"This is a thing that bothers me. A well-liked young man is found dead in his apartment. If it were an explosion in the steam pipes or an overdose, it would be an accident. Had it been a gang killing or a quarrel, it would be a tragedy, but quickly resolved. There is nothing to account for the force it would take to kill him like this, and yet he's dead. It's a mystery. I don't like mysteries. They belong in books and TV shows. We had thirty-four murders in Seattle last year—a bad year. Half of them were cleared within a few days by the simplest police work, the rest within months—perpetrators bragged, confessed, or were ratted on by friends. None of them were mysteries. Now I have this." He glared at the folder and tapped it with his fingertips.
"You don't usually share information, so. . what do you want from me for this?”
"I want your list of the participants in that project you're investigating.”
"Why don't you just ask Tuckman?”
"Because, until now, you hadn't told me who your client was.”
I gave myself a mental kick in the head. "Ah. I'm still not sure the cases are related…”
"It doesn't matter what you're sure of, Ms. Blaine." His voice was still calm and low, but he was starting to show that angry orange glow again. "I need to talk to everyone who might know the victim well enough to want to kill him. This is a crime of motive, not of a moment's anger or opportunity.”
I bit my lip. There was no reason to withhold the list, but I hadn't gotten well started on my own investigation yet, and I didn't want to deal with the complication of frightened subjects.
"I'd like to have a few days to interview them myself, before you start on this list. They don't know that Mark's dead yet—or they shouldn't—and I'd like to get in a few questions first.”
He studied me. "Monday. I'll give you until Monday.”
I shook my head. "Tuesday morning. Today is Friday and it's already half shot. You can chase down the rest of the employees and the family over the weekend while I chase down these guys.”
"I've got my own family to see.”
"Come on. I've never known you to take a weekend off during an investigation like this, Solis.”
He growled a sigh. "All right. Tuesday morning.”
I pulled the list from my own folder, but hesitated to give it to him. "This is my only copy.”
"I'll write it down.”
I put it on the table between us and snatched his folder as he was copying the information. Solis didn't even look up. "I don't know why you want that. Preliminary autopsy report's got nothing to do with your case.”
"Hey, I'm a snoop. Sue me.”
"Don't tempt me.”
I leafed through the report, but there was little I hadn't already gotten from Solis or my own impressions. They'd done some experiments to see if Mark had been flung from the Murphy bed, but the angle was wrong. The long, rectangular bruise on his chest was noted, as was a smaller one about the same age on his left shoulder and some kind of old marks on his forearms. A photo showed what looked like shallow dents running all the way around his arms about four inches above his wrists. There were no defensive wounds and nothing under his fingernails but the usual dirt. Residue in the bedsheets indicated a woman had been there very recently and very intimately, but little else of interest. The long catalog of items found in the apartment ranged from the bicycle, with its lock intact, to the contents of the bathroom cabinets and dresser drawers, and I skimmed over it all without much interest.
I handed the report back to Sous as he returned my list of project participants.
"I've got a freebie for you, Solis.”
"You are too generous. I wonder what you'll expect in repayment later.”
I smiled. "That's for later. Now, you should know that Mark's job on the project was to fake poltergeist phenomena during séance sessions. The rest of the participants didn't know, but the research team did.”
He looked thoughtful and the orange glimmer receded a little. "That's interesting.”
"Yeah. I thought so, too." I finished my coffee and stood up. "Now that you've got what you wanted, I have a request.”
He glanced up and waited.
"I've been yelled at once for not saying Mark was dead. I'd like to earn that myself, rather than by keeping secrets for you. Is it OK if I say Mark's dead now?”
He gave a shrugging nod. "Sure.”
"Thanks. I have to get back to work. I imagine I'll be seeing you around.”
"Probably.”
I left Solis studying his file with his eyes narrowed to thoughtful slits.
I walked back to my office through a traffic jam of ghosts. Pioneer Square seemed to be gearing up for Halloween in a couple of weeks and the spooks seemed to know it. I'd gotten to the point of recognizing some of the ghosts, though I didn't know who they'd been when alive and I didn't care to. Most were just loops of memory going through some repetitive routine of their lives for as long as they persisted. A few others were more autonomous and aware. If I'd ever been curious about them I'd too often come to regret my curiosity to indulge in it anymore. If they wanted anything from me, they would let me know. In the meantime, I preferred to avoid them the same way most people avoid too-talkative or nosy neighbors and relatives who expect favors.
I let myself into my tiny office not quite overlooking the historically unattractive parking structure and noticed the flashing of my answering machine. All of the messages were numbers forwarded from my pager service. I reminded myself I'd have to do something about that soon, then sat down and called Tuckman's cell phone.
He was in a bad mood when he answered.
"What is it?”
I got perky just to irritate him. "Hi, Dr. Tuckman. Sorry to disturb you, but I just got finished talking to the police about Mark Lupoldi.”
"Oh, for heaven's sake! Is he in jail? Is that why he didn't come to the session? Thoughtless son of a—”
I dropped perky. "No, Tuckman. Lupoldi is not in jail. He's dead.”
I could hear Tuckman breathing and the noise of students echoing around him. He took his time replying. "When did this happen?”
"Wednesday afternoon.”
"So this would have been before the session he missed?”
"Yes. The report says he died about two o'clock. About an hour before the session.”
His voice was still tense. "What happened? Is there any connection to the project?”
I wasn't inclined to give too much information to Tuckman—who was showing no concern for Mark's death except as it affected him— since he hadn't proven himself to be discreet and thoughtful in the recent past and I doubted he'd suddenly changed. "I don't know if there's a connection. He was killed in his apartment and it wasn't pretty. I arrived as the cops were collecting evidence, but there isn't much I can tell you. Besides, you'll be talking to the police yourself, soon enough.”
"What? Why?”
"Because that's standard operating procedure for homicide investigations. They'll want to talk to anyone who might know why Lupoldi was killed or who killed him. Since the project was a major part of his life recently, they'll be interested in everyone else who was involved. Don't get paranoid about this—they'll talk to everyone he knew, from his family and co-workers to the bums he gave handouts to. It's a cop thing. They're kind of like me—when they want information they ask for it and they don't like to be lied to." I paused to let that sink in. "If I were you, I'd cancel Sunday's session.”
"Absolutely not!”
"Why?”
He explained as if I had not been paying attention in class. "If we're to expect disruption, it's all the more important to get as much done as possible before the group can be distracted. It's just as important that you complete your assignment in good order, so this is no excuse to let your investigations slide. The group will be less interested in you so long as the project is moving ahead. The moment it stalls, they'll start to fragment and focus on you or on Mark rather than the work. I can't allow that. The session must go on as planned and you must not tell the subjects about Lupoldi's death until I can break it to them in a way that causes minimal disruption. Now, do you understand?”