them?"

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this," he exclaimed with indignation, grasping his hands together and turning his head away from Lightman's unyielding stare.

Gillian and Cal shared a brief glace between them, both having noticed the same thing. Cal leaned in towards him from across the small table.

"You see that?" he asked, pointing to the man's hands. "The way you automatically put your hands together there? That's not uncommon, when people are uncomfortable, being interviewed and feeling a bit nervous. People do that. But you… both times that you've been asked about the woman you were with, or in this case about call girls generally, you rub your thumb over your knuckles."

Cal paused then to let his words sink in. Trevor looked confused and worried in equal measure. Before he could open his mouth to deflect, Gillian stepped in to continue.

"People do that, when they recall a tactile memory. They touch the area that the memory focuses on. People recalling a kiss might put their fingertips to their mouth. Someone recalling an injury might rub at the area that was hurt. You rub your knuckles whenever you recall being with a call girl."

Trevor's fist tightened and his face scrunched briefly around the nose and eyes, "I don't know what you think you're implying ma'am..."

"That's Doctor, to you. Doctor Foster is implying that you are recalling using your fists. You have a problem with women, Trev."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Because you were fine when I was pushing the tough questions on you, angry at being questioned but nothing else directed at me. But when Dr Foster here explained what it meant, you showed resentment, contempt and pride. Why's that?"

"… Ok," he sighed. "I occasionally use an escort service. The woman that I was with was an escort. That's all. I don't want my girlfriend to find out about that."

"Which escort service?"

"I don't have to tell you-"

"You don't have to, but we'll find out anyway so you may as well save us all some time."

"Why do you need to know that?"

"We need to know what your hiding, Trevor. And we need to know if your escort concurs with your story."

"She will."

"Why'd she run then?"