DUCKS HUNG BY THEIR NECKS in the front window of Wong Fat, a Chinese restaurant a five-minute walk from the Triton. “I like this place already,” I said.

Inside, the eatery was bright, fluorescent light bouncing off the linoleum floors and Formica tables. The menu, written in Chinese letters on strips of red paper, hung against the walls.

It was good to be in out of the dark and the chill at least. The tea was hot. The hot-and-sour soup was excellent.

As we waited for our entrées, Jacobi laid down the printout of Alex Logan’s charges at the Triton.

“Here’s the phone call to Top Hat,” he said. “Lasted four and a half minutes. Logan and his buddy also raided the honor bar. Champagne, nuts. Pringles for Christ’s sake. They ordered pay-per-view at nine. What do you think? Football or porn?”

“I think that these killers plan it all. They book the room, book the hooker, rape and kill her in a place that’s a contaminated crime scene by definition.

“Then they wash her off in the shower, clean up any hairs and fibers on her body.”

“Don’t forget the perfume.”

“Right, thank you,” I said. “Then they spray her privates, dress her up, comb her hair, and make her up like a little doll.”

“They used the suitcase to bring in the clothes. Used it again to take out the body,” said Jacobi. “That ‘bruiser’ simply rolls it out to the car.”

“And then they plant her so we can find her.”

I was about to wonder out loud where they got the clothes, when my cell phone rang.

It was Conklin.

“I ran Alex Logan’s name and credit card number, Lieutenant. Wait until you hear this. Alex Logan is a woman. I pulled up her license info—petite blonde, twenty-three years old. I think we found Caddy Girl.”

“What else have you got?”

“I went to her apartment building, Lieutenant. Nice place on Jones. According to her doorman, she hasn’t been home in a while. I also called American Express, and her card is active. There’s only been one charge in the last ten days. The Hotel Triton on September fifteenth.”

“I’ll call the DA. Get a search warrant for her apartment. Richie?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You’re gonna be a star.”

I hung up and turned to Jacobi, who was watching me, his fork in the air.

“What is it, Boxer?”

“Conklin made her,” I said. “The perps used her credit card to book Sandy Wegner and pay the hotel tab. Alex Logan is Caddy Girl.”

Chapter 63

Chapter 63

I LOOKED OUT over the squad room the next morning, anticipating a giant leap forward in the Car Girl case.