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now.
    â€œI know what you’re thinking, Lieutenant. Most pimps use drugs to trap women into this lifestyle. Or exploit a woman who’s using. That’s not the way I do business. And if you understood how this business worked, if you thought about it from a different perspective from that of a puritanical cop, you’d understand why I don’t want fucked-up girls working here. Besides, if she was using, I think I would have known.”
    â€œOkay,” Hastings said. “Well, let’s have the guy’s name. And all the other people she’s seen.”
    â€œHow far back?”
    â€œSince she started here.”
    â€œI’ll give you what I have.”

SIX
    They reached the Adam’s Mark Hotel clerk by telephone and were informed that Geoffrey Harris had checked out at ten o’clock that morning. The clerk told them that he presumed he had flown back to New York, where he was from.
    Hastings was driving while Klosterman was the one on the phone with the clerk. He didn’t like the drift of what he could overhear.
    Klosterman said, “Do you know what airline he was booked on?”
    â€œNo, sir, I’m afraid I don’t. I remember that he asked for directions to the Central West End.”
    Klosterman said, “Yes?”
    â€œI mean, he acted as if he had a lunch date there.”
    â€œWhat restaurant?”
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    â€œBut he’s not there anymore?”
    â€œNo, sir. He took his luggage and got into a cab this morning.”
    â€œHold on a minute.” Klosterman lowered the cell phone and turned to Hastings. “What do we do?”
    Hastings exhaled. “Tell him we’re sending someone to talk to him. Howard or Murph. Get Ronnie Wulf on the phone.” Ronnie Wulf was the chief of detectives.
    Hastings peeled off the interstate at the Jefferson Avenue exit. Made a series of turns and then gunned it hard as he put the car back on the highway and drove west toward the airport.
    Klosterman was holding his cell phone now, breathing through his nose.
    Then: “Chief? Joe Klosterman. Sir, I’m here with Lieutenant Hastings. We’re investigating the murder of a call girl found down by the Mississippi this morning. . . . Yes, sir, that’s ours.”
    Hastings said, “The airport.”
    â€œWe believe that she was with a gentleman named Geoffrey Harris, that’s with a
G,
from Westchester County, New York. With him last night. He’s either left town or he’s about to. . . . No, sir, we don’t know what airline.”
    Klosterman nodded his head. “Yes, sir . . . Yes, sir, that would help us a great deal. You can reach me at this number. . . . We’re on our way there now. Thank you.”
    Klosterman clicked off the phone. “He’s calling the airport police now.”
    The chief of detectives had more clout than either of them and he would be able to find out which airline the suspect was on before they could. The hope was that Ronnie Wulf would find out and give them the information before they reached the airport.
    He did. The call came back as they rolled up to the airport departure lots. The police light was on the dash, blinking on and off. There was a uniformed officer there, and they got out of the car as a St. Louis County car pulled up behind them, its lights on as well.
    Klosterman said, “Okay,” into his cell phone. Then to Hastings: “United Air. He was about to board first class, but they’ve delayed it.”
    Hastings said, “Does he know we’re coming?”
    â€œNo. They just told him it was a delay.”
    Hastings turned to the two uniformed officers behind him. After a brief greeting, he said, “I don’t want this guy spooked. Hang back and wait for my signal. Okay? As of now, he may be only a witness, and we don’t want to create a stampede.”
    They walked quickly down the long path of