“You tell me.”

“I’m a fair man and she was happy.”

Milo watched him drink soda.

Duchesne put the can down, belched. “I took her in when no one else did.”

“Do you have any idea who’d want to hurt her?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d want to hurt her. The world being what it is. Can I specify? Unfortunately not. When she worked for me there were no problems.”

“She have any regulars?”

Slow head shake. “Those take time to cultivate. Truth be told, she worked for me maybe… twenty nights.”

“During that time where’d she live?”

“With me.”

“Where’s that?”

“Various places,” said Duchesne. “I prefer not to be tied down.”

“Motels.”

“And such.”

Milo pressed him for names. Duchesne hesitated, ran off a few, asked for another Coke. After he’d drained it, Milo slid a six-pack photo display across the table. Half a dozen shaved-head white men arranged in two rows, Travis Huck in the bottom right-hand position.

“One of these guys did it?” said Duchesne.

“Recognize any of them?”

Duchesne studied the images, one by one. Spending the same glassy-eyed ten seconds on each. Shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“Do you recall any other cueballs on Sheralyn’s customer list?”

“Cueballs.” Duchesne was amused. “Nope, sorry again.”

“Joe Otto,” said Milo. “You liked her, you were the one took her in. Now someone’s done her up really badly.”

“I know, I know… truth be told, Sheralyn’s professional activity was always after dark and I had other employees operating simultaneously.”

“You never saw her johns.”

“Not… always,” said Duchesne. “There was a problem, I’d get beeped.” He pushed out his thorax again. “And there was none.”

His left leg began bouncing. Stopped.

Milo said, “Joe Otto, something’s at the back of your mind right now. Maybe something to do with a bald guy?”

Duchesne’s eyes sparked with alarm. “You’re a psychic, friend?”

“I know when someone’s troubled.”

“Why would I be troubled?”

“Because you cared about Sheralyn, know she wouldn’t just leave you, meaning someone snatched her and maybe that same person left her lying around like trash.”

Duchesne’s spider fingers squeezed the empty can, tried to crush it, ended up inflicting a minor dent. He placed it to the side, worked the tooth socket some more.

“Joe Otto?”

“There was a guy. But not with Sheralyn, before Sheralyn.”

“Another girl.”

Nod. “I got beeped because he got freaky. Like you said, cueball, she’s all breathing hard and telling me to look out for a skinhead. Time I got to the room, he was gone.”

“This girl get hurt?”

“Minor bruise. She was a big girl, could take care of herself.”

“What was the guy’s freak, Joe Otto?”

“Wanted to tie her up, we get that all the time, say no. When she said no, this one pulled a knife. Not a normal knife, looked like a medical thing. That’s what she called it.”

“A scalpel.”

“He tried to shake her up by showing how it could slice paper.” Miming an upward thrust.

“She got bruised but not cut?” said Milo.

“Thank God,” said Duchesne. “She got that weird feeling, went to run out of the room. He went after her, made a reach for her. Hit her with the hand, thank God times ten not the knife. Caught her here.” Rubbing his temple. “Got her with his knuckles, you could see the marks, the next day she was all swollen. Dark, big dark bruise. Even on her skin you could see it.”

“Dark girl,” said Milo.

“Big beautiful sister.”

“Name?”

“We called her Big Laura.”

“DMV called her…”

“Don’t know,” said Duchesne. “Big Laura was all we needed.”

“Tall.”

“And big. Two tons of fun.”

“Where can I find her?”

Long pause. “Don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“Another fly-by-night, Joe Otto?”

Duchesne pressed his palms together piously. “These people have unstable lives.”

Milo questioned him through a third Coke and two Hershey bars, inquired about white prostitutes of advanced age.

Duchesne said, “Not on my payroll, I’m all about soul. Can I go?”

“Sure, thanks. Stay in touch if you learn something.”

“Believe it, Lieutenant. This kind of thing isn’t good for business.”

Moe Reed and I entered the vacated interview room.

“Big girl named Laura,” said Milo.

Reed said, “Fits Jane Number Two. Interesting that two victims were in Duchesne’s stable.”

“You smell something on him?”

Reed thought. “Hard to say. He didn’t have to come in, let alone tell us anything. Unless you think he’s cagey enough to be playing us.”

I said, “Maybe someone smelled his weakness. Figured out whose girls could be exploited.”

“Beta dog,” said Milo. “Makes sense. My guess is Duchesne told us what he knows. You did good finding him, Moses. Time to get back to the stroll and dig some more. I’ll take on finding Sheralyn’s next of kin. In a perfect world, one of us will learn something that turned her into a victim. At the least, we can get a cheek scrape from her mom or her kid, match it to the bones. Not that I’m expecting Jane One to be anyone other than her.”

“What about Big Laura?”

“I’ll see what the moniker pulls up. In terms of Jane Three, she’s probably been dead the longest and memories on the street are short. But maybe an older white woman will stand out in someone’s mind.”

“If she’s from the area, we could have a bad guy concentrating geographically for a while,” said Reed. “Then he wants a new level of thrill and shifts from pros to Selena. Her apartment’s not that far from the airport. Or the marsh, for that matter.”

I said, “Psychosocially, Selena’s a big leap from the others. There could be transitional victims.”

“Such as?” said Milo.

“Nonprostitutes perceived as lower class.”

“Working his way up the social ladder.”

Reed said, “The dog didn’t find anything else in the marsh, but the K-9 search was limited to the east bank.”

“Cheerful thought,” said Milo. “With a normal dump we could get warrants, no problem, bring in the backhoe. Instead, we’re stuck with hallowed ground.”

I said, “Maybe the killer sees it that way, too.”

As Milo extracted a cigarillo from his pocket, Reed’s pale eyebrows rose. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ll keep your air clean… in terms of going through the hassle of getting permission to dig up other areas of the marsh, let’s clear up the bodies we already have first. Time to hit the streets.”

As we headed for the door, Moe Reed said, “Too bad Duchesne didn’t recognize Huck.”

“Idiot claims he never sees the johns unless there’s a problem, and I believe him,” said Milo. “He wasn’t much use to Big Laura when she did get into trouble with that skinhead. Some business model.”

“Bald man with a scalpel,” said Reed. “You’d need more than that to cut off a hand, right, Doctor?”

I said, “Wrong kind of doctor, but yes. A limb saw would work fine.”

“Any kind of saw, sharp enough,” said Milo. “Goddamn Chinese cleaver would do it if he’s strong and coordinated.”

Reed said, “Maybe we’re talking about someone with medical training.”

“Twenty years ago,” said Milo, “I’d be looking that way. Nowadays, the Internet, anyone can get anything anytime.”

“Freedom,” said Reed.

“Nothing else worth living for, kiddo, but it’s a tricky concept.” Unwrapping the cigar, he jammed it into the side of his mouth. “Gonna light up, kid. Fair warning.”

We walked Reed outside, crossed the street to the staff lot. His drive was a shiny black Camaro.

Milo said, “That’s no clunker.”

“Pardon?”

“What your brother said.”

“He thinks he knows everything,” said Reed. He got in, revved loud, drove off, tires squealing.