The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

never mentioned his wife. Not once. What does she know that he doesn’t want me finding out? It might be worth trying to catch her straight after the next interview, while she’s still at work, before they have time to coordinate their stories.

My scribblings are interrupted by a knock on my cabin door. I write one word out of each of the remaining action items to remind myself later and flip over to a fresh page before answering the door and inviting the spa manager, Jason Merullo, to sit on the opposite couch.

I position him deliberately with his back to the open space leading to the bedroom, while I have my back to a wall. I want him to be uncomfortable. That’s probably petty of me, but I’m still annoyed at him for ruining Cocksucking Class for Emily.

He looked surprised when I answered the door and, from his frown, he’s putting two and two together and getting a number he doesn’t like. He decides on arrogance as a response, which is never a good decision when faced with your employer’s private investigator.

Leaning back into the couch, he puts his right ankle over his left knee and says, “How’s your mouthy sub?”

“As sweet and compliant as she was when I left her in your care,” I respond. “Is disruption the fault of the student who speaks out of turn, or the teacher who fails to engage and control the class? I’ve always thought it was the latter. But that’s not why we’re here.” I tap up the picture of Black that I have on my laptop and turn it around so Merullo can see it. “This is Bill Black. He was on the last sunset cruise. Do you remember him?”

His eyes flicker before he shakes his head.

“From the bills, he had a massage every sea day. Doesn’t ring any bells?”

“I see six to ten guests a day and teach two classes of between ten and thirty people on sea days. Sorry, I don’t remember every face.”

Liar. I’ve done the math. The Swedish massages are ninety minutes long. Black had seven in total, all done by Merullo. Does he really want me to believe he spent ten and half hours in Black’s company less than three weeks ago and doesn’t remember the man at all? Black spent almost the same amount of time with Merullo that he did with Rod McCall and McCall certainly remembered Black in great detail.

I call bullshit.

“From his bills, it looks like he had Swedish massages. Can you tell me what a Swedish massage entails?”

“It’s what most people think of as a ‘classic’ massage. It’s primarily for relaxation. If the guy had one every sea day, he must have been under a lot of stress.”

That’s consistent at least.

“I’ve had a few massages. Thai, mostly,” I tell him. I’ve had a lot of massages, actually. Hard not to when you live in a massage parlor for six months. “Sometimes there’s a lot of talking. Sometimes there’s none. What’s your style?”

Merullo shifts on the couch. He can see the trap coming. “It’s like topping. I’m whatever the guest needs me to be. If they want to talk, we talk. If they want meditative silence, I’m silent.”

Interesting that he’s just described service topping.

“No memory of whether Black wanted to talk or remain silent?”

Another eye flicker. “Sorry, I don’t remember the guy.”

“Any kinky element to your massages?”

I already know there is and that from the amount Black paid, he got “extras” at least twice. Or he tipped really fucking well.

“There can be. Do you want a copy of the spa services menu?”

“Nope, just tell me about them.”

“I offer bondage, cupping, and electrical play. Most guests like bondage with Swedish.”

I make a couple of notes, more for the show of it than anything, since he’s not telling me anything I don’t know. “So, you’re topping the guests as well as rubbing them. And you do it six to ten times a day. Isn’t that a little tiring?”

He sneers. “I love it. Best energy in the universe.”

Topping is a great high but I’m not sure I could do it six to ten times a day. I’ll give the bastard points for stamina.

“From the billing records, you topped Black twice. You spent over ten hours in total with the guy. No memory at all?”

“You got any other pictures of him? Maybe that’ll spark something.”

Sure, I can play that game. I turn the laptop around, open the file I have on Black, and pull up his guest ID picture. It’s slightly less flattering than the picture on his company website but there’s not a lot of difference. I enlarge the picture and turn my computer back around so Merullo can see it.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember anything specific.”

Another eye flicker; another lie.

“How about some others?” I turn the laptop back around, open another file, and pull up the guest ID pictures for the other four victims before showing them to Merullo. “Recognize any of these guests?”

The eye flickering would make a porn star proud.

“Can’t really say I do. That guy looks kind of familiar.” He points to the picture of Kam-Magruder.

I tap up Kam-Magruder’s spa bill, the one I was looking at earlier. “He had four massages. Swedish with extras.”

“Sounds right. I think he came to a couple of classes, too. That’s why I remember him.”

Sure, being part of a class of thirty people would make Kam-Magruder memorable. Who does Merullo think he’s kidding?

“What do you remember about him?” I ask.

“I think we talked about tennis.” A muscle knots in his jaw. That’s not all they talked about. “What’s he got to do with Bill Black?”

Merullo’s remembered Black’s first name, which I’ve only given him once. For someone who can’t remember faces, he’s not having any trouble with names.

I make a few bogus notes, stretching out the moment to let the tension build before I hit him with it. “All five of these guests complained of symptoms similar to food poisoning. Black died. I’m