He understood his reaction to her was partly fueled by his heightened emotions over his friend’s death and an almost desperate need to be distracted. Anything that could supplant in his mind the hideous images of what he’d found would be welcome.
Sergeant Malloy certainly fit the bill. She was tall and lean with a high, firm rack that caused her leather jacket to jut out. Although cut short, her auburn hair was far from boyish. It was doing wild things around her oval face. She had kelly green eyes and pale skin with a smattering of freckles around the bridge of her small nose. Irish, of course, with a name like Malloy, and yet she didn’t look like a sweet, friendly girl from the Emerald Isle. She looked like a tigress on the hunt, and she was. She was hunting a killer.
“Mr. Ramsey,” she began in a low voice that held only a hint of a Boston accent. “What exactly was your relationship with the deceased?”
Shit! At the reminder of why he was there, the images of blood and gore returned. His eyes began to water again. He blinked back the tears. He had cried enough, although strangely he felt it would be okay for him to let go in front of this woman. As strong as she appeared, he knew he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be less than stoic with her. Strange, he had never felt that way before about a woman.
Still, it would be counterproductive to give in to his grief. Time for that later when he was alone. Right now, he had to help the police catch the butcher responsible for this horror. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat to ensure his voice was strong.
“Jazz and I are—were—old friends and also law partners. We’re both at Mayberry and Howard.” He had to look down at the table, the one he helped pick out. It was easier to talk if he didn’t look at her.
“Jazz?”
“Sorry, I meant Joseph. Jazz was his nick name.”
“I understand.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her scribbling in her note pad. Her fingers were long, but the nails were short, not the useless painted talons like other women’s. “How is it that you came to find him?”
“Uh.” He snapped his concentration away from her fingers and back to her questions. “He didn’t come into the office this morning, and he didn’t call. That wasn’t like him. His secretary was beside herself, because he had missed a client meeting. She couldn’t get hold of him. I tried, too, and then I decided to come over.” He paused to gather his wits. It was harder to talk about than he thought it would be.
“How did you get in?”
“I have a key, for emergencies, and I guess it’s a good thing I do.”
“Yes, it is.” He liked how her voice remained low and matter-of-fact. It was soothing.
“Anyway, I was worried. I used my key when he didn’t answer the doorbell. I…” His voice caught, and it was a struggle to continue. “I could tell as soon as I stepped into the entryway that he was dead. I followed the smell into the bedroom.”
Kyle had to stop again, and he hated how weak he was being. Christ, he thought he was tougher than this. His father certainly would be disappointed if he could see how his son was choked up and nauseated over the memory of his mutilated friend. But he was. He had never seen anything like it, not even in the movies, because he never went for that sort of entertainment. He wanted to be stronger. He really did. He simply couldn’t.
“Here.” A glass of water appeared on the table beside his hands. He looked up into the detective’s concerned face. He hadn’t even noticed she’d gotten up he was so wrapped in his misery. “Have a few sips. It helps.”
“Thanks,” he whispered and did as she suggested. Once again, he tried to avoid staring at her. She was proving to be a distraction, and he needed to pull himself together to answer her questions. “Sorry,” he said and was happy with how steady his voice had become. “I found Jazz on his bed. I knew enough not to go into the room and disturb any evidence, so I came back out here and called 911 on my mobile phone.” He shrugged. “That’s really all I can tell you. I mean, I have no idea who would do something this vile to him, or anyone.”
“Was Mr. Bennington married?”
“Divorced, no children. God, someone should tell Felicity before she hears it on the news.”
“We’ll take care of notifying next of kin,” the cop assured him. “Unless you are particularly close to Mr. Bennington’s ex-wife?” The question was asked without innuendo.
Kyle shook his head. “No, not at all. I haven’t spoken to her in the three years since they split up. She’s friends with my ex, though.” The admission surprised him. Why had he bothered to bring up Julie? Was he trying to tell this cop he was available? How crazy was that? She wasn’t his type. He liked sophisticated, demure women, not an obvious ball-buster for all her compassion. And even if she were the kind of woman he went for, she was working a case, not angling for a date.
