“That is weird,” noted Jamison.
Kelly looked at her. “Well, maybe not all that weird, when it comes to people like you. I thought that might be the connection to you guys.”
“What, you mean WITSEC?” said Jamison, referring to the Witness Protection Program run by the U.S. Marshals Service.
“To tell the truth, it was the only thing I could think of. I mean what else would explain my not being able to find anything on the lady?”
“But if that were the case, the Marshals would be all over this and the Bureau would not be leading the investigation,” said Decker. “And they’re not and we are. So it can’t be WITSEC. We have to keep digging.”
Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “So what could it be, then?”
“Tell us what you do know about Cramer.”
“She was pretty. Very pretty. Tall and carried herself well. Almost like a model. And she was educated. I could tell that just by talking to her. She didn’t get that teaching job based on her looks. Amherst is a top-notch school.”
“If she actually went there,” noted Decker. “What about her personality? Give us a take on that.”
“Quiet, but confident. You could tell she believed in her ability to handle any situation. I think that’s why my pitch to her to quit what she was doing fell flat. She thought she could manage it. For some reason, little things she said led me to think she’d traveled around some. She seemed pretty sophisticated.”
“But you also said she denied being a prostitute,” pointed out Jamison. “So she may not have felt there was any reason to stop what she was doing.”
“That’s true,” conceded Kelly.
“Any signs of her being in the money?” asked Jamison. “With the clothes she wore, or other possessions she might have had? Something she said?”
“No. She drove a used Honda. The apartment building we’re going to is no great shakes. I highly doubt we’ll find a Rembrandt on the walls there. I guess her pay as a teacher was enough to cover her expenses. But finding a decent place to stay for an affordable price is tough.”
“Cost of living really that high around here?” asked Jamison.
“Some of the rents here would rival what you would pay in a lot of metro areas. When people first move here they usually sleep in their cars or a friend of a friend’s spare room in a trailer, or someone’s couch for a month or longer. Fracking crews coming in are usually housed initially in old shipping containers set up as tiny studio apartments with a bed, a toilet and a shower, and a fridge and a microwave, with one door in and the same door out. They’re building homes as fast as they can, but they can’t keep up. Everybody’s chasing the dollars this place throws off. The result is we’re growing way too fast and the cracks are showing.”
“Did you believe her when she said she didn’t charge for sex?” asked Decker.
“Thing is, we’ve been all over her place, and we’ve checked her bank records. Other than her teacher salary there is no sign of any other money.”
Decker seemed taken aback by this. “Okay, that is odd. Most hookers have evidence of cash flow somewhere.”
“She show any signs of drug use?” asked Jamison. “The coroner couldn’t find any trace of it in her system.”
“Nothing that I observed, and I know what to look for.”
“So why’d you pick her out of all the escorts out there to have a ‘come to Jesus’ talk?” asked Decker.
“She wasn’t the only one I had that chat with,” replied Kelly.
“Who else?” asked Jamison.
He restlessly tapped his fingers against the window. “Look, in the interest of full disclosure, my sister had some of those same issues. Only she got trapped on drugs, and hooking was the only way out, or so she thought. She overdosed and they couldn’t bring her back. It was a tragedy all around.”
“That’s so awful, Joe. I’m sorry,” said Jamison.
“So that’s why you don’t arrest escorts?” said Decker.
“All I know is, prostitution is not a victimless crime. And if I can do something to help people who need help, then I will. It’s why I signed up to be a cop. I have no problem putting people away who deserve it, but that’s not all I want to do.”
“How’d you find out about her connection with the Brothers?” said Jamison. “Was that widely known?”
“I’m one of the few people here that know the Brothers well. I’ve been out to the Colony—that’s what they call their collective home—many times. Just part of being a local cop, get to know the people in your community. I’d seen her there, in fact. That’s how I recognized her picture from the website. And I highly doubt anyone from the Brothers would be surfing the web for sex services. So I think her secret was safe with me. And I never told anyone.”
“Including anyone at the Brothers, or else she would have been dismissed, I imagine,” noted Jamison.
He nodded. “Especially not them. She seemed troubled in a way. I didn’t want to add to those troubles.” He paused and added. “And I’ve dealt with a lot of hookers. Most come from shitty backgrounds and situations. Vulnerable and lost. But Cramer didn’t fit that pattern. There was something about her that seemed, well, focused and intent. Like she was on a mission or something. So, to tell the truth, part of me believed there was something else going on with her.”
“Well, since we were called up, we know there was something else going on with her,” observed Jamison.
Decker said, “The killer might have dumped the body right before it was found.”
Jamison and Kelly glanced sharply at Decker and his abrupt segue, but then Kelly nodded. “I thought about that, too. A body lying out there in the open? Well, you wouldn’t expect to see it in such good shape with all the critters we have up here.” He looked at Jamison. “But to kill someone and then cut up the body like that? That’s pretty damn perverted.”
“We don’t usually hunt anybody who’s not,” noted Decker.
FOLLOWING KELLY’S DIRECTIONS, Jamison parked at the curb in front of a four-story brick run-down building that was in an area where no construction cranes and work crews had come to roost. Yet.
They climbed out, and Kelly led them quickly inside because the wind had picked up to a nasty howl and it had started to rain as well.
The landlady’s conjoined apartment and office were on the first floor just off the front entrance. The apartment’s walls were painted a faded green, and the furnishings were old and frayed and looked straight out of the seventies. But the TV parked on one wall was a sixty-inch curved Samsung 4K without a set of rabbit ears in sight.
The landlady’s name was Ida Simms. She was in her seventies, with thinning gray hair tied back in a severe bun. The woman was nearly as wide as she was tall. She greeted them politely, though Decker noted the tremble in her voice and the crumpled tissue clutched in her hand. She had on a large burgundy T-shirt and faded corduroy pants with pale green Crocs below.
They sat in her small front room after declining Simms’s offer of coffee.
She slumped back in her faded recliner and gazed around at them. “Irene, dead? I . . . I can’t believe it.” She shot Decker a terrified look. “And the FBI called in on top of it? I feel like I’m in a movie.”