Dugger went ghostly white and swayed. For a moment I thought he'd faint, and I got ready to catch him. But he stayed on his feet and tugged at his collar and pressed a palm to one cheek, as if stanching a wound.
“Oh, no.”
“I'm afraid so, Doctor. Did you know her well?”
“She worked for me. This is . . . hideous. My God. Come in.”
* * *
The penthouse was lots of wide-open space. A step-down conversation pit increased the size of the glass wall, magnified the view. No terrace on the other side of the glass, just air and infinity. One of the few walls was covered with metal shelving, filled with journals and books. No food smells from the open kitchen. No woman's touch or sign of domesticity. The first time I'd seen Dugger I hadn't taken a look at his hands. Now I did. No ring.
He sat down, hung his head, dropped it into his hands. When he looked up his eyes aimed for Milo; he still hadn't focused on me. “For God's sake, what happened?”
“Someone shot her and dumped her in an alley, Doctor. Do you have any idea who would do something like that?”
“No, of course not. Unbelievable.” Dugger's chest rose and fell. Breathing fast. He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“What kind of work did she do for you, sir?”
“She was a research aide on a project I'm conducting. I'm an experimental psychologist.”
“What kind of project, Doctor?”
Dugger's hand flapped distractedly. “I run a small market research firm. We do mostly contract work with ad agencies— focus groups, limited-topic opinion surveys, that kind of thing. . . . Poor Lauren. When did it happen?”
“Several days ago. When's the last time you saw her?”
“A couple of weeks. We're on hiatus. . . . This is so . . .”
“What was Lauren researching?” said Milo.
“She wasn't actually— the study I hired her for is on interpersonal space,” said Dugger. “Why does that matter?”
Milo's answer was a blank look. One of many tricks in his bag; it unsettles some people. It caused Dugger to shift his attention, and now he saw me and his mouth turned down. “You were just in the elevator at my office. Have you people actually been following me? Why in the world would you do that?”
Milo and I had prepared for this. He said, “First things first, sir. Please tell us about Lauren Teague's role in your research.”
Dugger kept his eyes on me for several moments. “Lauren worked as an experimental confederate. But . . .” He shook his head. Still white.
“But what, sir?”
“I was going to say her job couldn't be relevant. But I'm sure my saying so means nothing to you.”
Milo smiled and took out his notepad. “What's a confederate, sir?”
Dugger touched the chain of his eyeglasses. “What psychologists call a plant.”
“I'm not a psychologist, sir.”
“She role-played.”
“Acting?”
“In a sense,” said Dugger. “Lauren pretended to be an experimental subject.”
“But she was really in on the game?”
“Not a game, a study. Limited deception. It's standard operating procedure in social psychology.”
“Limited?”
“When the studies are over, we always debrief the subjects.”
“You tell them they've been fooled.”
“We— Yes.”
“How do people react to being fooled, Doctor?”
“It's no problem,” said Dugger. “We pay them well and they're good-natured.”
“No one gets irate?” said Milo. “No one who might want to take it out on Lauren?”
“No, of course not,” said Dugger. “You can't be serious. . . . Yes, I suppose you are. No, Detective, we've never had that kind of problem. We pretest our subjects, take only psychologically balanced people.”
“No weirdos even though it's a psychology experiment.”
“I don't deal with abnormal psychology.”
Milo said, “The client doesn't want nutcases.”
Dugger scooted forward. “We're not talking about anything strange here, Detective. This is quantitative marketing research.”
“Nothing sexy,” said Milo.
Dugger colored. “Nothing controversial. That's the point, in marketing research one tries to establish norms, to define the typical. Deviance is our enemy. Nothing Lauren did for us could possibly have led to her death. Besides, her identity was always kept confidential.”
“But the subjects found out she'd fooled them.”
“Yes, but Lauren's name and personal information were always kept confidential.” His chin quaked. “I can't believe she's . . . gone.”
“Tell me more about the study, sir.”
“Nothing about it could possibly be important to you.”
“Sir, this is a homicide investigation, and I need to know about the victim's activities.”
The word victim made Dugger wince. His forehead was sweating, and he wiped it with his sleeve.
“Lauren,” he said. “It's so . . . This is horrible, this is just horrible.” He shifted in his chair, played with his glasses. Stared at me and his eyes slitted. “The study Lauren's been working on involves the geometry of personal space. How people configure themselves in various interpersonal situations. For example, if the client was a cosmetics company, they might want to know about the geometry of comfort zones.”