“Okay, Mr. Ramsey, let’s back-up and talk about Mr. Bennington in terms of what happened prior to today.”
He angled his head toward her. She was sucking on the end of her pen, riveting his eyes to her lips. They were free of lipstick, yet as bright and lush as any he had ever seen. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what can you tell me about your friend’s social life? Was he seeing anyone?”
“No, no one lately. He hasn’t actually dated seriously since the break-up.”
“But when he does date, where does he go to meet women? What does he do to relax?”
Kyle struggled to come up with a useful answer. The truth was, he didn’t know much about Jazz’s sex life. “When he wanted to relax, he golfed with me. Other than that, he worked very hard. As partners at Mayberry, we keep very long hours. I suppose he met women the same places I do, through friends, at charity events, the occasional professional meeting, sometimes the health club.”
“I see.” She nodded and wrote, the pen going in and out of her mouth depending on whether she was speaking or he was. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. “What kind of women was he attracted to?”
Kyle frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Sergeant. What does this have to do with his murder? You can’t think a woman did that.” The idea was ridiculous and repulsive. His friend had been tortured and mutilated.
The cop didn’t answer right away. With pursed lips, she gazed at him as if weighing her answer. Finally she said, “Actually, I do.”
Flabbergasted, Kyle sat back in his seat. “With all due respect, Sergeant, that’s crazy. How could a woman overpower him enough to tie him to the bed? Or do you think he was drugged?”
“We’re looking into every possibility. But to be honest, because I really do hope you, as Mr. Bennington’s close friend, have answers I desperately need to catch his killer, I believe he knew the woman who killed him. He either let her in or brought her here and allowed her to tie him up. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know at the time she planned on killing him.”
“You’re saying he was having kinky sex with her, and it got out of hand.”
“It didn’t get out of hand for her. She intended to kill him from the moment she met him, I’m betting.” With a sigh, she crossed her arms on the table and leaned into him. “Look, Mr. Ramsey, I’m going to take the chance of telling you something I shouldn’t, something confidential. Mr. Bennington appears to be the second victim of a killer who struck only two weeks ago.”
The shock continued to grow. He could hardly take in the implication of the Sergeant’s words. “Are you talking about a serial killer?”
“Yes, quite possibly.”
“I can’t believe it. And you still think it’s a woman?”
“Yes, even though it’s very rare for a woman to be a serial killer. It fits in this case.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, all the evidence in both cases points to compliance by the victim, at least initially, with the killer. Was your friend gay?”
“No!” The denial came out too forcefully, and Kyle realized it made him seem defensive when really it was a function of how overwhelmed he felt by the entire thing. “No,” he repeated more evenly. “I’ve known Jazz since prep school. Nothing he ever did indicated he was gay, and he did a lot to demonstrate he wasn’t. Besides that, we have another good friend who came out to us in college. So he knew he could have told me and it wouldn’t have mattered.”
She gave him a small smile he read as approval. “Fair enough. The other victim also appeared to be straight, so if neither victim was inclined to get naked and in bed with a man, it means the killer was a woman.”
She stopped abruptly and gnawed at her lower lip. It drew his attention back to her lips, damn it all. He felt his body go hot, and even though his tie was already loosened, it was as if something were making it hard for him to get a decent breath.
“Go on, please,” he choked out, in order to put his attention back where it belonged.
“There’s something else.”
He could sense her reluctance to continue. “Tell me,” he urged, and without thinking, he leaned forward and placed his hand on her arm. All he got was a handful of soft leather, yet his cock pulsed in response to touching her. Her eyes widened, then narrowed again, and her cheeks flushed. Those ripe lips parted, and the point of a pink tongue darted out to wet the lower one. She stared at him for long seconds before pulling away from his grasp and standing.
“The other victim belonged to a certain type of club,” she said in a breathless voice while she peeled away her jacket and tossed it on the chair she’d just vacated.
