Chapter 9

Wallowski and Hamed had managed to get the hotels to release the name of the bar staff in order to assist in their enquiries. They had contacted each of them to request that they come to provide a statement, and had asked that they consent to be interviewed by the Lightman Group.

It had taken some convincing and only one man had agreed to speak with them. The bar tender from the Gibson on Saturday evening. He had provided a statement that he hadn't witnessed the incident and therefore couldn't provide any valuable information to the police. They had challenged him that if he was so certain that he had no information on the assault/accident, it wouldn't be a problem for him to speak with the police consultants on the matter. Wishing to prove himself, Simon Frawley had agreed to come to the Lightman Group suite to clarify the matter.

"Thank you for coming in, Simon. We really appreciate anything you can tell us," Gillian began the interview.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything to tell you. Like I told the police, I didn't see what happened. The bar was really busy, there were tons of people there."

"I know, but we were hoping you might be able to answer some questions anyway."

He gestured towards her with upturned palms and a slight crease in his forehead, so she continued.

"How long have you been working at the Gibson?"

"Uuuh, I think about four months now?"

"Do you like it?"

"It's… fine. It's work, you know?" he replied with a barely concealed grimace.

"Have you worked in other bars?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Worked a few of them."

"Why did you leave the others?"

"… um… I don't know. I guess, I guess I just wanted somewhere different," he swallowed, "I thought this was about the girl who got hurt?" he asked as he rubbed at his earlobe briefly.

"It is. We'll get to that," Gillian smiled at him reassuringly. "How did you end up working at The Gibson?"

"Um, just, a guy I know mentioned it, that they were looking for people. That happens, you know? In bar work, you hear about a job at a new place and we all kind of get to know each other when we move around. Some of the guys they work two jobs, so they know when one place is hiring. You hear about who's good to work for."

"What was his name?"

"What?"

"The guy who mentioned the job? What was his name?"

"I don't remember which guy."

"Do you know Georgina Stanovich?"

"No. No, I don't."

"That's the name of the woman who was hurt."

Simon nodded several times, long motions of his head then a couple of quick short ones.

"Had you seen her around?"

"I'm not sure. I see a lot of people."

Gillian waited.

"I mean, I guess if she was there that night, probably. Maybe. I don't remember."

"Did you recognise Trevor Byron? The man witnesses accused of assaulting her?"

"No."

"Really? Not at all? We hear he's a regular."

"Uuuh," he swallowed again, "I uh. I don't know." He scratched at his face a little. "You see one politician you seen them all right?"

"So you do recognise him?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know he's a politician," she stated, her voice going up a little at the end of the explaination.

Simon was a little caught off guard. "I don't know the guy. I just, I heard. After, I heard he was some political guy."

"Did you know the woman he was with?"

"Nah. I don't think I'd seen her around before."

"Had you seen Mr Byron with other women at the bar before? Or other bars?"

Simon licked his bottom lip and quickly looked to the side before making eye contact with a carefully schooled face. "I see a lot of guys like him, with a lot of women like her, all the time."

Mark Turner, sitting beside Gillian, shifted in his seat. Gillian lightly cleared her throat and sat a little straighter.

"They make you angry."

"Sure. They think they're better than everyone."

"Not just that. Guys specifically like Trevor. They make you angry."

"I don't know what you mean," he replied in a more hushed tone than before, the muscles in his face tightening, the bridge of his nose creasing.

Gillian turned her face to Mark and reached her hand over for the file he held in front of him. Mark slid the manila folder across the table to her and she opened it. From it, she produced photographs. First, Trevor Byron. Then Dylan Walker, the man who had triggered the first investigation. Next the man who had his watch taken in the St Regis bar. Then she produced photos of the various call girls that they had managed to match with CCTV and police footage from the case, intermingled were sample photos of people who were unconnected. Finally, she produced two more photos, one of Georgina Stanovich, the other of Philipa Townsend.

Gillian filed away all of the photos that hadn't triggered a reaction. Dylan Walker, the man from the St Regis, all of the control images, and most of the call girls.

Lining up the remaining photos, she stated, "These people are all familiar to you. You recognised them when we showed them to you."

"I guess I must have seen them around at work or something."

Gillian pointed at the photo of Trevor Byron, "When you looked at this photo, you recognised him. But your face showed signs of disgust," she began. Moving on to the photos of the call girls, she lined them up side by side and said, "these photos triggered mostly sympathetic expressions, particularly the ones you saw after the images of the men who were targeted by these women," she continued, pointing at the photos of Philipa and Georgina."

Simon was beginning to visibly fret. Mark Turner leaned in to the conversation then.

"When you looked at them? You show familiarity, with respect and pride. And a little fear, but I don't think you're afraid of them."

