“Do you believe her on that point?” Rafe asked.
“I think she saw more than she’s admitted, but I didn’t get a good sense of just how much.”
“Every answer we get just opens up more questions,” he said with a sigh.
Isabel, who was sitting at the end of the conference table near him, reached over and turned one of the photos so that she could study it. “Par for the course in serial-murder investigations, I’m afraid. In the meantime, does either of you have a clue where this room might be? It doesn’t look like a room at the inn, and I doubt it’s any other local hotel or motel. Anything about it look familiar to either of you?”
Mallory sat down on the other side of Rafe and leaned an elbow on the table, staring at the photos. “Not to me. There’s not a lot there to go by. Bare paneled walls, what looks like an old vinyl floor, and a-yuck-stained mattress on a plain wooden platform. I guess comfort wasn’t the point.”
“The opposite, if anything,” Isabel said with a grimace. “Have you tried stilettos? I have. It’s a hideous thing to do to a foot.”
Rafe looked at her with interest. “Stilettos? My God, how tall are you in them?”
“The ones I was wearing put me at about six-four. Note the past tense. I will never wear them again.”
Curious, Mallory said, “Why did you wear them once? Or would that be sharing too much?”
Isabel chuckled. “Business, not pleasure, I promise you. Bishop believes our law-enforcement training should be varied and extensive, so at one point I worked for a while with a narc squad. Naturally, when they needed somebody to pose as a hooker…”
“You got the call.”
“And the makeup and big hair and skanky outfit-and the stilettos. I gained a whole new respect for hookers. Their job is hard. And I mean just the walking around on the streets part.”
Rafe cleared his throat again and tried to clear his mind of the image of Isabel dressed as a hooker. He tapped one of the photos in front of him. “Getting back to this room…”
Mallory grinned, but then sobered and said, “Maybe it’s a basement, but look at the shaft of light on the floor; that doesn’t look like it’s artificial light. There’s a window in that room, and not a little basement window, I’m thinking. High, though.”
“A walk-out basement could have full-size windows,” Rafe noted almost absently. “I don’t know, though, it doesn’t look like a basement to me. The angle of the camera gives us a floor-to-ceiling view, and that ceiling’s too high for most basements I’ve seen. Might even be something like a warehouse.”
“Could be. And, judging by how fixed the positioning is, I’m guessing the camera was on a tripod and taking timed shots; neither woman is paying particular attention to it. So no third person was present. Probably.”
“Maybe the submissive isn’t even aware there is a camera,” Rafe suggested.
“The submissive?” Mallory eyed him with faint amusement. “Did you take a crash course in S amp;M, or is the lingo a lot more standard than I thought it was?”
“I should refuse to answer that,” Rafe said, “but in my defense I have to say we spent time about half an hour ago gathering and downloading information on the S amp;M scene from Quantico. Your tax dollars at work. I am now much more informed on the subject.”
“I’ll just bet you are.”
“They sent plain facts, Mal, not pages from a magazine or some how-to manual.”
“Ah. Learn anything interesting?”
“Nothing helpful.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“That’s what I answered.”
“Do you two do parties?” Isabel asked.
Rafe sighed. “Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. In a case like this one, I’d much rather laugh when I can. The chuckles tend to be few and far between.”
Mallory said, “We’ve already had a few moments of gallows humor here and there. And I have a feeling this dominatrix stuff is going to provide a few more. Hard to take it seriously, you know? I mean, hard to imagine somebody you knew dressing up and making another woman lick her foot. What’s that about?”
“In this context, a need to be in control and a high level of insecurity. Or, at least, that’s my reading of Jamie Brower.”
“Your psychic reading?” Rafe asked.
“From what I picked up at her parents’ home and from Emily, yeah. Also a fair psychological stab in the dark. I’d like to check out her apartment, though, and try to get a better sense of her.”
“I’d rather do that than keep staring at these damned pictures,” Rafe said frankly. “I’d also rather not post them on the board, if it’s all the same to you.”
Knowing that virtually every cop in the place had access to the conference room and the boards set up with victim information, Isabel agreed with a nod. “We’ll keep them in the Eyes Only file.”
“We have one of those?” Mallory asked.
“We do now. I have a feeling there’ll be more stuff for it as we go along, but for now I’d just as soon keep these photos and Jamie’s secret between us. If this particular avenue of pursuit turns out to be a dead end, I don’t see any reason for us to be the ones to out Jamie. Especially posthumously.”
“Emily will probably take care of that,” Mallory said.
“Or,” Isabel said, “she’ll keep it to herself and feel superior knowing her sister’s dirty little secret. Could go either way, I’d say.”
Mallory said, “You suggested to me that Emily might have caught the attention of her sister’s killer; how serious were you about that?”
Isabel leaned back in her chair, absently rubbing the nape of her neck. “I don’t have anything concrete, no evidence to support it. Not even a clairvoyant sense, really. Emily just barely fits the victim profile; she’s blond, but on the young side for our killer. Not especially successful in any career, since she’s still in school, but she’s smart and observant.”
“But?” Rafe said.
“It’s just… a feeling I got in that house. Emily was actively snooping in Jamie’s life during the weeks before she was killed, and we can be reasonably sure that during that period our killer was involved in Jamie’s life, that he crossed her path. Which means he probably crossed Emily’s path as well.”
“And maybe she noticed him,” Rafe said.
“Maybe. It’s just a theory, but… it might not be such a bad idea to have your people keep an eye on Emily, at least when she’s out of the house.”
“Done. I’ll assign a patrol. Plainclothes or uniformed?”
Isabel debated silently for a moment. “Let’s not try to be subtle. Uniformed. Tell them to be casual but stay alert. If nothing else, focusing on the family member of a victim may lead the killer to think we’re on the wrong track.”
“Or on the right one,” Mallory murmured.
“If he is after her, yeah. And, if so, a police escort may cause him to think twice. Worth the risk, I think.”
Rafe nodded. “I agree. I’ll assign the patrol on our way out and then go with you to check out Jamie’s apartment. Mal, Hollis is at Tricia Kane’s office; why don’t you go over Jamie’s office one more time? Just to make sure.”
“Her boss is already pissed that we’ve taped the door to her office so none of his other agents can use it. Can I release it to him if I don’t find anything this time?”
“Yeah, might as well. Unless the FBI has an objection?”