Page 20 of Devoted in Death

“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.”