by Graham Smith
I shake my head. ‘We’ve been hired to investigate Kira’s murder. It’s your job to investigate every homicide.’
Leaving the chief to his thankless task, I drive towards the Tree. I’m due to start work soon and I’m hoping it will be busy. I have a bunch of questions I need answers for.
15
I wake up feeling only half refreshed. After speaking with dozens of people to no avail, I’d come home and worried at the mystery some more.
Alfonse has emailed me the key points from the forensic samples lifted at the site where Kira’s body was found. Other than specks of blood on a couple of branches, there was nothing of significance found within the immediate vicinity. Considering how Kira had been killed it was almost certain the blood would prove to be hers, but the CSI team will still test every drop found.
A wider search uncovered a few items of trash but they all showed signs of weathering and were probably dropped by hikers or kids partying.
Kira’s body has undergone the routine sweep for forensic samples and drug tests. The results coming back negative isn’t a surprise. Programs like CSI have made the general public forensically aware, which means anyone in possession of live cells takes precautions against leaving trace evidence.
On the other hand, the lack of fibres and hairs tell me Kira’s murder was planned in advance. Therefore, she was a specific target, killed for a reason.
Nobody I’d spoken to at the Tree had given me any information worth pursuing. Tallying with my own memory and impression of her, everyone agreed Kira had been an easy-going person who caused no offence and was more inclined to make friends than enemies.
I log on to my PC and check the email address I created to contact Kira’s clients.
I’ve got two replies already.
Both responders offered condolences and promise to call me at some point today.
I guess some may think it unprofessional of me to email potential suspects suggesting they call me to clear their names. Those people can go take a running jump at themselves. I need to speak to these guys and this is the best way I can think of to get their attention.
Because I don’t have the time or resources to see each one face to face, I’d instilled a measure of urgency into their responses by threatening to go and question them at their home or workplace. As I’d done with Hank Young, I’d reminded them how it was in their interests for Kira’s killer to be caught before the police knocked on their door.
I’m not proud of my actions, but sometimes the means are justified by the ends.
The first call from one of the nine comes as I am stepping into the shower. I lift the new cell I’d bought in Salt Lake City and answer the call. I hang up after five minutes feeling none the wiser.
The person I’d spoken to broke down in tears when questioned about his times with Kira. His protestations of innocence carried a truthful ring. Throughout the call, my bullshit detector had remained silent. While not infallible, it tends to be right ninety-five per cent of the time.
I never feel comfortable with men crying, more so when the man in question is a stranger. To me the whole idea of baring your soul in such a public fashion feels sordid and grubby. My skin begins to prickle and itch as I strike a mental line through his name and climb into the shower, where I scrub myself under a jet of cool water until I feel clean and invigorated.
Forgoing my usual jeans and T-shirt combo, I dress in my best shirt and add a jacket. The shoes I choose are the ones least in need of a good polish.
While I’m not concerned about my appointment with Dr Edwards, I want to make the right impression. It is no secret the good doctor has been urging my mother to have me visit him. For some reason he is positive the issues affecting her will one day manifest themselves in me. He is either caring enough to try and make a pre-emptive strike, or dispassionate enough to get his claws onto my wallet as soon as possible.
Being a fighter by nature, I register the value of a pre-emptive strike better than most, but there’s no way I’m prepared to expose my fears and worries to a shrink.
I’ll deal with my dark thoughts in the usual way, in the company of Jim Beam and Sam Adams.
16
Alfonse munches on a slice of toast as I inform him of my progress. The traces of raspberry jelly sticking to the moustache of his goatee give him a comical look I can’t forego taunting him for.
‘And one of them actually called you?’
‘Of course. I expect them all to call me.’
‘You’ve got some cojones…’ He breaks off at the ringing of my second cell.
Fighting to remove the smile from my voice, I answer it and reach for a pen and paper. Questions are asked and answered once again, although I am grateful this particular caller retains his composure.
I make a few subtle changes to my questions and listen not just to the answers but also to the pauses between them. I also pay close attention to the caller’s tone as he speaks.
Almost a whisper, his voice tells me he is worried about his involvement with Kira becoming public knowledge. I suspect he is calling from home and his wife or girlfriend is also in the house.
I listen as he gives his answers and offers me fifty grand if I find Kira’s killer before the police come to his door.
The extra payday is unexpected and unwelcome. His money is tainted with a sordid momentary guilt. If he really feels so bad about what he got up to with Kira, he shouldn’t have kept a regular appointment with her.
I am about to refuse his money when a better idea comes into my head. The fifty grand can be given to a charity supporting ex-hookers and their offspring.
Finishing the call, I use my pen to strike a line through his name and toss the cell to Alfonse.
‘I’ve an appointment I need to keep.’ There is no way I’m telling Alfonse I am going to see Dr Edwards unless I learn something useful when I’m there. After all the times I’ve decried shrinks of all forms, his mocking will be relentless. ‘You’ll have to answer the pervert hotline.’
