Bound to Die

by Laurie Rockenbeck

  The apathy in her voice burned him. Now her pet theory was dead, she’d lost the wind in her sails.

  “Come on, Langston. Buck up. We’ll figure this out soon enough.”

  Ivy crossed her arms. “What about the burner phones? I want to know why Stensland took them over and we had to drop it. There was something about what Hunter said in there about Duffy and Drummond not knowing each other, like she was hinting at something. It sounded like she knows another of her clients did know Drummond.”

  Court cast a quick glance at Stensland’s office. He had been told Ivy was brilliant. How she put together what Karen had said with Stensland’s bizarre behavior was a little beyond him. He wasn’t sure he would have connected them. But, he wasn’t about to tell her about a cover-up he couldn’t prove. “Look, I need to figure some of that out before I share with you. If it is what I think it is, you don’t want to be part of it.”

  Court was back at his desk, getting ready to call Payne’s real estate agent for a second time when his phone rang.

  “This is Karen Hunter.”

  Her tone sent shivers up his back. “What’s going on?”

  “I got back home. And, there’s this letter. I think it’s important for you to see it.” Karen’s phone voice was warm and rich. She could make a mint at phone sex. “It’s from the killer.”

  An adrenaline rush hit him. Something clicked. They were about to break the case. He jumped out of his seat and over to Ivy’s cubicle, tapping the speaker button on his phone. “What kind of letter, Karen?”

  “It’s something out of a made-for-TV movie. It’s letters, cut up out of magazines and glued to the page.”

  “What makes you sure it’s from the killer?”

  “He admits it in the letter. Tells me it’s my fault. He didn’t mean for Berkeley to die.”

  Court squeezed his eyes shut, imagining Hunter’s fingerprints all over the letter. “Try not to touch it any more than you already have. We’ll come over there to collect it.”

  “You know what’s freaking me out? It wasn’t mailed. It was taped to my front door.”

  52

  Karen Hunter lived in a neighborhood across the lake from Seattle, on the Eastside but in an area vastly different from where the Drummonds lived. It was typical suburbia built in the mid-Seventies. The houses were mostly split levels with a limited variety of styles all originally built by one contractor with various modifications over the years.

  “It’s awfully convenient this letter came in now, don’t you think?” Ivy asked. “I don’t like her.”

  "You sure it’s her you don't like or is it what she does for a living?" Court was not sure what to think of it himself. He wondered if her job had ended her marriage. What kind of man could be married to a professional dominatrix? He didn’t understand why he kept focusing on Karen when he’d had one of the best dates of his life with Madeline. Their texts were playful, teasing. Every time his phone buzzed against his thigh, he grabbed for it, eager to read whatever she had to say. It was unusual for him to be attracted to more than one person at a time. Confusing, too. “Besides, we cleared her, remember?”

  They parked in front of Hunter’s house. The flowerbeds in front displayed the ubiquitous rhododendrons, azaleas, and ferns of the area. A clipped grass lawn filled the space on either side of the walkway to the front door and along the sidewalk.

  Every house in the neighborhood had large fir trees looming overhead. A big greenbelt stretched behind the houses on Hunter’s side of the street. Something about it wigged Court out. Too much ground to keep an eye on? Too many gigantic trees? How could anyone live out here?

  As they reached the front door, rain fell in large, heavy, loud globules of water coming down with a shy hesitance, like each drop was looking for its own dry spot to invade, before shifting into a downpour.

  Ivy pushed the doorbell and an electronic version of Big Ben sounded inside, fake and loud.

  Hunter answered the door right away. She had changed clothes since their interview. She was now barefoot and in jeans. A light green button-down oxford fell over her hips, giving her shape a more nebulous sensuality.

  Karen guided them into the kitchen and introduced them to her daughter, Sophie, before sending her to her room. “I have something private I need to talk about with these detectives.”

  The teenager scowled before scooping up her homework and stomping down the hallway. She wore her long dark hair straight down her back like her mother.

  There was a pitiful howling sound from outside.

  “What's that noise?” Ivy craned her neck to look out the window into the back yard.

  “It’s a dog, one that doesn’t sound too happy out there,” Court said.

  Karen reached above the refrigerator and retrieved a large metal bowl. “I put the letter where the kids couldn’t see it.” She handed over the bowl. “Excuse me while I bring the dog in. Poor Aspen is a wimp when it comes to rain.”

  An envelope and letter were inside the bowl. Ivy pulled on a pair of gloves, and picked up the letter, holding it so they could both read the choppy blocky letters cut from magazine headlines:

  * * *

  He died because you weren’t there to save him. He wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to deliver my message. And now it’s your fault he’s dead. YOUR FAULT. You should have been there. You were supposed to save him.

  * * *

  “She was right, looks like something from the movies,” Ivy said.

  Court pulled two plastic evidence bags from his inside jacket pocket, one for the letter and one for the envelope. The only thing on the front of it were the words Mistress Fidelma written in thick black Sharpie with a neat hand.

  Court leaned over the sink to get a good view down into the yard below. An enormous yellow lab with her tail tucked between her legs looked balefully toward the house. As the sliding glass door swished open, the dog perked up, tail-wagging as she lunged for sanctuary. The cooing of Karen’s warm voice drifted toward him from the downstairs room.

