Stephen Golden, the proud proprietor of Golden Escorts. Criminals amaze me. I dropped his wallet back into the bowl as a woman came out of the kitchen. She had a narrow face with a gap between her front teeth and soft eyes, but she didn't scream or make a scene, either. You don't make a scene when you're afraid of the police. I gave her the encouraging smile.
"It's okay. The police will be here in a little bit."
The man said, "That's bullshit. They have some kind of beef with a client."
"We don't have a beef. One of your clients is dead."
The woman said, "Oh, that's terrible."
He snapped at her, his voice harsher toward her than me even though I had invaded his home.
"Don't say anything. We don't know anything about that. They can't just come in here."
I gave more of my smile to the woman, like he wasn't in the room with us, just me and her.
"What's your name?"
"Marsha."
He said, "Don't say a goddamned thing."
Marsha's face had the translucence of murky water: pale skin, faded freckles, and lashless eyes that gave her an innocence she probably did not possess. She wore a Tenacious D T-shirt over shorts, with butterflies tattooed above her ankles. The shirt was cropped and the shorts were low, letting a tattoo peek out across her lower belly.
"It's going to be fine, Marsha. Do you know what Stephen does for a living?"
"Yeah, it's our business. We don't hurt anyone."
"You his wife, girlfriend, what?"
"Don't talk to him! It's none of his business!"
It was just me and Marsha.
"We live together."
"Okay, cool. You don't have to be afraid."
"I'm not."
A laptop computer was set up on a dinner tray by a club chair in the corner of his living room so Golden could watch TV while he worked. I went over and looked at it.
"Get away from there! Leave my stuff alone."
Pike said, "Shh."
A six-line phone base with an auto-forwarding repeater was on the floor next to the chair, slaved to the computer. A phone directory was set up on the laptop, showing what was probably the names and numbers of his prostitutes. A Telecredit window was open to run Visa and MasterCard charges, so the computer probably held his billing ledgers and records of who earned what. I went back to him.
"Okay, Stephen, here's what we want. A man named Herbert Faustina was staying at the Home Away Suites up in Toluca Lake- "
"I don't know anything about that."
"Three times during the past nine days, Mr. Faustina phoned you-"
"That's not true."
"We know because the phone records show he called your number."
"I run a legitimate business. What happens between-"
"Faustina called you last night for the third and final time. This morning, at approximately two forty-five, he was shot to death. You see where I'm going with this?"
Golden crossed his arms and chewed the inside of his lower lip. He shook his head.
"I'm going to call my lawyer."
"No. We're not the police, so we're not going to waste time with your lawyer. The police will probably roll by tomorrow. You can call your lawyer when you talk to them, but right now you're on your own. We're going to go see whoever you sent to Faustina."
"I don't file a W-2 for these people. I got pager numbers, and maybe a cell. I don't even know their real names, most of them, let alone where they live."
"So page them. Stephen, look, you're going to cooperate because you are now a link in a homicide investigation and so are the three people you sent to Faustina. If you don't cooperate with the police, they will stretch you. If you don't cooperate with me, I'm going to take your computer and all of that stuff over there to West L.A. Sex Crimes."
His computer probably showed the prostitutes he employed, a history of his credit card transactions that would include the identities of his johns, and possibly even banking and account information that would reveal how he hid his money from the IRS.
He looked incredulous.
"You can't steal my stuff."
"Stephen, please. How are you going to stop us?"
Golden glanced at Pike again, but now he seemed more thoughtful than afraid.
"What if I cooperate?"
"If you don't, I can give your records to the police. If you do, we can make them disappear. You see what I'm offering?"
I was offering him a way out of a major pimping and pandering bust.
Marsha said, "Dinner's ready, Stephen. Would you please tell them so they'll leave?"