Devoted in Death

4

In Eve’s office with its single skinny window, Mira sat in the ass-biting visitor’s chair – as close to its edge as she could manage without tipping over.

“Let me get this set up, then you can take the desk chair.” Eve frowned at the ugly, miserable excuse for a chair she’d had since she’d had the office. “I guess I should probably requisition a new visitor’s chair.”

“Which you haven’t done before because you’d prefer not to have visitors in here.”

“It’s getting hard to keep them out. I didn’t mean you.”

Understanding perfectly, Mira pulled off her beret, fluffed her rich brown hair. “Not today at any rate.”

“You want some of that tea? I’ve got some.”

“Actually¸ at this time of the day I wouldn’t mind some of your superior coffee.”

Eve walked to the AutoChef – every bit as ancient as the chair – programmed two coffees. “I want to get the board up. It’ll be easier to show you.” With the coffee at her elbow, Eve sat at the desk to get it started. After interfacing her recorder, she ordered the crime scene shots she wanted.

“I’ll have a report written up, and a copy of Morris’s findings within the hour,” she began. “Next of kin – vic’s mother – has been notified and interviewed. Other than the vic’s doorman, we haven’t talked to anyone else. Peabody and I went through his residence, tagged electronics for EDD, but there’s nothing in there to indicate he had trouble. The picture coming through,” she continued as she transferred images to her board, “is of a successful, talented man who had a wide group of friends. That included Morris, as a kind of acquaintance.”

“Morris knew the victim?”

“The vic routinely dropped into jazz and blues clubs, jammed with other musicians. He had a range of musical talent and interests.”

“As does Morris,” Mira said with a nod.

“Quick aside. It hit him kind of hard – reminded him of Coltraine. You could see it. I thought about calling the priest – López. They hit it off.”

Mira nodded again. “It’s a good thought. I’d give him a day or two, see if he reaches out himself, or feels the need. You’re a very good judge, a good friend. You’ll know.”

“Okay.” It helped, and bought her time before she moved on the idea of poking into Morris’s personal business. She’d give it a day or two.

“Morris’s impressions of him jibe with the mother’s interview,” Eve continued, more comfortable with the business of death. “Nice guy, talented guy, friendly, who enjoyed intimate relationships with both sexes on, reputedly, a casual basis. No enemies, no particular lover, very social, very dedicated to his craft.”

Rising, Eve pointed to her chair. She preferred standing in any case. “We haven’t established when he was taken, or if he went willingly. As the blow to the back of the head was the first strike, it’s more likely he was attacked and taken, then held for two days. Tortured.”

Though Mira rose, she didn’t take Eve’s chair but stood beside her, studying the board. “Burns, lacerations, contusions. Bones crushed and broken.”

“Increasing in severity. Lesser ones are older. Three kinds of sharps is Morris’s opinion. An ice pick or something similar, a jagged-edged blade and a smooth blade. The burns are from both cigarettes and a flame tool – one capable of pinpoint, precise flame. The vic was restrained with duct tape, or a similar product, but gagged with a ball gag.”

“Most usually a sexual tool.”

“No sign of sexual assault or activity. And you can see the wounds on the genitals are less severe than those on the torso and limbs.”

“The same with his face, but the hair was shorn and hacked off – crudely. And the body was naked. Those are humiliation, and the hair would be more personal. But the lack of mutilation, face and genitals is more impersonal.”

“And this.” Eve tapped the photo of the carved heart and initials.

“D for Dorian. E for the killer.” Mira frowned. “Very personal, even romantic. It’s very precisely done, isn’t it? But…”

“Yeah, but.”

“I would expect to see more attention paid to the genitals, the face. I would expect some sort of sexual component. If this was a jilted or unhappy lover, or a delusional fan who craved and imagined a relationship, I would expect to see that reflected in his wounds.”

“Yeah. And what we see is an escalation – humiliation, pain, fear, blood – and Morris said some of the wounds were treated.”

“Ah.” Mira nodded. “To keep it from ending too soon. The slice across the abdomen was the final?”

“Yeah, that’s the kill shot, and would have taken some time to take the vic under, for him to bleed out.”

