Easy Innocence

Chapter 34

After checking twenty websites, she became frustrated. Some of the sites, although they featured American girls, were registered in countries like Russia or Poland. Others were in Barbados, even the Sudan. She'd only found the names of two individuals: one was in Toronto, the other in Santa Monica. Derek might have been connected to them—geography has no meaning on the Internet—but she had no way to verify it.

Only ten websites were left on her list. She typed in nine more URL's. Nothing. She sighed. It'd seemed like a good idea an hour ago. She plugged in the last URL and watched green bars march across the bottom of the screen, followed by the jump to a new page. Nothing.

She got up. Her back ached, and she had a headache from too much time hunched over the monitor. If Janowitz did run a prostitution website, he must have known enough to cloak himself in cyberspace. She'd wasted almost an entire afternoon.

She was back in the kitchen staring out the window when she heard the chirp of an incoming email. She went back to retrieve it. The message was from her Florida contact, and it contained an attachment. The cell phone records. She'd almost forgotten.

She clicked on the attachment. At the top of the page was 847-555-4586, Derek's cell number, followed by the dates she'd requested, and a list of at least three hundred calls. She scrolled down. Derek received almost forty calls a day. Most of the calls were preceded by 847, the area code for the North Shore. That made sense. But there were a few 773's, 312s, and two she didn't recognize.

She went back to the top of the list. If Derek had a partner, she reasoned, the partner's number would show up more than once or twice. She reviewed the log carefully. Six or seven numbers popped up frequently. Of those, two numbers recurred more than the others. Both had an 847 area code. She reached for the phone and punched in the first number. The phone rang once. A tingle ran up her spine. It rang again. Then it clicked. "The number you are trying to reach is not in service at this time."

Was that Sara's cell? Had it been disconnected now that she was dead? She ended the call. Then she dialed the other number. She closed her eyes, waiting for the call to connect. It rang once. Again. A third time. Then it went to voice mail. She held her breath.

"This is Lauren. Leave a number and I'll call you back."

***

Lauren leaned over, picked her Cole Haan purse off the floor, and put it in her lap. She was in History class, and you weren't supposed to have your cell on in school. She kept hers on vibrate so the teachers wouldn't notice.

In fact, she had two phones: one for business and one for her personal use. Her parents didn't know about the business phone, and she intended to keep it that way. She looked inside the bag. The call had come in on her personal cell, but the number was blocked. That bothered her. No one she knew had any reason to block their number when they called her. Did someone have the numbers mixed up? Doubtful. Derek and Sara were the only ones who called both numbers, and they were both dead.

Maybe it was Heather, playing another of her investigative reporter games.

She and Claire both—although how could you get mad at Claire?— still called or text messaged her six times a day with stupid questions like "what do you think of Alicia's nose ring?"; "Will you pick me up on Saturday?" "Did you see what Cash was wearing?"

Lauren had been like that, but moved on when she started the business. So did Sara. They'd put immature games behind them.

Which made it awkward when the girls still peppered them with questions. They'd kept the business a secret, but it hadn't been easy. That's why Sara was always asking questions about who knew what about whom. Lauren had warned her to be careful, not to push it, but Sara was stubborn. Part of it was that she wanted to be liked—doesn't everyone?—but that wasn't what drove her. Some girls, Heather for example, equated power with beauty or information. Not Sara. For her it was simple. She craved the things money could buy. She'd been clear about that from the start. But she didn't want the slightest whiff of attention focused on the business.