‘Where you going?’
‘I’ve half an idea I want to run down.’
‘Do tell.’ I can see my evasiveness is intriguing him.
‘Never mind that. How did your date go?’
‘Five minutes in, I was reminded in stark detail exactly why I broke up with her last time.’ He gives a mock shudder. ‘That screeching laugh of hers goes through me quicker than an express train.’
‘I’m so glad I got you two back together.’
He flips me the bird. ‘She wants to see me tomorrow night and I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for saying no without us losing her help.’
I know I’d better change the subject before his anger becomes genuine, so I tell him of an idea I’ve had and ask him to look into it.
17
I arrive ten minutes early for my appointment with Dr Edwards. My intention is to allow myself time to get a feel for the environment and prepare myself for this step into the unknown.
When I walk into the building, I’m greeted by a pretty blonde receptionist in possession of the highest cheekbones I’ve ever had the good fortune to see.
All thoughts of preparation leave my head when I give an instinctive look at her left hand and see a bare ring finger. Her eyes see where mine go so I take her smile as a sign of encouragement.
Thickening my Scottish accent to the point where it melts the heart of most American girls, I give her my name and ask hers.
She looks for my name on her computer as she gives me hers. We flirt for a couple of minutes until a sobbing woman emerges from Dr Edwards’ office.
As she walks across to comfort the woman, she passes me an appointment card with a time, venue and date on it. I flash her a smile and a nod of agreement as I walk towards Dr Edwards’ office.
‘Come on in, Mr Boulder.’ He points at a huge leather couch. ‘Take a seat, or lie down if you prefer.’
I sit. Looking around, I see his office is all neutral calming tones
. No hot reds or cold blues in here. Just soft beiges and creams, although I’m sure his interior designer described the darker colours as mushroom or honeyed teak.
Dr Edwards is similar in his dress sense. Flannel pants with light flecks and a cream shirt adorn his slim body.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. I’m afraid I’m not your usual type of patient.’
‘And what is my usual type of patient? If you know, please tell me – I thought us shrinks aren’t supposed to categorise people. I may have to discharge a few stereotypes to create a better balance.’
I give him a small nod. ‘Touché.’
I’d expected him to be sharp witted but I’m not prepared for caustic humour. If it wasn’t for the twinkle in his eye and his relaxed stance, I’d think he was having a genuine pop at me.
‘What I mean is that I’m not here for you to see me. I need to talk to you about a friend of mine.’ As soon as I finish speaking, I realise how lame my words sound.
‘Ah yes… your friend.’
‘No, it’s not like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Let me explain, Doctor, and you’ll see what I mean.’ He waves permission. ‘I trust I’d be insulting you if I asked if this conversation will be kept private?’
‘You would.’ He gives a half shrug accompanied by a small grin. ‘But every new client I’ve taken on for the last thirty years has used the same insult.’
Give Edwards his due, he sits in silence, jotting the odd note as I tell him the basic facts of Kira’s secret life and my occasional times with her.
When I finish speaking he lowers his pen and looks at me. ‘What is it you want to know from me?’
‘I’d like you to make some suggestions as to why she was hooking. What her motivations might have been.’
His lips purse. ‘Are you familiar with the term quid pro quo?’
‘Of course.’ I feel the smile fade from my lips. ‘Are you suggesting you’re Hannibal Lecter?’
‘No. I’m suggesting that before I answer your questions, you must answer some of mine.’
I almost stand to leave but I need his take on Kira. ‘Why do you want to know about me?’
‘To help your mother. I’m not breaking any confidences by telling you she worries about you. That she thinks your lack of a wife and children is due to the fact your father left for work one morning without a goodbye and never returned.’
It was a familiar statement and the cause of many arguments in the Boulder family. Mother always nagged me about finding a wife and giving her some grandchildren to spoil.
When my sister got married I’d thought the pestering would end, but Sharon had been unable to carry a baby to term. After her fourth miscarriage, Sharon and her husband stopped trying and bought a pair of chocolate Labradors.
Bracing myself for his questions, I gesture for him to start.
‘What are your thoughts on your father leaving?’
‘I have very little memory of him. He was this figure who used to come home exhausted every night and climb into the bath after tea. At weekends he would play games with me and Sharon until the pubs opened and then he’d be off.’ I ignore the scratching of his pen and put forward a question of my own. ‘What do you reckon Kira’s motive was?’
‘There are a number of possibilities. The first being she had self-esteem issues and wanted the adulation she’d engender fulfilling men’s basest fantasies. What’s your last memory of your father?’
‘Making sure I was in bed before he came home from the pub. Next possibility?’
‘That Kira resented her father in some way for something and hooked as a way to get back at him.’ He lifts a hand to forestall my interruption. ‘That doesn’t explain why she kept it secret, unless she’d told her family about it and only kept it secret from the rest of the world. What do you remember after your father left?’
I hesitate for a moment as I recall the oceans of tears Mother and Sharon had shed.