"What am I afraid of then?" Simon chuffed.

"What we might find out about your relationship with them," explained Gillian.

Simon began to shake his head in denial but Gillian continued on.

"We know that you know all of these people, and we know how you feel when you look at them. What we don't know is how you're managing to pull it off. How are you getting the message about the targets out? How are you getting the information about them, to the pickpockets?"

"I'm not."

"Then who is?"


"Simon seemed unsure of himself when we asked who was working with the pickpockets. He didn't appear to be lying about not working with the suspects, even if he did know and respect what they were doing," Gillian recapped for the benefit of the detectives.

"So how are they getting their information?" asked Ibrahim.

"There has to be someone tying all of the information together."

"What about the call girls?" asked Mark.

Ria Torres shook her head and said, "I don't think so. Stephanie was way too afraid of the idea of the consequences of that when we confronted her."

Cal sat in the corner of the room listening to the group batting their ideas about, thinking and putting unknown pieces of a puzzle together.

"Pull up the recording from the St Regis again."

Gillian moved to the computer to do exactly that, and all eyes turned to the huge screen.

"The bar staff are far too interested in the customers. But there's no signs of them signalling to Philipa at all," Cal started. "And then, when we went back the next night, it was the same again. They were interested, they were talking about a few people. When they looked at us, they were worried. Some of the others, disgust, contempt, and a very small few got respect. But it was all observational. All talking among themselves."

"So you think it's the call girls?" asked Wallowski.

"Nah. Torres is right, they'd be too afraid. Do we think it could be the madams?"

"They wouldn't have all of the information needed to orchestrate the whole thing," Gillian interjected thoughtfully.

"Who would? I can see the cogs turning, Gill."

Gillian was fully introspective then, mentally reviewing every conversation, every interview, every observation.

"The hotel managers."

It was Mark Turner who had spoken. Gillian's eyes lit up.

"You said that the manager interrupted you guys from talking to one of the hotel staff when you asked about what Byron does in the hotel, right?" Mark persisted.

"Yes!" Gillian enthused, having reached the same idea at the same time. Turning to meet Cal's equally thoughtful face, she realised that he had reached the same conclusion at the moment she and Mark had.

"The hotel managers have access to all of the information. They hear their staff talking, they know who's coming and going regularly around the hotel. It's their job to be friendly and talk to everyone. The manager at the St Regis looked angry and worried. We thought it was because Shola was giving up information about his customers. What if it was because she was giving up information that could have unravelled the whole operation?"

"We'll see if we can get him in here," Wallowski said, already halfway out of the room, with Hamed trailing after her.


Peter Franklin, the manager of the Gibson hotel and bar, did not have the time to waste on police interviews. Particularly those with consultant scientists looking to help out corrupt politicians on the side. His work was arduous and took up most of his time. And so, Detective Wallowski and Dr Lightman had decided they would come to him. After all, he wasn't a suspect in their case officially. They had no grounds to insist that he come in. But they did have the freedom to revisit the scene of the crime and speak to anyone who may have information, no matter how seemingly insignificant.

Georgina Stanovich had not wished to pursue charges of assault against Trevor Byron. The police had no concrete evidence that she had attempted to rob Trevor Byron, nor did he wish to pursue any such charges himself. But they didn't have to tell that to Peter Franklin.

They strode up to the hotel lobby desk slowly, making sure to take in as much information as they could on the way. Cal leaned heavily against the desk while Wallowski produced her badge and asked to speak to Peter Franklin.

A few minutes later, a harried Peter Franklin walked over to them from across the lobby.

"Detective, this really isn't a good time."

"We'll be quick. We just want to ask you a few questions about the incident the other night."

"Like I said, this isn't a good time, and I don't have anything to say. I wasn't present for the accident."

"What do you think of Trevor Byron?"

Peter turned his angry glare towards Cal, "Mr Byron is a regular guest of this hotel. I don't think of him at all aside from that."

"Except that you hate him. You're completely disgusted by the man."

"Sir-"

"What about Georgina Stanovich?"

His blank face was Cal's reply.

"So you aren't working directly with the girls, you don't know them by name."

"I have no idea what you're suggesting, Sir, but-"

"I'm suggesting that you're helping the pickpockets target their victims based on how they treat their call girls," Cal said. As soon as the words left his mouth he got a reaction. "Oh. I see. They're your call girls… ok, no, not entirely. But you know them."

"We have a reputation in this hotel for discretion."

"Are you working with the other hotel managers around town? All the bars they hit are hotel bars, so it would make sense."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, now please, if you don't mind…"

Cal began to list, rapidly, the names of the known victims of the pickpockets along with some of the districts lesser known sleezeballs. Franklin reacted in a manner expected by Cal to several of them. Cal was forming a concrete theory with every expression that appeared on the man's face.

