“Okay,” Court said. “Let’s shift gears and go through exactly what would have happened Wednesday night. Tell me what Drummond would have done from the moment he entered the office.”
Hunter pushed herself off her desk and strode to the entrance, turned her back to it as if she were pretending to have opened the door and entered the office. “He would have come through here, because no one waits in this room. It’s a sham front office.” She walked across the room to the other door, demonstrating the most likely angle of approach. “This door would be open. The first thing everyone does is take off their shoes and leave them inside.”
Court and Ivy followed her into the other room. The low, empty shelf showed a tag indicating something had been taken into evidence. Berkeley Drummond’s shoes, no doubt.
Hunter paused, her eyes fixed on the empty space below the hook in the center of the ceiling. Court imagined she was seeing the same thing he was. Even though the body and all its entanglement of ropes had been removed, he could still see it exactly as it had been the day before. The floor had been scraped clean, the evidence taken to the lab. The remaining stain could be from something as innocuous as general water damage or a spilled cup of coffee.
Hunter pointed to the other two rooms. “He would go through the bathroom and then into the dressing room.”
They followed Hunter as she led them through. They had searched all the rooms last night, but having her lead them through would be instructive and clarifying.
Hunter reached around and flipped a switch to turn on a torchiére in the corner of the dressing room. Soft yellow light gave the room a warm, cozy glow. “This serves as a dressing room as well as a recovery room. Sometimes a punishment room.”
A narrow twin bed took up the corner opposite the door. To the left of the door was a large metal cage.
15
Ivy dropped to her haunches in front of the cage, opening and shutting the door. barely large enough for her to fit through.
Even a small person would be cramped inside. Court licked his lips, breathing in a couple of quick breaths. The only thing worse than being tied up was being crammed inside a tiny space. The metallic clank as Ivy shut it was jarring in an otherwise quiet space. “He would come in here, undress, and then what?”
“He would have folded his clothes and left them with his personal items on the bench.” She pointed to the bed. “If I have an outfit for him to wear, I leave it on the bed for him. We were planning on doing some suspension work Wednesday.”
“Suspension work? Is that what you call it when you tie someone up?” Ivy asked.
“No, it’s lifting them off the ground, regardless of how much they are bound. It requires a lot of skill on the part of the Domme, and a lot of desire and strength on the part of the submissive. It can be strenuous and draining at the best of times. But, once accomplished, the submissive has an elated sense of well-being. The stress on their body varies greatly depending on how they are tied and how they are lifted. Once in the air, the Domme usually coaches them through the pain and pushes them further, either emotionally or physically.”
Hunter’s whole demeanor relaxed whenever she was talking about her craft. She switched into a lecture mode infused with excitement and a desire to share her knowledge.
“So, you would use things like nipple clamps and dildos on him once he was up in the air?” Court asked.
“Yes. Basically. Sometimes dangling an object that can cause pain in front of them and pretending I was about to use it would be enough. Withholding the use of something can be quite effective.”
Teasing. Court could totally see her dangling an object in front of someone, her soft voice making false promises.
Ivy’s lips twitched into a tight pucker. “Drummond was suspended and left for dead.” She put emphasis on “suspended,” making it sound like a made-up word, and a dirty one.
Court diverted Hunter from Ivy by waving at the bench where they had found Drummond’s belongings. “Drummond would have come in here, undressed and put his things on this bench. Since you said he was to be naked for the suspension thing, the bed would have been left clear of costumes for him.”
“Yes. Well. No actually. I left his harness rope on the bed for him. It was the black rope around his hips and groin. Once he was naked he would have put it on and then walked through the bathroom and into the therapy room.” Hunter spun to lead them back through the bathroom.
Therapy room. The way she talked about what she did made it sound like it was some form of psychoanalysis. Court could almost see it.
On the other side of the bathroom, opposite the changing area, was another door, leading into the closet. Hunter pushed the door open and ushered them in. “These are all my costumes. Different outfits for different clients and situations.”
Three organized bays filled the space with enough room for a person to turn around and access the clothing hung there. One wall held shelving from top to bottom filled with shoes. Spiked heels. Flats. Mary Janes. Boots. Every manner and style imaginable.
Court pulled the least sexy shoe he could possibly imagine off the shelf. “Uggs?”
Hunter laughed, grabbing them to put back on the shelf. “You don’t want to know. I think Detective Langston might pass out. And, Berkeley Drummond had nothing to do with them.”
The rest of the closet was filled with enough to clothe an entire cast of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Things hung in a rainbow of colors, neatly organized along the palette. The children’s song about rainbows started its little mind worm in Court’s head—Red, Orange, Yellow, Green and Blue, Indigo and Violet, too.
And Black. Lots and lots of black. Textures of all kinds leaked out of the folds of fabric. Organza, silk, lace, leather, satin, shiny patent leather. He shook his head as he realized his imagination about what a dominatrix had been rather lacking at best. He’d never considered the wide range of costumes one might use.