  “See,” he said to Ivy. “She’s not all that bad.”

  “Everyone loves a dog, Pearson.”

  Karen appeared at the top of the stairs with a mostly recovered lab hovering close to her legs. When Court whistled softly the dog padded over, sniffing at his outstretched hand. The dog shrank from his touch.

  “Oh, you don’t like the gloves, eh?” Court peeled them off. The dog came in for a good scratch. “So, this was attached to your door while you were with us?”

  “Yeah. I was gone, what, maybe two hours?”

  He dropped to a squat and continued to pet the dog, giving special attention to the ears. “Was anyone at home while you were gone?”

  “Both the kids. Sophie’s old enough to babysit Brian.”

  “But you had a nanny when you went out for work?” The dog turned to lick at Court’s face.

  Karen reached out, pulling the dog back by her collar. “Aspen,” she said in a chiding tone, running her hands along the dog’s neck.

  “She’s fine,” Court said. “I like dogs. So, your nanny?”

  “Right. When it was my turn with the kids, I didn’t like them being here without someone late at night. I have a college student who likes to do her laundry while she’s here. Comes over from the university, and often spends the night in the guest room. I didn’t have her come today. It was only a few hours.”

  “When it’s your turn?” Finally, some information about the father. “Your ex takes them part time?”

  “Actually, when I have the kids, I stay here. When he has the kids, he stays here. We both have apartments nearby when we aren’t with the kids. It’s easier for us to move back and forth than disrupt their lives.”

  Court had heard of such arrangements, but had thought it exclusive to the rich. This house didn’t scream money. Living on the Eastside could be spendy, but this was not one of those exclusive fenced-in neighborhoods. Even if Drummond had been her only client, she could be brin
ging in over two hundred thousand a year. With sixteen clients, she had to be making more like five hundred a year. Where did it all go? He stood up and wiped his hands on his pants.

  “So, any idea who wrote this?”

  Karen sucked in her lower lip between her teeth for a second before exhaling with a slump of her shoulders. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I have this feeling. More of a hunch. I haven’t seen him in years. But, there’s this guy I knew a while back, he was creepy and sort of stalker-like. I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

  “You look disappointed,” Ivy said.

  Karen crossed her arms. She leaned her back against the counter. “Yeah. If I’m right about this, then yeah, it totally sucks. Having Berkeley die in my studio is horrific. If he had been killed because of who he was, you know, some business deal gone bad, or some bizarre revenge thing, that would be bad, but this? If the guy who sent this note is the person I think he is, then it puts everyone in the kink community in the spotlight.”

  “The fact Berkeley Drummond was found in your studio the way he was is already going to do that. Protecting the killer isn’t going to change that.”

  Karen’s jaw dropped open. “I am not protecting him. I called you, didn’t I? I’m just voicing the concern that this kind of thing makes it even harder for the regular people who are into kink. It’s a hidden community filled with regular people.”

  Court understood the whole thing about being hidden. More than Karen Hunter probably could guess at the moment. He held up his hands, fingers played wide in a calming motion. She was kinda preaching to the choir but he didn’t want to get into that at the moment. “There’s not much we can do about that. The press has already leaked the fact he was in a dominatrix’s studio. Karen, if you think you know who the killer is, you need to tell us. Now.”

  Karen ran her hands through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail low against the back of her neck. “There’s a problem. It won’t help you much. I only knew him by his scene name.”

  “Which was?”

  “Jarvis.”

  “Jarvis? That’s a strange name.”

  “Yeah, most kinksters put a huge effort into their scene name. It can be a very cathartic tool. Jarvis means ‘servant with a spear.’ He got all excited about how his name was a metaphor for his little penis… Like I said, he was weird.”

  “Did you just say ‘little penis’?” Ivy asked.

  “Yeah. That’s why I remember what Jarvis means. His was small. Really small. He wanted to be taunted and humiliated because of it. It was only about two inches fully erect. And, he got off on being shamed for it.”

  Her eyes were focused inward as she mined her memories. It was hard to tell if she got any enjoyment out of the interplay, if she was grossed out by the small dick, or if she was a pro searching for an angle on a John. Court wasn’t about to ask. “And where did you meet him?”

  “At Belle Nuit. It’s a club…”

  Court interrupted. “We know about it. I was there last night. Go on.”

  “There’s not a lot more to tell. He saw me at the club and did the thing subs do. Hang out close by, waiting to be noticed. I finally agreed to do a session with him.”

  “So, this guy, Jarvis, you saw him for a while?” he asked.

  “Not long. A couple of months at most. It was years ago.”

  “And you wore the leather suit for him?”

  “Once. I think it was only once.”

  “What ended it?”

  “He started topping from the bottom, telling me what to do. He became ultra clingy and super whiny when I played with other subs. He would sit outside on his knees, begging for attention when I was done with someone else. The kicker was when he got extra pissy at my other boys. Actually threatened to beat one up. Jarvis was the reason I left Belle Nuit. I was planning on going pro, but I couldn’t stand being around him any longer.”

