Festive in Death (In Death #39)(32)

“No memory loss with this,” DeWinter added. “No wild up and downs or desperation. But compliance and escalated sexual desire. His victims, as that’s just what they were, would likely have thought themselves agreeable, even pleased. Afterward, again depending on the circumstances, there may have been some regret or embarrassment.”

“He used these, too.” Eve gestured for Peabody to put the incense case on the counter. “In combination.”

“I’ll check them out. You want the other teas analyzed?”

“Yeah, do the whole lot, but I think we hit the mother lode. Appreciate the quick work,” she added, and turned to go.

DeWinter fell into step beside her. Eve spared her a look.

“Richard?”

“It makes him feel special, and by making him feel special I often get my samples and specimens moved to the head of his list. Is he a bit of a dick?” DeWinter said with a hint of a smile. “Absolutely. But he’s also excellent at his work.”

“I just bribe him.”

“Also a viable option. I wanted to say I’m looking forward to your party. Li’s bringing me.”

“Morris? You and Morris?”

“Yes—and no, so don’t look so appalled. We have the dead, an appreciation of music, and absolutely no interest in a relationship in common. So it’s nice for both of us to have a date for your party. So, I’ll see both of you then.”

“It is nice,” Peabody said as they headed out. “It’s nice that Morris has someone to hang out with. He’s a sociable guy.”

“Maybe.” Eve had yet to make up her mind about DeWinter.

Eve pushed through the door. “I want you to start on Trina’s list, start talking to these women. Any one of them admits to drinking Ziegler’s tea, give her the details, and get a full statement. Press the money angle, too. Let’s find out who gave him cash and why. Get a feel for them, Peabody.”

“Because one of them might’ve killed him.”

“Get started. I’ve got to get to Central, meet with Mira. I’ll tag you as soon as I’m done, catch up with you.”

“I’ve got this, Dallas. I’ll be the sympathetic cop—because I do sympathize. I can usually get more that way than going in tough.”

“Is that the fly, sugar, vinegar deal?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I still don’t get it,” Eve said and strode to her car.

7

Mira’s admin offered silence and a frosty stare when Eve walked into Mira’s outer office. Eve wondered if she should’ve grabbed another one of those handy gift bags, but the woman with the icy eyes tapped her interoffice ’link.

“Lieutenant Dallas is here. Of course.” She tapped it again. “You can go in.”

“Thanks.” Eve opened the door, walked in. “Your admin’s pissed I went around her.”

Mira glanced up from the work on her desk, smiled a little. “She’s protective. But I do have some free time this morning, and I do enjoy consulting on your cases.” She rose. “Tea?”

“Definitely not, but that’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“Tea?” Mira said again as she turned to her AutoChef.

“Yeah. Turns out Ziegler mixed a low-grade date-rape drug with loose tea, brewed it up when he got the urge.”

Eve flipped out her notebook. “A Rohypnol-bremelanotide combo mixed with chamomile, lavender, and valerian. Dickhead called it Erotica with a twist.”

“I see.” Mira programmed one cup of the flower-smelling tea she liked. “I’m not surprised to learn that.”

“Because?”

“Sit,” Mira invited, bringing her tea over to one of her pretty blue scoop chairs.

They suited her—elegant and functional. As the soft coral of her dress, the slightly bolder color of her ankle-breaking heels, the understated but excellent jewelry suited the department’s top shrink and profiler.

“He was a narcissist,” Mira began. “Extremely self-focused. His choice of career, and apparent skill at it, provided a service to others, but put him in control of them, physically and emotionally. Even spiritually for some who consider their physical regimen a kind of religion. It also put him in the spotlight.”

“Yeah, I get that. Add the photos—of himself—in the apartment, the mirrors, the clothes, the really extensive collection of hair and body products. He could’ve opened his own store there. I also get some people can self-focus, can indulge themselves without being narcissists. Or ra**sts.”

“Rapists.” Mira sipped her tea. “Tell me about that.”

“One of the women who slept with him—married, a client—described the experience.”

She laid out Martella Schubert’s statement, her suspicions, and the discovery of the tea.

“He laced tea to gain this woman’s—and you believe other women’s—acquiescence for sex. Tea he served them as if a kind of romantic gesture.”

“Exactly. He even used it on his former live-in girlfriend when she wasn’t in the mood.”

“He wouldn’t have seen it as rape.”

“That doesn’t change the fact.”

“No, but he would’ve seen it as a kind of seduction. Setting the scene. And it again, put him in control, physically and emotionally. To this man sex was another act of being admired, a validation of his prowess, his physical appearance, his body. He gave them a service, he’d think. He gifted them with his skill. And as with his other skills, why shouldn’t he be paid for it? A narcissist, a sex addict with sociopathic tendencies.”