“We’ll need more data on the victim, a better sense of him and those around him. But if this was random – not personal – it’s very possible you have a team.”

That clicked, just clicked for her. “Romantically, sexually linked, initials D and E, who get off on torture and murder.”

“I need more data,” Mira began, “but if the victim was specifically targeted, you’d look for someone who wanted to humiliate and terrorize, while having complete control. If Dorian Kuper was chosen randomly, and this is where I lean with the current data, you would still look for a sadist, one who uses both the symbolic sadism of cutting off the hair, as well as the infliction of pain while the victim is bound and helpless.”

“The heart changes it. The signature changes it,” Eve insisted.

“Perhaps. If this is a couple then it’s highly likely they are sexual sadists who use this humiliation, this control, this infliction of pain as sexual stimulus – which they use for each other rather than the victim. There’s no piquerism,” she murmured. “No stabbing of the breasts, the buttocks, no mutilation of genitals, no rape. The variance in wounds, in tools…”

She broke off and, as Eve often did, circled around the board, the office. “Most usually you’d expect a dominant and a submissive. One to inflict the pain, one to watch. Or one to order the submission to inflict the pain. But, at this preliminary stage, it may be they are a true couple, a team of equal power and authority.”

“It has to be planned out – not impulse. Had to have the place – private place to torture this vic for two days. The transportation, the tools.”

“Predatory psychopath – or psychopaths – who plan, even rehearse. Sadists who enjoy and are stimulated by inflicting pain. Lust murder perhaps. The death and dying he or they cause brings intense pleasure. The heart symbolizes love, unity. They believe themselves in love, and the victim is a gift to each other.”

“I don’t know if Kuper’s the first – we’re running like crimes – but he won’t be the last. Predators have to hunt. Sadists need victims. And lovers, if we’re dealing with that, need that sexual rush.”

“Agreed. It is possible that, while the heart is a signature, a symbol, the killer romanticizes his kill, the victim. It may be a single predator, lacking the sexual drive and component. A romantic. I’m sorry I can’t be more definitive.”

“No, I’ve got clear avenues to pursue. And we’ll have more data once we pull in friends, coworkers. We’ll know more when we get something from IRCCA. I’ll send you a report once I have enough to put together. Thanks for the time.”

“Paid in full by the coffee.” She handed Eve the empty cup, then smiled. “You look well rested. I can’t say that often.”

“I had days to do pretty much nothing but lie around.”

“You earned it. None of us will forget how we spent the last day of the year anytime soon. Keep me in the loop,” she added, with another glance at the board before she left. “I very much want to profile this one.”

Alone, Eve sat to write up her preliminary report, to start the murder book, to refine the board. She added Morris’s report when it came through, then glanced up when she heard the clomp of Peabody’s fuzzy-topped boots.

“I’ve got the first of the interviews coming in,” she reported. “I staggered them by thirty minutes. I was able to pull in Chamberlin. He talked the vic’s mother into taking a tranq, and activated Maeve the droid to stay with her. He’s pretty anxious to talk to you, so I put him first.”

“Good. Always good to talk to the top guy. Now if they’d just send me – Finally,” she said when her computer signaled incoming. “IRCCA results. Computer, on screen.”

Peabody edged in as the data began to scroll.

“Holy shit, Dallas, that’s a lot of like crimes.”

“Computer, remove any closed cases. Remove any result that includes sexual assault, mutilation or rape.”

Leaning back, Eve lifted her eyebrows. “That takes it down. Computer, highlight all results with the element of a heart carved or burned into the body.”

Those brows lowered and knit when twenty highlighted.

“Results with the initials D and E carved or burned into the body.”

“I repeat, Dallas. Holy shit.”

“Twenty,” Eve stated. “Twenty from Tennessee to New Jersey. Males, females, an assortment of races, ages. No specific type. First one’s last September. It averages about one a week, but…”

“Some gaps,” Peabody commented. “A couple weeks between some, or ten days, then see how it escalates in Ohio, Pennsylvania to two a week, then it drops off again.”

“Because there’s more than twenty.”

“More?”

“A predator like this? Once they get a taste they need more, and like a junkie they start to need faster. Destroyed some of the bodies?” Eve speculated. “Concealed them, buried them? Maybe tried something different so it doesn’t pop here, but it’s more likely they concealed, destroyed. Killed a few nobody’s looking for. A vagrant, an itinerant worker, a sidewalk sleeper.”