When I think about it, I figure he’ll have been told everything by Mother so I give him an honest answer. ‘I was only six, but what I remember is lots of crying and less biscuits. Mother tried to make ends meet on handouts from the government and by taking in ironing, but things were a lot tighter than they were before he left.’
‘I see. And how do you feel looking back on those days?’
‘Proud of Mother for the way she rose to the challenge of raising us by herself. She went without a lot of things so we didn’t have to…’ Realising what he’s done I trail off. ‘That’s two in a row, Doc. You need to give me two more reasons Kira lived the life she did.’
‘She may have resented living off her father’s wealth. Maybe this was her way of building a financially secure future for herself, so she didn’t have to rely on her father’s handouts. Another theory may be that she had a romantic notion that she could fall in love with one of these men. It may seem far-fetched but it’s not unknown for some girls to take up that kind of lifestyle in the hope they’ll snare a husband.’
I shake my head at his suggestions. Kira had no shortage of admirers and was pretty enough to turn the heads of those she was attracted to. There is no way she was lonely enough to use hooking as a way of meeting a husband.
‘What about the bondage dungeon? The submission? That’s a whole different ballgame from plain old streetwalking.’
‘I take it Kira never shared that kind of sexual activity with you?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ I feel uncomfortable telling him this stuff but I’m aware he needs to know so he can properly answer my questions. ‘We had steamy passionate sex, but never once did she suggest anything like that.’
He sits without speaking, his lips pursed and brow furrowed. ‘That intimates that she had unfulfilled desires. The submissive aspect itself suggests feelings of low self-worth and a total lack of self-esteem. Yet you said that she would be the dominant one if that was her client’s preference. What is more indicative is the story you told me about one of her clients.’
I know the one he means. His eyes had widened and his scribbles had stopped as he listened to me relate how Kira had taken a trip with a particular client. That she’d taken a trip wasn’t interesting. The client’s requests and the fact she’d gone along with them had been a different matter.
Kira had agreed to meet her client for a one-week trip to the Caribbean. I’d read the message chain between Kira and the client. They’d discussed how she’d drawn looks from every person they’d met. How her nipples had been exposed by sheer material or the cut of her dresses. Together they’d reminisced over a maître d’ who’d been unable to take his eyes off her the night she’d worn a transparent dress and nothing else.
I’d read back to the start of the conversation and saw Kira agree to meet the client wearing nothing but a dress. The client was to provide all her clothes for the week and she was to wear them without question regardless of how revealing they’d be.
She’d agreed without compromise, her only question being if the client had her measurements.
‘To subjugate yourself in a private one-to-one situation is one thing. To do so for a full week, where you are publicly displayed like a trophy is another. It suggests a worrying level of inverted narcissism.’ He strokes his beard. ‘She’s saying “hey look at me” by wearing revealing clothes, yet by letting a man choose the clothes, she is displaying captive tendencies as the client would be with her, lapping up male envy and female disdain. I could write a whole paper based on that one encounter.’
‘Could this trait be something that would lead her into danger?’
‘Without a doubt. Not knowing how long it had gone on for, I couldn’t say if it was in any way responsible for her getting into a situation where she was killed, but it would lead to her seeking greater levels of subjugation to counterbalance the adulation from the client.’ He lays down his pad and looks at me. ‘I believe it’s my turn to ask you a question or two. Leaving your childhood behind an
d looking at your present life. Are you happy living the life you do?’
‘Absolutely.’ The answer is out before I’ve given it any consideration.
‘From what your mother has told me, your relationships don’t tend to last more than a few dates. Don’t you find it a lonely way to live?’
‘Not at all. I lived in the family home until I was twenty-two. My family are all close at hand and I see my friend Alfonse almost every day. I enjoy spending time at home by myself.’
‘I note you didn’t mention any female company in your reply despite it being the question. Why do you think that is?’
‘Because it’s not relevant. I’m not looking for a wife and the women I date aren’t looking for a husband. We meet up, have a bit of fun and move on.’
‘You said you enjoy spending time at home by yourself. What do you do to amuse yourself? Watch TV, listen to music, build model railways or something else?’
‘I read.’
‘You read?’
‘That’s right, I read. Action thrillers, crime books, classics.’
‘You don’t watch TV?’
‘I don’t own a TV.’
A note goes onto his pad.
‘From what we’ve discussed about Kira, what are your thoughts on her?’
Again his lips purse and brow furrows as he calculates what to say. ‘If she’d been a client of mine, I would have been most concerned about her long-term wellbeing.’
‘Could her family have done anything to stop her pursuing that lifestyle if they’d known about it?’
‘They could have referred her to someone like myself for counselling. Short of holding her captive there isn’t much else they could have done – she was a grown woman making her own decisions. They could have threatened her with calling the police but I’m sure she would be confident enough to call their bluff. Why do you get into so many fights?’
His question throws me for a moment as my thoughts are focused on what he’s saying about Kira.