Kyle’s gaze was immediately drawn to the hard nubs pushing out the thin fabric of her blouse. So, he wasn’t the only one hot and bothered in the room.
“What kind of club?” He watched her pace the length of the table.
“A club where men can go for a little—discipline.” She turned on her heel and gave him a pointed look.
“I’m not following you.” Was she talking about a health club? He and Jazz belonged to the same one, and he couldn’t remember his friend picking up a woman there recently, although it was possible, even likely.
“I guess that means Mr. Bennington never mentioned being a member of a special club, then.” She was stopped, one hip cocked in a
fuck me
stance. At least, that was the message he was picking up.
“No, he didn’t. You’re being deliberately vague, Sergeant.”
She quirked her lips. “Yes, I suppose I am.” She walked toward him and placed her hands on the back of her chair. “Let me be blunt. Was your friend into the BDSM scene?”
“BDSM, as in bondage, discipline and sadomasochism?”
“That’s right. Particularly, did Mr. Bennington enjoy being dominated and punished by women?”
Kyle laughed. He couldn’t help it. The idea was so absurd he threw back his head and laughed out loud. The sound was almost a hysterical one given the raw emotions bubbling inside him. He managed to control himself, however, before it degenerated into a fit.
“Sorry, Sergeant, but you don’t know how ridiculous your question is. Jazz was a brilliant litigator who tore his adversaries to shreds. He was ambitious and thrived on the kind of stress that would send most people screaming down the street. He was a born leader, too, and the type of guy who frankly always looked for women who needed to be taken care of. He liked being the strong one in a relationship. It was part of what broke up his marriage. He was overbearing. You’re way off base with that idea.”
“Mmm,” was her reply. “Well, the other victim was described in much the same way. He was a banker, a little younger, and not as well established, yet very much cut from the same cloth. However, on his lunch breaks, at night, and on weekends, he frequented a club and went to private parties he found on the internet where he would strip down and let a woman first tie him up, then beat him up. Nothing too heavy, of course. The law frowns on this sort of thing even when it’s consensual, at least with respect to the club. What happens in private is harder to track.”
Outraged, Kyle shot to his feet, all concerns about his attraction gone, along with his nascent hard-on. Something had finally overridden his desire. “You are way out of line, here.” His voice was hard and loud, and he didn’t care. He had stood in horror, looking at his battered and bloody dead friend. He wasn’t going to stand by while some cop implied that Jazz had asked for it.
“Calm down, please, Mr. Ramsey. I know this is hard to hear, but I need information in order to find the killer.”
“You won’t find him by thinking Jazz wanted to be tortured.”
“Her,” she corrected in a stern voice. “And I’m not saying Mr. Bennington agreed to what was done to him. To the contrary, I’m saying he may have had a need to be dominated by women, which was exploited by the killer. I’m not making any personal judgments about your friend’s sex life.”
“The hell you aren’t.” He took two steps around the table so he was mere inches from her. He tried to ignore the pull of her eyes and the smell of her heat. He really did try, and his failure stoked his temper. “I’m a lawyer, Sergeant, and as such I’m warning you to be very careful about the accusations you make about my friend.”
She snorted contemptuously before gathering up her things. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Ramsey. This interview is now over, and you are free to go.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said with emphasis. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.” She turned and walked away.
“Wait a minute,” he called after her.
She stopped and looked at him from over her shoulder. “What?”
“You’re wrong about Jazz. He wasn’t like that other guy, and if you pursue that angle thinking he was, you’ll never find Jazz’s killer.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Ramsey, but this is my job. I’m actually quite good at it.”
“Not this time, Sergeant Malloy,” he couldn’t help saying. “And I won’t stand idly by while my friend’s killer runs free.”
That got her attention. With a hard look, she said, “If you’re suggesting you’re going to involve yourself with this investigation, I would strongly advise against it.”
Kyle folded his arms across his chest. With a sense of growing purpose, he felt stronger than he had since finding Jazz. “You know, Sergeant, you’ll find I’m much like Jazz was. I don’t take orders very well, and I don’t take shit from anyone.”