Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(73)

“No, but it will. Another mistake of arrogance—their little private joke.”

“And maybe, like you said, they still use.”

“No maybe about it. Dudley’s got the whole toy store, and he’d never resist taking samples. And with this twisted relationship they have, I’d say Moriarity would share.”

“The sex is another angle. They weren’t in the vic’s book, but they might be in someone else’s.”

Again, Eve shook her head. “Too much ego to pay for sex or more to risk anyone finding out they did. They’re above that, too high on the food chain to have to pay at this stage. Women are supposed to be eager to give it to them. It’s not about sex anyway. It never was. It was, and is, about power, dominance, violence, privilege. Expensive thrills. A man drugs his wife so he can watch his best friend rape her? That’s not about sex. It’s about their own amusement, and still is. About their connection to each other. She was just another knot in the rope that ties them together. They’re f**king soul mates.”

“If they drugged Delaughter so they could share, they could have done it again. If they use sex as a kind of bond.”

“Yeah. They’d be a lot more careful since she found them out. What have you got on the travel?”

“Enough to tell you they’re all over the damn place. They may be based in New York, but they’re not here half the time. Maybe less than half. I’m putting together trips they’ve either taken together or ended up in the same place but traveled separately. They’ve both got private transpo—multiple transpos—so it’s tricky. Added to it they’ve each got homes or villas or pieds-à-terre or however you say it all over. We’re going to have a lot to go through, even keeping it to a year.”

“Send me a chunk of it, and I’ll start scrolling for missing persons or unsolveds.”

She sat at her desk, considered her board. Then contacted Charles Monroe.

“I just sent you an e-mail,” he told her. “We’re looking forward to seeing everyone on Saturday.”

“Saturday . . . right.” What the hell had she done? “Good.”

“And this isn’t about asking if we’d bring potato salad.”

“No. It’s about Ava Crampton. Did she ever mention an incident from her early days. Hired for a threesome, husband and wife. Young, rich. During the book, the husband slips the wife a Whore/Rabbit combo, and adds a friend to the mix. Husband and pal take turns with the wife.”

“No, and she wouldn’t have. She could’ve lost her license, or had it suspended for not reporting the illegals use, particularly if the wife wasn’t aware or in full prior agreement. That would’ve added rape, and Ava could’ve been charged. And that’s a career ender. Reporting it afterward would have covered her, as she’d have had a strong case for participating under duress or out of fear, but it would’ve gone in her file.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“If this happened, how did you find out about it?”

“She told the wife.”

On-screen, he smiled. “That sounds like her. Direct and clean.”

“Give me a quick overview of the husband’s motives. Just a general opinion.”

“Without having the background or dynamics I can’t be anything but general. The use of a rape drug indicates a need or desire to control and debase. By bringing another man into the event, without the wife’s prior knowledge or permission, he expands that control, deepens the debasement while at the same time demonstrating to the other male the female is his property. He can do as he pleases to or with her. Basically he’s saying use her, that’s what she’s here for. By sharing her they make her a kind of commodity, little more than a platter of meat they might split for dinner. It may also be a way of releasing latent homosexuality.”

“By f**king her in tandem, they metaphorically f**k each other.”

“You could put it that way.”

“Interesting. Thanks.”

“Anything I can do.”

For a few moments she sat, letting pieces settle in her mind. After updating her notes she streamlined them into a report, including both interviews, her impressions, the generalized opinion from a sex therapist, and the directions she intended to pursue.

She sent copies to Whitney and Mira.

She updated her murder book, her board, then sat with her feet on her desk, another cup of coffee in her hand, and let it all settle again.

Tonight, she thought, or tomorrow. Not much time before the next round. If the pattern she was seeing was a pattern, Moriarity would be up, which meant the vic would be connected most closely to Dudley’s past, and the lure would be through Dudley and Sons.

“And it could be anyone,” she said aloud.

No, not accurate. The anyone had to be in New York, as both Dudley and Moriarity were in New York. So the target lived here or worked here or was currently visiting here.

The target was important in his or her field—some field of service most probably. Humble beginnings? she considered. Both vics had that in common, starting low on the ladder and climbing high.

Did that play?

Still active in their field. Someone who could be hired or called in, consulted, booked.

Shit.

Someone was going to die because a couple of arrogant whacked-out ass**les wanted to bond over blood, and she couldn’t prove it.