“The D doesn’t apply to the vic after all.”

“No. E and D, just a couple of crazy kids in love. Computer, display route pattern by victim, chronologically.”

Working…

“The first one here,” Eve began while the computer analyzed, “in September, in Nashville. Female, early twenties, missing for fifty-six hours. Found dead in an unoccupied home by the real-estate agent and a potential buyer.”

“I bet that dropped the asking price.”

“Ha. She’d been dead for about twenty-eight hours. Didn’t spend as long with her. No unidentified prints or DNA at the crime scene.

“She wasn’t their first.”

Task complete, the computer announced.

“Display on screen.” Eve watched the route form, point by point, death by death.

“Some winding around,” Peabody noted, “but pretty much heading northeast.”

“A couple short detours.” Maybe taking in some points of interest, Eve speculated, maybe visiting friends. “You might have to take a quick side trip for your fun. Is New York the destination, or just another point on the route?”

Insufficient data to reach conclusion.

“I wasn’t asking you. Computer, copy all data to my home unit, to Detective Peabody’s home and office unit. Peabody, start contacting primary investigators on these cases – and find out if the FBI’s nosed in, and if so, get the agent in charge.”

“I’ll start on that. Chamberlin’s going to be here any minute.”

“I’ll take him. Did you book a room?”

“You’ve got Interview A, for six hours if you want it.”

She only nodded. “Dorian Kuper didn’t know his killer. He was just next in line. But maybe we’ll find out something. I’ll start the interviews. You get the data. Let me know when you’ve got all you can get. Have Chamberlin put in Interview A if he comes in before I’m out. I need five minutes. Shit. Ten.”

She banged out a report to Mira – she’d report to her commander as soon as she could, but wanted Mira to have the new data. Before she’d finished, she heard a brisk clip coming her way.

Not Peabody, she thought, lighter step, better shoes.

Baxter.

And when she glanced over, mildly annoyed, Baxter stepped into her doorway.

“Got a few minutes?”

“I’m a little pressed here.” She finished the report as she spoke, sent it.

“Yeah, I see that.” He glanced at her board, her screen. “Fuck me. The same?”

“I haven’t had a chance to run probability, but I’m going to say it’s high. I’ve got somebody coming into interview, Baxter, make it fast.”

“It can wait.”

If she didn’t make time for her men, she might be a good investigator, but she’d be a lousy boss.

“Spill it. I’ve got a few.”

“It’s just… Trueheart’s going in for the detective’s exam in a couple days.”

“Yeah. I’ve got it marked. Is there a problem?”

“No. Maybe. No.”

Eve sat back. Baxter stood with his hands in his pockets, jiggling whatever was in them. It wasn’t his usual style. She waited.

“I pushed him, you know. I really leaned on him to apply – and I nudged at you to clear it.”

“I didn’t clear it because you nudged me.”

“So he’s ready?”

“Have you got any reason to think otherwise?”

“No. I mean he’s sweating it some. You have to sweat it some. He’s been studying. I’ve been grilling him.”

The jiggling stopped, started up again. Eve let it play out.

“He’s got good instincts, LT, and a hell of a work ethic. He’s a damn good cop. He’s still got some green on him, but he’s never going to lose all of it. It’s part of what makes him the kind of damn good cop he is. It’s just – I really pushed him to try for detective.”

“Do you think, if he didn’t feel ready, he’d try for it just to make you happy?”

Baxter opened his mouth, then blew out a breath. “No. He doesn’t push that easy, not anymore. It’s me. Jesus, boss, it’s me. I haven’t had a decent night sleep since – well, since we all nearly blew up. I figured it was because we all nearly blew up, but it’s not. Hell, you get used to nearly buying it somehow or another on the job. I don’t want to let the kid down.”

“Then relax, you haven’t. I wondered when I hooked him to you how it would go. He needed some of the dew wiped off. And you wiped it off without taking away what makes him. You’ve trained him, Baxter, and you helped make him a damn good cop. If he doesn’t make detective this time, all it means is he’s not ready for it. If he does, and it’s more likely, I figure you’re going to ask me to assign him as your partner. And that’s what I’ll do, but I’m also going to tell you if, at some point, you want to train another, I’ll put that through. You’re better at it than I thought you’d be.”

