At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(22)

“Thanks,” Verraday replied awkwardly, marveling at how some people, like this waitress, had invisible social antennae that caused them to read meaning into the smallest gestures, even if they were wrong about it. Hypervigilant, he guessed. Probably the result of an unstable home life with emotionally volatile parents who could explode in anger without warning. Children who grew up in such homes, he had observed, developed amazing abilities to detect nuances of voice and expression, even posture, as survival mechanisms around unpredictable and potentially abusive parents.

With the waitress out of earshot, he handed two of the crime scene photos to Maclean, one from Alana Carmichael, the other from Rachel Friesen.

“Take a look. They have identical marks on their lower backs, right along the spine. That’s a no-go zone even for people who like it rough. And there are no defensive wounds on the victims. No cuts on the hands, no scrapes on the knuckles. Not so much as a broken fingernail.”

“Indicating they were both willing participants?” asked Maclean.

“Exactly. To a point. BDSM is all about trust, and even in a sex-trade transaction, it’s the submissive partner who’s controlling the action, saying how far things can go.”

“But you lose the ability to enforce those limits once you’re tied up,” said Maclean. “I’d have to really trust someone to let them make me that vulnerable.”

“So would I. It’s a social contract between participants. In a sex-trade context though, there’s an additional assumption that if all goes well, there will be lots more work like this for the sub, because the dominant party needs to play out the same scenario every time in order to experience arousal. So quite understandably, Alana Carmichael and Rachel Friesen were expecting that the sex play would only go so far.”

“A bait-and-switch situation?”

“That’s right. The killer was particularly insidious, because judging by the absence of marks on the wrists and ankles, he used something comfortable or even sensual like silk to restrain them. The tactile pleasure of the restraints probably lulled the victims into a false sense of security, into thinking that this guy wasn’t a threat, that he was gentler than someone who was into handcuffs, for example. For this guy, it’s all part of a buildup.”

“Sounds like deception is his foreplay.”

“Nicely put, Detective. That’s very perceptive of you.”

“When you’re a woman, you get to know these things. The guy with the wedding band in his wallet or the girlfriend he somehow forgot to mention. Fortunately, not everyone of the male persuasion is like that.”

“Or the female persuasion,” added Verraday. “But as for our killer, there are very few ways in which he doesn’t deceive his victims. This guy is either wealthy enough to hire high-end escorts and dangle out the possibility of a long-term client relationship with them, or he’s able to create the illusion that he’s got the money. His aura of wealth and status would play on a woman’s instinctive desire to find a partner who can provide her with financial security.”

“Wait, are you saying that all women are looking for a man to make them financially secure?”

“No, not all women, of course. But our victims were both in situations that made them financially dependent, so it would have exaggerated that innate behavior.”

“‘Innate behavior?’ Look, lots of women earn their own money, and they’re not going to throw themselves on some guy just for a little financial security.”

“With all due respect, they still do. Have you ever heard of the study done at Syracuse University?” asked Verraday.

“No, what was it?”

“They showed two groups of high-status women—women who had made their own money—pictures of the same man. In one picture he’s wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex. In another the same guy is wearing a Burger King uniform. Guess which version of the same man the women rated as more attractive and desirable?”

“Yeah, yeah,” retorted Maclean, “and all I have to say is that instead of dressing the guy up in something polyester that smells like a grease trap, maybe he should have worn a UPS summer-issue delivery uniform instead. You know, the one with those little shorts?”

Verraday smiled. “Point taken. But the fact remains that the women consistently chose the photo of the high-status male over the low-status male as potential partner material.”

“Yes,” Maclean shot back, “because it was a photo. The women were only allowed to make their decision based on visual appearances. Let me guess. The person who created the study was a man?”

Verraday nodded.

“Want to know how I knew?” Maclean asked.

“I’d very much like to hear it.”

“Because a woman would never create a study of sexual attractiveness based only on visual appearance. Visuals are totally a guy thing. If a woman had made that study, the choices would have been between a man who comes home and asks you what the best and worst parts of your day were, versus some self-absorbed asshole in Armani who flops down on the sofa in front of the game and forgets that you even exist.”

“And this guy who asks you about your day—ideally, would he be wearing the UPS summer uniform with the short-shorts?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m getting the feeling this is an argument that I can’t win,” said Verraday.