"Here's what I think is going on. You and some of the other managers and staff around town have compiled a list of people who've got an overdraft of bad karma. They come in to your establishments week after week; they drink, they're rude, they cheat on their wives and girlfriends and they treat the women they show up with pretty badly," he paused their to assess his theory, "yeah. So far so good. Somehow, you lot have got an operation going where you target them, knowing full well that most of them will let it go, not wanting to have their own activities found out. How am I doing so far."

"This is ridiculous," Franklin spat as he moved to walk away.

"I wouldn't go anywhere yet, if I were you. I've got no problem making a scene," Cal called out with a raised voice, much to the amusement and embarrassment of Wallowski.

Franklin returned to stand in front of the pair with impatient agitation.

"What I don't know, is how you're getting the messages around. Now, I don't think you're feeding them live information. I think you're able to get a message out on where to be and an idea of who or what to look out for."

Franklin was not a practiced liar. Cal knew he was right now.

"How are you getting the messages out, Peter?"

"I really have to get back to work, I don't have time for this."

At that moment something caught his attention. He tensed up noticeably, his vision was drawn over Wallowski's shoulder for a second before he returned to fully focus on both of their faces in turn. It was far too deliberate to be natural, especially considering that he had been doing his best not to look at them for too long up until that point. Wallowski looked over her shoulder to see a woman in an expensive designer suit headed towards the door. Wallowski knew her. She was a madam at one of the more prestigious escort services in D.C.

"You're working with the madams," she said quietly to him.

"Bingo," Cal said with a triumphant smile.


Peter Franklin and several others in similar positions around the city had been working with the madams of three escort agencies for the last several months, identifying and targeting high profile or well respected men around the area.

The victims were mostly clients of the escort agencies, but some were just targeted because of how they treated those around them. The pickpockets were mostly women, several of whom had previously worked for the agencies. They recruited others and the operation grew over time.

Several arrests had already been made, but more were imminent. There would likely be a number of political scandals arising should the newspapers get a hold of the story, but the department of justice would probably be talked out of any prosecution that would result in a major fallout for the political sphere.

The Lightman Group had informed Congressman Bertrand Pryce of what they knew of the behavior of Trevor Byron, and made a recommendation that keeping Byron on staff would backfire sooner or later. If he wasn't found out from this incident, he was likely to be embroiled in a much more concerning one given his preferred way of spending his time. Pryce would find a way to offload Byron without causing a problem for himself.

All in all, they had managed to solve two cases and come out with no winners. It was a strange weekend.

Cal and Gillian watched their client leave the office with mixed emotions. They had parted company with the police in much the same way earlier in the evening.

The rest of the staff had left at a reasonable hour, the two of them holding back to meet with the congressman out of respect for the sensitive nature of the consultation.

Now they sat together in Cal's office, digesting the outcomes of their two linked cases and relaxing in comfortable silence together.

Without warning, Cal stood from his place in his armchair. Gillian looked up from her place on the sofa and he extended his hand to her. "Let's go," he said as he pulled her into standing, "I owe you a date."

She laughed him off, keeping hold of his hand and dragging him towards the door, "I don't want to go to another bar, or restaurant even, for another month. Let's just go home."

"Nope, not a chance. We're going out."

"Where are you planning on taking me?" she asked with mock concern, certain that he was planning on some favourite food truck or diner.

"You'll see."


He stopped on the sidewalk and wrapped his arm around her waist, turning her to face the old art deco cinema and pulling her closer. She looked up at the huge lit up sign on the front of the building, "Some Like It Hot" written in big red letters on a white lit up background.

She looked at his face with a delighted smile filling her own. She wrapped her arms around his chest, sliding her arms underneath his, and she squeezed him tight.

"How's my date game?" he asked.

"It's good," she said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded in answer, placing her hand against the side of his face and leaning in to land a sweet lingering kiss against his lips.

"Really good," she confirmed again before she planted another kiss on him.


A/N: Once again, to anyone who reads this, thank you for your time. To anyone who enjoyed it, you guys are the five people I'm still doing this for! Your reviews, favs, and feedback is always so gratefully received. This one was a tough one to write for some reason. It's been through more reviews and chapter rewrites than anything else I've written and I'm still not satisfied. It almost got bumped down to episode 5 while I started the next one, but I didn't want to delay publishing it while the next one gets finished. I didn't feel like the story flowed as well, so if people hate this one, let me know and after the next one or two episodes I can review it and try to make it work better if needed. I'm always trying to improve.

(P.S, Mary, I'm writing as fast as I can, but I also don't want to rush it and I won't publish a story unless it's completed, quite often I revisit earlier chapters as the story goes on.)