Consumed by E. H. Reinhard Page B

Orient. The other is called The Geisha.”
    I wrote the names of the places down in my notepad.
    “Um,” Beth said. “I have to ask: what should we be expecting when we walk into the parlors?”
    “They’re going to be the upscale, swanky kind of lounges where you can go and get a hundred-dollar massage,” Hardy said. “Of course, the women will then ask if the clients would like some of their extra services if you know what I mean.”
    Beth nodded.
    “Does this Knightley have a sheet?” I asked.
    “He did a few years for pandering in the early two thousands,” Hardy said. “Nothing since. Like I said, he distances himself from it now. A couple of guys will probably jump on the grenade, so to speak, before any kind of charge would ever get to him.”
    “Well, we know that some of these girls worked for his franchise,” I said. “A few conversations may shed some light on when these girls were last seen. Maybe someone saw the last client they were with. It’s worth a shot.”
    Detective Pierce entered the room. “Here’s everything we have on each of the victims. Hope it helps you guys. Um, Hardy, we’re actually going to need to run. I just got some news on that home invasion we’ve been working.”
    “Sure,” Hardy said. He stood from his chair.
    “Those copies of all the victim’s information there are yours to keep,” Pierce said.
    “Thanks, Detective,” I said.
    The two detectives left the room. I glanced at my watch—it was pushing two-thirty. We still had to stop in at those massage parlors, see who we could talk to, if anyone, and get out to the Nashville Medical Science building before it got too late. We thanked the captain and Detective Ferris for meeting with us, exchanged some contact information, and left the Nashville Police Station. We stopped at Tom’s car around the corner of the building. Beth was plugging away at the screen of her phone.
    “What are you looking for?” I asked.
    “Just trying to see which of these is closer. Looks like The Orient is only about four miles south of here. Let’s pop in there, and then we can head to the other one. It looks like it will be somewhat on our way back to the Medical Science building.”
    “Works for me,” Tom said. “You guys want a ride to your car?”
    “Sure, what the hell,” I said.
    We hopped in with Tom, took the block-and-a-half ride to our car and headed north with Tom following behind us.
    Beth brought the address for the massage parlor up on the screen and followed the suggested route. We pulled past a standalone tan brick building ten minutes later. I looked out the passenger side window at the place as Beth flipped on her turn signal to make a right at the corner—the place appeared to have a small parking lot in the back. The building was a single story with a large yellow awning over the recessed front door that simply said The Orient. The two windows in the front both had neon lights in them. The left side read Open while the right side said Asian Massage. Beth pulled along the curb after making a right at the front of the building—she opted to park along the street as opposed to the back lot. Tom pulled in behind us. I grabbed the copies of the victims’ driver’s-license photos that Detective Pierce had given us, along with the one photo of the blond, deceased on the morgue table, and got out. We made our way to the building’s glass front door—stickers on it listed the businesses hours. The three of us walked in.
    Soft music played in our ears. The lighting was dim—far dimmer than in an average business. The lobby we entered was red velvet, biscuit tucked on both sides, floor to ceiling. The ceiling itself was made up of colorful parasols. Running along the walls on both sides of the lobby were red-velvet benches—the benches were filled with women in various states of dress. Some of the women wore evening dresses, some wore lab coats, and some wore things that could be described as more provocative