“How close people get to each other,” said Milo.
“How close people get to each other when they're in varying social situations. How people approach each other.”
“Men and women?”
“Men and women, women and women, men and men, the influences of age, culture, distraction, physical attractiveness. That's where Lauren fit in. She was very beautiful, and she served as our attractiveness confederate.”
“You wanted to know if guys got closer to good-looking as opposed to ugly women?”
“It's not that simple.” Dugger smiled weakly. “Yes, I suppose that's basically it.”
“How'd you come to hire Lauren, sir?”
“She answered an ad in the campus paper at the university. The ad was actually soliciting subjects— we were going to use a modeling agency to get confederates— but when we saw Lauren, we realized she might fit.”
“We?”
“My staff and I.” Dugger looked pained. The sky behind him dimmed, turning the ocean black, graying his face.
“Because of her looks,” said Milo.
“Not just her looks,” said Dugger. “It was also her bearing and her intelligence. She was— so bright. The experiment involves following complex sets of instructions that change from situation to situation.”
“Instructions about what?”
“Where to position oneself in a room, duration of pose, what to say, what not to say, nonverbal cues. There's some scripting involved— if the subject says one thing, you say another. When not to talk. We use a special room with grid sensors in the floor that are tied in with our computers, so we can track placement and movement directly—” Dugger stopped. “You don't want to hear this.”
“Actually, we do,” said Milo.
“That's it, really. Lauren was attractive, extremely bright, able to follow directions, motivated, punctual.” Dugger's glance wandered to the ceiling, then lowered. His right hand slid over its mate, and both his knees began bouncing.
“Motivated how?”
“She expressed an interest in psychology. Was considering a career in psychology.”
“She talked to you about that.”
“It came up during the screening interview,” said Dugger. Another quick glance upward. A man with Dugger's training might have known, intellectually, about the telltale signs of evasion, but it didn't stop him. His knees bounced faster, and sweat beaded his upper lip.
Milo wrote something down, kept his eyes on his pad. “So basically, you placed Lauren in this computerized room and measured h
ow guys reacted to her.”
“Yes.”
“For how long were she and the subjects in the room?”
“That's one of the things we vary. Duration, temperature, music, dress.”
“Dress? She wore costumes?”
“Not costumes,” said Dugger. “Different outfits. Varying colors, styles. In Lauren's case, she brought her own clothes, from which we selected what she wore.”
“Lauren's case?”
“It was actually Lauren's idea. She said she had an extensive wardrobe, suggested we might make good use of it.”
“Creative,” said Milo.
“As I said, she was motivated. Punctual, absolutely reliable, terrific with details. Plus she had the perspective of a researcher— intensely curious. So many people say they want to become psychologists because they have some ambiguous notion about helping people. Which is good, nothing wrong with that. But Lauren went beyond that. She was extremely keen-minded and analytical. Had a very good sense of herself— socially poised, much more mature than other students we'd worked with.”
“Sounds like you came to know her quite well.”
“She worked with us for four months.”
“Since the summer.”
“Yes, late July. We ran the ad during the summer sessions.”
But Lauren hadn't been registered for the summer session. I kept silent.
“Mature,” said Milo. “Then again, she was older than most students.”
“Yes, she was, but even so.”
“Four months . . . Full-time, every day?”
“Her work schedule was flexible. We run studies when we get enough subjects. Generally, I'd say it worked out to half-time— sometimes more, sometimes less.” Dugger wiped his lip with the back of his hand. His knees were still. Dealing with details had calmed him.
“How'd you reach her when you wanted her to come in?”
“We issued her a beeper.”
“When's the last time you beeped her?”
“That I couldn't tell you. However, if you call the Newport office tomorrow, I'll make sure her time cards are available.”
“Why Newport and not Brentwood?”
“The Brentwood office is new, not operational yet.”
“So you beeped Lauren and she drove down to Newport.”
“Yes.”
“How many other confederates are you using in this particular experiment?”
“Two other women and one man. None of them has met each other. None knew Lauren. We do that for contamination control.”
“And how many subjects did Lauren sit in a room with?”
“That I couldn't begin to tell you,” said Dugger.
“But the information is available.”
“You can't really expect me to hand over my subject list. I'm sorry, I really can't do that— Detective, I won't tell you how to do your job, but I'm sure there are more productive ways to solve your case.”
