Bauer leads us through the club and into an office at the back. Spartan in furnishing, it’s spacious and meticulously clean. Astra closes the door behind us, and he gestures to the pair of chairs sitting in front of his desk. We take a seat as he drops heavily into the chair behind his desk and immediately starts tapping away at his keyboard. As he does, I glance to our left and see a bank of four monitors, each of them showing a different view of the club’s interior.
The whirr of the printer draws their attention, and Bauer spins around, pulling the sheet of paper off the machine sitting on the credenza behind him. He looks uneasy and is reluctant to hand it over, but finally gives in.
“Please, this is my business,” he says. “Be discreet and leave me out of this.”
“We’ll do everything we can,” Astra replies as she takes the page from him.
“Is there anything else?” he asks, his shoulders slumped, sounding defeated.
I gesture to the monitors. “Yeah, that’s your security feed, right?”
“Yeah.”
“When was your last sugar baby mixer?” I ask.
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Can you show us the feeds from that night?”
“Come on. Do you want the moon and the stars too? How about the keys to my house and my firstborn son? Jesus,” he gripes.
“Listen up, you need us to be discreet and not spread your name all over town. This is how we do it,” I press. “If we can identify who our girl was with, we can focus on that person and that person alone. Make sense?”
He still doesn’t look pleased, but nods. “Yeah. I got you.”
“Good,” I reply. “Now, show me the footage from your last mixer.”
Astra and I get to our feet and stand behind him as he wheels his chair over to the small table that houses his security setup. He types in the date of the footage he’s looking for, then pauses and turns to me.
“What time?” he asks.
“What time did your mixer start?”
“Nine.”
“Good. Start there,” I say. “And let’s focus first on the camera at the front door.”
He sighs but pulls up the feed I ask for and lets it run. We watch as a pretty healthy crowd streams in. There’s a mix of middle-aged men in nice business suits and younger, attractive women who all look dressed for a night of clubbing, and their facial expressions indicating that they’re on the hunt. They’re all there because they want something.
“There,” Astra says.
On the screen, Ashley Barlow is coming through the door. The time stamp is nine-twenty-two, and she’s alone. Unlike the others we’ve watched come through the door, she doesn’t have the look of a predator on her face. With her wide eyes and uncertain smile, she looks more like the prey. She shows her ID to the doorman and is allowed inside.
“He’s so fired,” Bauer mutters to himself.
“Track her on the cameras,” I say. “See where she goes.”
Ashley heads across the room and takes a seat at the far end of the bar where we’ve got a clear, unobstructed view of her. She orders a drink and looks around. Her posture is rigid, and her body is tense. She’s clearly nervous.
“Who is this girl?” Bauer asks.
“Her name is Shelby Kittridge,” I answer, giving him the name of her Sugar Shack account.
“Don’t know her.”
“Why would you?” Astra replies. “Like you said, you’ve got a bar to run and aren’t paying attention to the people at the mixer.”
“Right.”
At 9:40, an older man appears and takes a seat next to Ashley. As they chat, Ashley starts to relax. She’s comfortable with him. This clearly isn’t the first time she’s talked to this man. Their conversation grows a little more animated, and the laughter seems to come easier as the minutes tick by. Then the man begins to make gentle contact with her. A pat on the hand or the arm. He rests his hand on her thigh. That makes Ashley tense up again, but she quickly loosens up and seems to be playfully flirting with him in return.
I focus on the man sitting next to her. He looks to be in his early fifties with neatly styled dark hair and eyes. He’s got a stocky build, a neatly trimmed beard, and is dressed in a stylish suit that’s black with a white shirt beneath his jacket, and a purple patterned tie and matching pocket square. He looks like a man with money and holds himself like somebody used to being in charge. Of course, I suppose that’s to be expected at one of these events.
“Speed up the feed. I want to see if she talks to anybody else,” I order.
He fast forwards the recording, but Ashley only talks to him. At a little after eleven, they both get up and leave the club together. Bauer stops the feed and turns to me.
“Do you know who he is?” I ask.
Bauer shakes his head. “No clue.”
“Okay, do me a favor and print out a still image of his face,” I tell him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He does as I ask, then stands up and retrieves the picture from the printer tray. Bauer turns around and holds the picture out to me.
“So? Are we good? You’re done busting my chops?”
