“She liked telling stories,” Emily said. “Made-up ones, but stuff that happened to her too.”
“You said she traveled; did she tell you any stories about that?”
“She talked about it sometimes at Sunday dinner. But with Mom and Dad there, she only talked about the boring parts. Museums, shows, sightseeing.”
“Never talked about any of the men she met?”
“Nah, to hear her tell it she was a nun.”
“But you knew the truth, naturally. Was she seeing anybody, locally?”
“She didn’t talk to me about her private life.”
Agent Adams smiled again at Emily. “Sisters don’t have to talk to know, do they? Sisters always see what’s there, far more than anybody else ever does.”
Emily wavered for a moment, but that understanding, conspiratorial smile combined with the stresses and strains of the last few weeks finally caused her resentment to escape.
“Everybody thought she was so perfect, you know? It all came so easy to her. She was good at everything she tried, everybody loved her, she made loads of money. But underneath all that, she was scared. It really showed in the last few weeks before she died. To me, anyway. Nervous, jumpy, rushing around like she had too much to do and not enough time. She was scared shitless.”
“Why?” Detective Beck asked quietly.
“Because of her big secret. Because she knew how upset and disappointed our parents would be, other people would be, how horrified. It’s just not something you do in a little town like Hastings, not something people could accept. And she was always scared they’d find out. Always.”
“Scared they’d find what out, Emily?” Agent Adams asked.
“That she was gay.” Emily laughed. “A lesbian. But not just any sort of lesbian, mind you, that’s not the part she was terrified people would find out. Lovely, sweet, talented, good-at-anything-and-everything Jamie was a dominatrix. She dressed in shiny black leather and stiletto heels with fishnet stockings, and she made other women crawl and fawn and do whatever she wanted them to.”
Agent Adams didn’t seem in the least surprised. “Are you sure about that, Emily?”
“You bet I’m sure. I’ve got pictures.”
As they got into Mallory’s Jeep a few minutes later, she said, “Did you know about Jamie Brower going in or pick up something there in the room?”
“Picked it up while I was there. That house was practically screaming at me.”
“Really? Amazing how much people can keep hidden. Because we didn’t get any of this before, and both Rafe and I talked to Emily several times. And Jamie’s parents, friends, coworkers. Not so much as a hint that Jamie led any kind of unconventional life sexually.”
“Yeah, I read the statements you guys collected. Jamie even dated local men, and at least two claimed fairly recent sexual relationships.”
Mallory started the Jeep but didn’t put it in gear, turning her head to frown at Isabel. “They weren’t lying about that. I’d bet my pension on it.”
“I think you’re right. Just the fact that they were willing to admit to intimate relationships and put themselves in that police spotlight makes it fairly certain they were telling the truth. But I don’t believe Jamie was truly bisexual, that she enjoyed sex with men and women.”
“Then why sleep with the men? Just to keep her secret life secret?”
“I’d say so. Emily was right; in a small town like Hastings, any successful woman like Jamie would hesitate to come out of the closet. Especially if that closet contained whips, chains, and black leather. She wouldn’t have wanted that image in a client’s mind while she was trying to sell them real estate.”
“Hell, I don’t want the image in my head. But it’s there now.”
Isabel smiled wryly. “I know. The question is, how important is this information? Is it what triggered our killer’s compulsion? Did he find out he could never possess Jamie Brower the way he needed to? Did he discover her secret and find himself unable to bear it for some other reason?”
“Or,” Mallory finished, “is it just an extraneous fact completely unconnected with Jamie’s murder.”
“Exactly.”
Mallory put the Jeep in gear and headed toward the end of the Browers’ circular driveway. “Well, it’s a new fact for us, at any rate. Lucky you could get chummy with Emily about the trials of sisterhood.”
“I never had a sister,” Isabel said.
After a beat, Mallory said, “Ah. You used what you picked up psychically from Emily to encourage her to talk. The cartoon numbers she drew in school. Being lousy at math when her sister was so good at it. You used the knowledge to be sympathetic, be on her side so she’d feel comfortable talking to you. So that’s how your abilities can be used as investigative tools.”
“That’s how,” Isabel said. “An edge that sometimes makes all the difference. But something else I learned in there is that Emily was all but invisible in that family. Which is why she knew about Jamie’s secret life. Why she saw more than anyone else realized. And why there’s a good chance she saw something that could get her killed.”
“What?”
“Her sister’s murderer.”
3:30 PM
Isabel closed the folder and looked at Rafe with a sigh. “Just like I remembered. As far as we could determine both times, the twelve women killed before he came to Hastings were all straight. No secret sexual closet, with or without whips and chains. And the second and third victims here, Allison Carroll and Tricia Kane, were straight as well, according to the information you got. Right?”
“Right.”
“Still, I’m going to ask Quantico to reopen those old files, maybe send an agent to the towns in Florida and Alabama to double-check, particularly the lives of the primary victims just before they were killed. With Jamie’s secret life staring us in the face, we have to be sure whether or not it has anything to do with what triggers his killing rage.”
“Makes sense to me. Could be, he got the kind of rejection he couldn’t take. Rejection as a man, for being a man.”
“That is entirely possible.”
Rafe looked down at the three small in-living-color photographs of Jamie Brower in full dominatrix gear: a silver-studded, black leather bustier, fishnet stockings held up by garters, stiletto heels-and a whip. In each shot, there was another woman, crawling, fawning, or in some clearly submissive pose, just as Emily had said.
And while Jamie’s face was unmasked and highly visible, her companion was completely unidentifiable due to a black leather hood and mask.
He lined up the photos on the table and studied them intently. “I’d say this is the same woman in all three shots.”
Isabel nodded. “And I’d guess all three shots were taken on the same day. Same… session. Though all the details of costume and… um… accessories being exactly the same could be part of their whole ritual, so we can’t assume too much.”
“Can I assume the second woman is nobody I know personally? Please?”
Isabel smiled wryly. “It is unsettling, isn’t it? Other people’s secrets.”
“This sort of secret, at least. I guess you never really know about people.”
“No. You don’t.” There was something oddly flat about Isabel’s response, but she went on before Rafe could question it. And her voice was easy once again. “That outfit the other woman is wearing shows a lot of skin, but considering how tight and rigid it is, it’s also doing a dandy job of disguising her true body shape. So are her positions; we can’t even realistically estimate how tall she is. Her face is never turned to the camera, so not even her eyes are visible. And her hair’s caught up under that hood.”