“Such as?”
“I don't know, I'm just saying it had nothing to do with the experiment— My God, the thought of someone destroying a life that vital is sickening.”
Milo got up, walked past him, stood near the wall of glass. A wisp of brass striped the southwest sky. “Gorgeous view— Did you and Lauren have any personal contacts?”
Dugger's hands laced. Another ceiling glance. “Not unless you call going out for coffee personal.”
“Coffee.”
“A couple of times,” said Dugger. “A few times.” He'd gone pale again. “After work.”
“Just you and Lauren?”
“Sometimes other members of the staff were there. When work ran late and everyone was hungry.”
Milo said, “And other times it was just you and Lauren—”
“Hardly alone,” said Dugger, in a tight voice. “We were in a restaurant, in full public view.”
“Which restaurant?”
“More like coffee shops— the Hacienda on Newport Boulevard, Ships, an IHOP—” Dugger's hands separated. He drew himself up, twisted in his chair, met Milo's gaze. “I want to make this perfectly clear: There was absolutely nothing sexual going on between Lauren and me. If you had to characterize the meetings, I'd liken them to student-teacher chats.”
“About psychology.”
“Yes.”
“What aspect of psychology?” said Milo.
Dugger continued to stare up at him. “Academic issues. Career opportunities.”
“Sometimes students confide in teachers,” said Milo, walking around so he faced Dugger. “Did Lauren ever get into her personal life? Her family?”
“No.” Dugger wiped his lip again, and his knees began bouncing again. “I'm a researcher, not a therapist. Lauren had questions about research design— excellent questions. Why we were structuring an experiment in a certain way, how we developed our hypotheses. She even had the courage to make suggestions.”
Dugger rubbed his thinning hair. His eyes were feverish. “She had terrific potential, Detective. This is a just a god-awful waste.”
“Did she ever tell you about any other jobs she'd held?”
“That would be on her personnel form.”
“It never came up in conversation?”
“No.”
“I'd like to see her personnel form, sir. As well as any other data on Lauren you have at hand.”
Dugger sighed. “I'll try to have them ready for you tomorrow. Come by the Newport office after eleven.”
Milo walked back to where I sat, remained on his feet. “Thank you, sir. . . . Apart from filling out the form, did Lauren say anything about her professional background?”
“Professional?” said Dugger. “I'm not sure I understand.”
“Dr. Dugger, can you think of anything that might help us? Anyone at all who resented Lauren or would've had reason to harm her?”
“No,” said Dugger. “All of us liked her.” To me: “How did you connect me with Lauren anyway?”
“Your name was among her effects,” said Milo.
“Her effects.” Dugger's eyes closed for a second. “So . . . pathetic.”
Milo thanked him again, and we walked to the door. Before Dugger could get to the knob, Milo took hold of it. Held it in place. “Are you married, Dr. Dugger?”
“Divorced.”
“Recently?”
“Five years ago.”
“Children?”
“Luckily, no.”
“Luckily?”
“Divorce scars children,” said Dugger. “Would you like to know my blood type as well?”
Milo grinned. “Not at this point, sir. Oh— one more thing: the experiment— how long has it been running?”
“This particular phase has lasted around a year,” said Dugger.
“How many phases have there been?”
“Several,” said Dugger. “It's a long-term interest of ours.”
“Interpersonal space.”
“That's right.”
“We found some notes in Lauren's effects,” said Milo. “Your name and number and something about intimacy. Is that the same study?”
Dugger smiled. “So that's it. No, it's nothing sexy, Detective. And yes, it's the same study. Intimacy— in a psychosocial sense— is a component of interpersonal space, sir. In fact, the ad Lauren answered used the term intimacy.”
“In order to . . .”
“As an eye-catcher, yes,” said Dugger.
“For marketing purposes,” said Milo.
“You could put it that way.”
“Okay, then.” Milo turned the knob. “So you have absolutely no knowledge of Ms. Teague's prior work history?”
“You keep coming back to that.”
Milo turned to me. “Guess she wouldn't have brought it up with someone like Dr. Dugger.”
“What are you getting at?” said Dugger.
“Your being her teacher and all that, sir. Someone she looked up to. You'd be the last person she'd tell.”
He opened the d
oor.
“Tell what?” said Dugger.
Flesh and Blood Page 19