“Okay. Okay. Appreciate it. You know, I wasn’t this tied up when I went for my own detective’s shield.”

“Because you were cocksure of yourself. Are you on anything hot?”

“No. We had an open and closed first thing this morning. I thought we’d review a few open and unsolveds, keep his brain turned on sharp.”

“I may have something else that would do that. Go ahead and start a review. If this turns out how it looks, I’ve got plenty to keep his brain sharp. Now beat it.”

“Beating it.”

“Baxter? If somebody’s not a damn good cop, they don’t stay in my division.”

He nodded, relaxed a bit. “Thanks, LT.”

As he walked away, she took another minute to sit, to study the board, to think of Dorian Kuper.

Then she pushed away from her desk and started out. Peabody turned into the bull pen as Eve turned out.

“Good timing. I just put Chamberlin in Interview A. He’s in pretty rough shape himself, Dallas.”

“I might get more out of him that way. Mira’s got the data now. You should write up a report for Whitney. And don’t say Me? in that stupid tone,” Eve warned. “You know how to write a damn report, and it’ll save me the time. Contact all the primaries you can manage, and we’ll go over that when I’m done with the interviews. If you need any help, tap Baxter and Trueheart. They’re clear, just reviewing some open and unsolveds.”

“Ellysa Tesh – violin – should be here in thirty.”

“I’ll take her after Chamberlin. Let’s keep it moving.”

She found Chamberlin sitting in Interview A, his hands folded on the scarred table. Exhausted eyes shifted from his hands to Eve’s face.

“I need to get back to Mina as soon as possible.”

“I won’t keep you long. I’m going to record this interview. Record on,” she ordered. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve in interview with Chamberlin, Ethan. Mr. Chamberlin, I’m going to advise you of your rights. This is procedure.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eve read off the Revised Miranda.

“I understand, and I don’t want some damn lawyer. Am I a suspect?”

“Right now we’re gathering information. I think you can help us with that. You worked with Dorian, and are, I believe, in a relationship with his mother.”

“Mina and I have been in a committed, monogamous relationship for a number of years.”

“You don’t live together.”

“We both enjoy our separate spaces. Dorian… Dorian was the world to her. It’s a cliché, I’m aware, but it’s the truth that he was like a son to me. If we had disagreements they were always over the music. He has – had – such tremendous talent. With such talent comes opinions.”

He nearly smiled; it nearly reached his eyes. “Now and again those opinions proved better than mine. Not often, but now and again.”

“You’ve got a temper, Mr. Chamberlin.”

“That’s right. I’ve paid my share of fines, done the anger management bullshit. Screw it.” He flicked that away with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “It’s my passion and temper that make me great. It’s my passion and temper that make every musician I work with perform brilliantly. Because I demand it.”

“And if they’re not brilliant enough, you break their piccolo.”

“I’ve been known to.” He shrugged it off. “If someone doesn’t perform brilliantly, they don’t deserve to be in my orchestra.”

As she’d said essentially the same to Baxter about her cops, Eve could find no fault there. “Did you ever bust up Dorian’s cello?”

“Dorian was always brilliant. The world’s lesser for the loss of him. Lieutenant…”

He gripped his hands together again until the knuckles went white. “Please don’t allow Mina to see him until he’s… She told me he’d been tortured, and if there are physical signs —” He broke off, looked away for a moment. “Please don’t let her see him until he’s been made… I don’t want what was done to him to be her last memory of him. I know exceptional makeup artists.”

“You can trust Dr. Morris – the medical examiner – on this.”

“I don’t know this Morris.”

“I do. You can trust him.”

His gaze arrowed back, pinned hers. “If Dorian isn’t – if he doesn’t look as he should, I’ll hold this Morris, and you, responsible.”

“Understood. Accepted.”

“Do you really think I could have done what was done to him. Torture?”

“No,” Eve said easily, watched Chamberlin blink in surprise. “But it’s early in the investigative process. You tell me who could have done this to him.”