He noticed a nun’s habit and pushed the neighboring garment to the side so he could see the whole thing. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”
“Like I said, ‘Fidelma’ has been quite inspirational.” Hunter’s forehead furrowed in thought as her eyes scanned the hangers. “Now hold on a second.” She pushed Court’s arms to the side and flipped through the hangers, shoving them from one side to the next. She paused and removed an empty hanger. A white index card dangled from a red ribbon attached to the neck of the hanger.
“This one. It’s missing.” She pushed aside a couple of hangers, fishing out a body suit. “It’s a suit similar to this, but the missing one is all leather.”
Wearing something like that would be uncomfortable. Suffocating. Court shuddered when he touched it. Latex.
He fingered the index card. “What’s this?”
“I keep track of when I use a costume.” She flipped it over and pointed to the last name on the list. “Rosie was Berkeley’s code name. I used it last with him eight months ago.”
Court snapped a picture of it. The card was nearly full, and the dates went back fifteen years. “You’ve been doing this for quite a while.”
“Professionally, about twenty years. I did it for fun for a couple years before I went pro. I realized I didn’t need to give away something men would pay a lot of money for.” Hunter shook the latex outfit she was holding. “This is an almost identical shape. It was here yesterday morning.”
“You’re certain of that?” Court asked.
“Absolutely.”
Ivy tugged at the chest and hips of the outfit. “Was it skintight on you? If you wear something like this, the leather must be tight like a second skin.”
“The missing suit is a lot like this, but not exactly. Tight. Yes. But, the missing suit is a little bigger. I bought it while I was getting back into shape after having my daughter.”
Court poked at one of the arms. “Do you think someone else wearing it could pretend to be you?” He pulled at the fabric. It didn’t give much. “Are we looking for a woman? Would there be a
ny way for a man to fit in this and still make Drummond feel safe?”
Karen paused before answering, glancing back and forth between Court and Ivy a few times before settling on Court. “When I wore an outfit like this, I usually bound my chest and packed.”
“So, the killer could have been a man. A skinny man could get away with the deception, then.” Court said.
Ivy dropped her gaze to Karen’s crotch. “Packed? You would have been wearing prosthetic junk?”
“That’s what packing means, Detective.” Karen’s voice was icy.
Ivy fingered the high Manchu collar. “What about his face?”
Hunter tugged a box off the top shelf. It tumbled open into her hands, empty. “This is where I kept my full face mask. It hid all my features and my hair. It’s terribly trite. Exactly what you might expect in a bad porn movie
“The killer got inside, somehow. Then, they put on the missing outfit, waited for Drummond to show, tied him up and left. Taking the outfit with him. Or her.” Ivy’s voice was filled with skepticism.
“It would be hard to get off. He probably left wearing it.” And, on Capitol Hill, someone dressed in a full body leather suit would hardly be noticed.
Ivy clapped her hands together and turned back to the large room where the body had been found. “So, let’s go over this. Drummond lets himself in with his keycard, comes in through the area here, and proceeds into the bathroom and dressing room. He would come out through the bathroom, and then what?”
They followed Ivy back into the bigger space.
Hunter pointed to the spot under the hook. “I would have him kneel there. Where … the stain is. He was to have his back to me, head bowed.”
Court pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and dropped them on the floor to protect his jeans. It was unlikely anything would get on them, but the idea of kneeling directly on what was left grossed him out. He dropped onto his knees. “Like this?”
“Yes, but your hands go behind your back and you can’t slump.”
Court rolled his shoulders back and put his arms behind him. He dropped his chin to his chest. “Ow. Don’t like this much. How long would he kneel like this?” His knees were already aching. And he had pants on to cushion them. Doing this naked would suck.
“Depends. If he had been good the last time he had seen me, maybe a minute or less. If I wanted to make a point, I would make him kneel longer. Sometimes, I would scatter rice on the floor while he was changing. He would see a plain floor when he entered and return to find the rice. Or lentils. Something small and painful.”
Ivy coughed. “Okay, so he comes out this door, and kneels. Then, you come out of your closet wearing your leather outift?”
“More or less.”
Ivy came up behind Court until she was close enough he could feel her slacks against his fingers. “And his back is to you? So he wouldn’t actually see you coming?”
“That’s creepy, Langston.”
“Not as creepy as the fact you’re kneeling directly under where someone had been hanging for hours. Not to mention you’re right on the spot that was thick with excrement and piss.”
Court shrugged, not wanting to admit it bugged him. “Everything goes in the wash in the garage as soon as I get home, anyway.” He’d put a separate washer in his garage to keep crime-scene smells from getting inside the house. The rank air from the day before was greatly reduced, but he’d grown accustomed to it in the time he’d been here. “So what next? You’ve got Drummond here, naked and on his knees, ready to go. Then what?”
“I would come up quietly behind him and rub his head.” She reached out and ran her fingers through Court’s hair. “Lean over and ask him if he’s been a good boy.” Her voice dropped at this last the way it had when she’d teased him about being a nun.
The subtle shift as her voice changed and her touch sent his whole body tingling. There was a raw sexual power in her voice, and he understood how she earned the big bucks.
He cleared his tightening throat. “Okay. Get past the preliminaries, we don’t have to play out the whole scene.” Court wasn’t enjoying the pain in his knees, but he couldn’t deny the strange appeal of what she was doing to him.