  “A little pissy? Pissy enough to want to humiliate one of your coveted and favorite clients someday?” Ivy asked.

  Karen leaned back against the counter, using her palms to support herself. “But why? It’s been years. Why would he do something now?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes people’s psychosis takes a while to develop. Maybe he’s always been fixated on you. Maybe he’s been with someone in between. Maybe some big event, like losing his job, broke him.”

  Ivy had been pretty quiet. Court hoped she was over her initial dejection at failing to pin Karen to the crime.

  “Karen, do you ever look at the folder on your email, the one you call ‘when hell freezes over’?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t. I set up a bunch of rules. Most emails go directly to that folder so I don’t have to read them at all.”

  “Langston, you remember anything from a Jarvis in her email?”

  Ivy shook her head. “Doesn’t mean anything, though. There was a huge amount, and I only got through about a third of them. It was all on paper. We can have Ashena do a keyword search on his name now that we know it.”

  Karen hugged herself. “I wouldn’t necessarily have seen it if he had written me. I mean, if it went to the hell folder. I shunted anything not from a client over there.”

  Court could make a good guess about where her thoughts were taking her. She was probably worrying she had missed something beforehand, something that would have prevented Drummond’s death if she had seen it before. “Don’t go there,” he said, resisting the urge to reach out and comfort her.

  “It’s hard not to.”

  “What specifically made you jump to this Jarvis guy?” he asked.

  “It’s a little woo-woo sounding, actually. I haven’t thought about him in years. When I read the letter, this image of him popped into my head.”

  “We can’t act on hunches, and it’ll be close to impossible to find a guy you knew briefly over a decade ago only under a scene name. Is there anything else, anything at all, that you remember about him?” Ivy asked.

  Karen looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t think so.”

  Ivy waved the letter in its plastic bag between them. “Okay, so we sort of know who we’re looking for. He says he didn’t intentionally kill Drummond, but he had to have missed that second text and left thinking you would be back. How did this Jarvis guy get a key?”

  “He must have some connection to Haubek. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Court said. “Did we ever ask if Schorr had a scene name? We know Duffy goes by Macbeth.”

  Karen shrugged. “I never talked to them about their activities at Belle Nuit. I went by a different scene name back them, and I didn’t even want any of my clients to make the connection.”

  “Mom?” Sophie interrupted them, poking her head around the corner.

  All conversation stopped as they turned to look at her.

  Karen thrust a finger out, pointing down the hallway. “I told you to stay in your room.”

  Sophie didn’t move. “I’m sorry, but, Mom? You really need to look out front.”

  They rushed to the front of the house. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The sun was streaming out in individual wide rays behind a foreground of thick clouds. The water gleamed on the wet pavement, but that wasn’t what Sophie was talking about. The KILO news van was out in the street and Scott Ingram was setting himself up in front of a camera with Karen’s house as his backdrop.

  Court snapped the curtains shut. “Ah, shit. How did he find you?” He spun around. “Someone leaked your info.” Someone must have been watching him earlier. He hadn’t even thought to check if anyone was following him. “They can’t actually come on your property with their cameras, or block your garage. At least they parked so you can get out. Whatever you do, don’t talk to them about anything. Not a word.” He pulled the curtain back at one corner, taking a peek. “Langston, call for some uniformed officers. I want some protection out here, now.”

  “Mom? What’s going on?” Sophie asked.

  Karen sat on the sofa, pulling Sophie onto her
lap. “It’s to do with my friend’s death. I told you about him the other day. Well, some people think I had something to do with how he died.”

  Sophie cuddled into her mom. “How do we go anywhere with them out there?”

  There was something endearing seeing a big teenager lean into her mom like a toddler. Court had thought unabashed cuddling died out at puberty.

  “Pearson, you better not be planning on going out there and talking to them,” Ivy said. “That would blow Stensland’s gasket big time.”

  “Stensland can go…” He broke off, eyeing Karen’s daughter. “Stensland will understand, eventually. I’ll try to call them off. Let’s get back to the station and find this guy.” He turned back toward Karen. “We’ll have uniformed officers out here in the next hour. We’ll make sure someone is here twenty-four-seven until we get Jarvis. Better yet, I would suggest you get out of here. You can get a hotel room, or go to a friend’s where he won’t know to find you. We would get some people on you wherever.”

  Karen kissed her daughter’s forehead. “No way. I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was unlikely this Jarvis guy was going to show up with a news crew out front and three cops hanging around. Betting on unlikely didn’t sit too well with him.

  Uniformed officers from Redmond PD arrived fifteen minutes later. Must be a slow day.

  Court broke off from Ivy before they got to their car, storming toward where Ingram stood finalizing the angle of the shot with his cameraman. The cameraman was standing lower on the street and shooting upward so Ingram’s face was in front of the house. The wind had picked up a little making the trees sway dramatically overhead.

  Ingram smiled at him, obviously recognizing him. “Detective, can I get you on record?” He nodded at Ivy, who had followed close behind. “Your new partner, eh?”

  Court didn’t bother with an introduction. “On record? How about you admit you never tried to call me about this case. The way you lied about not getting a hold of me. On record.”