“I don’t know.” The admission had him fisting his hands on the table. “I know a great many of his friends and acquaintances. I know every member of my orchestra. And I don’t know.”

“He was, by your own words, always brilliant, and thought of like a son by the conductor. That could easily foster jealousy, resentment, rage.”

Chamberlin shook his head. “He’d work with anyone who might be having difficulty. He’d come in early, or stay late. He lived for music and for people. Is there competition, conflict, drama, in the orchestra? If not, there’s no passion, and without passion there can’t be brilliance. But I know my orchestra, and no one in it would have done this.”

He leaned forward. “What was done to him? Will you tell me? What did they want from him? If they’d wanted money, he’d have given it to them! What did this maniac want from Dorian?”

His pain, Eve thought. His blood. His death. But she only said, “It’s early in the investigation. I can promise you Dorian has all my attention, and we’re actively pursing all angles.”

“That’s double-talk.”

“It’s truth, and all I can give you. When did you last see Dorian?”

“Two nights ago – three come tonight. At the performance. Mina and I had a late supper afterward with some friends. When we realized the next day he hadn’t come home, we weren’t alarmed, but we were when he missed his call for the next night’s performance. He had never – would never. I explained all this to the detective when we reported him missing.”

“Tell me now.”

“We asked if anyone had seen him. Theo Barron, oboe, said he and a couple others were going to meet Dorian at this club downtown. After Midnight. He often went there to jam, to unwind. But he hadn’t shown up. Theo thought he’d probably just ended up with someone. Drinks, sex. Dorian had a varied sex life. Theo had tried his ’link, left a couple messages, but didn’t think much of it. But then he still didn’t answer, and he hadn’t come home at all.”

“Why didn’t they go down together? This Theo and Dorian?”

“Theo was in a flirtation with one of the altos in the opera company, and he wanted to wait until she’d changed as he’d convinced her to go with him. Theo said Dorian went on ahead.”

“How would he get downtown, generally?”

“A cab. He’d have taken a cab.”

“Okay.” She made a note. “What do you know about Earnestina?”

“Ah.” Chamberlin let out a half laugh. “Pompous little twit. She interviewed me and some of the others – both orchestra and stage – for a paper she claimed to be writing. Earnest was a kind word. Pompous, as I said, overbearing, extreme. Dorian was kind to her, likely considered sleeping with her, but she caused a scene at that club he enjoyed. I don’t know the details as I wasn’t there, but she annoyed him. He would never have gone anywhere with her after that.”

“Do you have her full name?”

“Tina R. Denton. I remember it as she insisted on the full name – including initial.” He sat back, pressed his fingers to his eyes briefly. “Lieutenant, she was like a mosquito. A woman who buzzed around until you wanted to give her a good slap, but wasn’t capable of doing more than making you itch a little.”

“Every angle,” Eve reminded him. “Go back to Dorian’s mother now. When Dr. Morris has him ready, you’ll be contacted. If you think of anything else, any detail, I want to hear it.”

As she escorted him out, she saw a woman – early thirties, long blond hair yanked back in a tail, exposing a lovely face, a face splotchy from tears, and deep blue eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

She said, “Maestro,” in a voice that broke.

Chamberlin turned to her and, when she hesitated, held out his arms.

“Maestro,” she said again, flung herself at him to press her face into his chest. “Is it a terrible dream? Can you tell me it’s a terrible dream?”

“No. He’s gone, Ellysa.”

“How?” She reared back, grief and fury warring on her face. “No one will tell us how, no one will tell us why.”

“I will. Ellysa Tesh?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas. We’ll talk in here.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Chamberlin asked.

“It’s best if I speak with Ms. Tesh alone. In here,” Eve repeated, and opened the door to Interview A.

“I’ll be all right. Mina?”

“I’m going to her now.”

“Should I come? When I can? Should we come?”

“Not now. Let me see, and perhaps tomorrow.” He laid his lips on her brow. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

Once she’d taken Ellysa in, reengaged the recorder, read off the Revised Miranda, Ellysa pushed her hands in the air as if shoving all that aside.

“I don’t care about my rights or your recording. What happened to Dorian?”

“You’re here to answer questions. Let’s start with that. When did you last see or speak with Dorian?”