Hunter dropped on her haunches in front of him and cupped his cheeks in her hands. Her lips twitched upward into a mischievous grin. “Detective Pearson, I think you’re right. If I were to go through a whole scene with you, your partner would probably faint from the shock of it, and you might end up a permanent client.”
Damn. She was good. Amazing, actually. But client? No, no, and no. He could get into kink with a beautiful woman like Karen Hunter pulling that kind of shit on him, but only on rare or special occasions. He craned his head to see what Ivy was thinking about all this.
She stood behind him arms crossed. It wasn’t shock he was seeing. It was unmitigated disgust. This case crossed into private-life issues. Issues about sex and sexuality. He’d never had a conversation with Ivy about anything remotely sexual. He’d assumed her being on vice would have inured her to almost anything people do to each other. Being used to something didn’t necessarily mean you had to be cool with it. Court still found himself disgusted with the human race with every murder, so maybe sex was one of Ivy’s hang-ups.
Hunter stood, and her warm scent whooshed over him. She must have put on perfume earlier in the day, and it had melded with her natural scent. He shouldn’t be thinking about the way she smelled. But scent was the kind of thing he enjoyed about women. That mix of chemical and natural. A hint of the real body beneath the veneer of makeup and perfume and deodorant.
Court stood up, shaking his legs out. He definitely didn’t like the kneeling part. Relating to someone who wanted to be in that position was hard. Relating to wanting more of Karen Hunter? That was all too easy. And all too inappropriate.
He bent over, pretending to tighten his shoelaces so he could wrap his head around his reaction to her. He wondered at her ability to shift gears so fast, to go from mourning over a favorite client to being all domme-y. He was unnerved by her acting skills and even more so by his response to her words and touch. He’d crossed a line. He stood up, hoping the contradictions tumbling around in his head were not showing on his face.
“So, once he’s on his knees, you tie him up and use the pulley system with the ropes to pull him up and suspend him?”
“That’s pretty much it.”
The pulleys were gone, but the hook remained in the ceiling, a permanent fixture.
“So, once he’s up there, then what?”
Hunter pointed to the counter. “I usually put out an assortment of things. Dildos, ball-gags, whips.”
Ivy’s arms flew over her chest. “Nipple clamps.”
“I’m surprised you knew what those were for, Detective.”
Ivy gave her a withering glance. “Drummond liked getting his nipples pinched?”
“I would only keep him in suspension for ten or fifteen minutes during which time I would employ one mental tactic and use one item from the tray. Then, I’d let him down and we’d finish the session.” She looked up at the hook. “I would usually build up to the suspension for at least an hour. The tie itself is key to the buildup.”
Court stepped back and crossed his arms, the scene still vivid in his memory. “So, would Drummond have let anyone else do this to him?”
“No.” She paused, her lips pursing together into a deep frown. “That’s the thing. I’ve been trying to figure out how this all happened. I mean, he comes in here, kneels, but if I wasn’t there to tie him up, I think he would have been freaking. He trusted me. I don’t think he would have let anyone else touch him.”
“But, if the killer had the suit and mask on, Drummond wouldn’t know it wasn’t you, right?”
“Probably not.”
“What about your voice?” Ivy asked.
Hunter sucked in her lower lip. “It wouldn’t be unusual for me to treat him with silence to begin with.”
“Is t
here any possible way he did this to himself? Any way he knew you’d be gone and used it as a way to kill himself?” Curt asked.
Hunter spun on him, eyes wide. “What? Why on earth would Berkeley want to kill himself?”
A brief flicker of communication passed between Court and Ivy. Karen Hunter didn’t know about Drummond’s suicide plan. “Didn’t he tell you about his medical condition?”
“Medical condition? What are you talking about?”
16
Court shrugged. “It’s a hypothetical question.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Karen put both hands on her hips.
“We’re covering all avenues. If he’d told you he had a medical condition, what would you do differently?” Court asked.
Hunter eyed the stain on the floor. “It would totally depend on what was wrong with him. You treat someone with diabetes differently than say, a broken leg, right?”
“There was nothing unusual about your interactions with him?” Ivy asked.
“No. Nothing. Well. He was more tired recently. He claimed he was working long hours and didn’t want as strenuous a session. Maybe a little forgetful about things. But last week, he said he wanted this.” She pointed at the hook.
Court got the sense she felt betrayed by it, as if the metal hook could hold some culpability for Drummond’s death. “Tells us how the whole card-key thing works,” Court said, ushering them all back into the front office.
“Well, I don’t quite understand all the technical details, but I have a program on the computer linked to the little box from Haubek. I put the card into the box then type the rules I want to set into the computer.” Hunter stopped and pointed to the empty spot on the desk where the computer used to be. “You took the box and the computer. I signed a paper that gave you permission to take it. You already know.”
“Tell us what we already know, Ms. Hunter.”
“All right. Fine. Well, you would have found I give each client a code name—using a flower. Berkeley’s was Rosie. Then, I set up a rule allowing each client access for ten minutes before his appointment time. I set up the limit because I don’t tolerate tardiness.”
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