“At the performance, the night he went missing. What happened to —”

“Where did you go after the performance?”

“Oh for God’s sake. I went with Theo and Hanna and Samuel. We cabbed downtown to a club. After Midnight. Dorian went ahead of us, but he wasn’t there. I wanted to go with him, but… I got hung up.”

“Hung up?”

“My mother. She lives in Austin, and she tagged me up right after the performance. My sister got engaged. My mother was so excited, and I got hung talking with her, and didn’t catch up to Dorian in time to tell him I’d go with him. If I had… If I had.”

Her eyes filled again, tears shimmering on the edge. “We must have been close to an hour behind him. Hanna had to change out of her costume, and take off her stage makeup. At least thirty or forty minutes behind him, I don’t know. But he wasn’t there, and Stewie said he hadn’t come in.”

“Stewie?”

“The bartender. We’re regulars – Dorian most of all, but a lot of us go down to listen to music, or to play, to relax. He wasn’t there,” she murmured. “I thought – we thought – he’d run into someone and decided to go somewhere else. Theo tried to tag him, but it went to v-mail. He didn’t come the next night. He’s never missed a performance. That’s when everyone started to worry. We couldn’t find him, but the police said we had to wait before Mina could file a missing persons. If you’d started to look sooner —”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Eve finished. “Did he know you were in love with him?”

Ellysa pressed her lips together, shook her head as her eyes welled yet again. “No. I was careful he didn’t see it. He’d have been kind, and kindness would have crushed me. We slept together now and then, but I knew for him it was sex and friendship. Affection. I liked to think one day, when he was ready, he’d see. He’d see I’d loved him since the first time… Three years, two months, five days. That’s when I joined the company. That’s the first time I saw him, the first time I heard him play. That’s how long I’ve been in love with him.

“Please. Please tell me what happened to him. You know. Tell me what happened to Dorian.”

“Who do you know who’d want to hurt him?”

“No one. No one,” she repeated. “Some people have the ability to walk lightly through the world and still leave a deep impression. That’s Dorian. I know who you are. I knew when your partner contacted me. I’ve read the book, I’ve seen the vid. I watch screen. I know you investigate murders. Was it a mugging?”

“No.” It would come out, Eve thought, soon enough. “The current line of investigation indicates he was abducted, held for two days in a currently unknown location where he was tortured and killed.”

“Tor— What do you mean?” Her face froze; her color drained so that for a moment she seemed carved in ice. “What does that mean?”

“Whoever held him against his will hurt him. Do you know anyone who had that kind of grudge against him? Do you know if Dorian had information someone would want enough to give him pain in order to get it? Did he owe money, did he have secrets?”

“No.” The word choked out of her, then she shook her head furiously. “No, no, no. He had secrets, I imagine, as anyone does. He didn’t owe anyone money, not that I know of, and he didn’t gamble particularly, he didn’t do illegals. He didn’t do the sorts of things that put you into debt. Two days? Oh God, two days? All that time, hurting him.”

She shoved up from the table, crossing her arms, hugging herself as she circled the small room. “Two days. God. God. No, no, no. No one who knew him could have done that.”

She spun back to Eve, eyes ravaged. “You’re married. The book, the vid, and what I’ve seen on screen – it makes it clear you’re in love with your husband.”

“My life’s irrelevant.”

“It isn’t! You know what it is to love someone, to know them, because to really love, all the way in, you have to know. I know Dorian. No one we know could have done this. Someone else. Some sick, twisted, sadistic bastard. Can you give me a hand, can you spare a few dollars, can you show me how to get to Seventh Avenue – that’s all it would take. He’d help. Dorian would help. He took a cab.”

She pressed her hands to her face. “What time, what time? It couldn’t have been much past eleven-thirty. He’d have gone right out front, hailed a cab. You find out. You need to find out if he got in a cab or whoever did this, if they took him right from Lincoln Center. Or if he got downtown, and they took him from there. You need to —”

“I’ll do my job, Ms. Tesh, I promise you.”

“You didn’t know him.”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s mine now, and he’ll get my best.”

“Are you as good as they made out you are in the book, in the vid?”

“He’ll get my best,” Eve repeated.