Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

The problem was, she had made it very clear she was not yet ready to discuss the past, and until she was, there was little Max could do to close that distance, let alone hope to have any influence at all over any of her decisions. If he pushed too often or too hard, she was very capable of, at the very least, calling her boss or her invisible partner and having Max put on ice somewhere while she went on working.

The girl twelve years ago couldn't have done that, but this woman certainly could. And would.

When they stood in the foyer of what was obviously a professionally decorated house, Nell said, "I want to check the master bedroom and bath first, since that's where he died. Not that I really expect to get anything of value."

"Why not?" Max asked as they walked down the hallway of the bedroom wing of the house.

"Because he was electrocuted. Any unusual surge of electricity in an area tends to disrupt whatever other energy signatures there might have been."

"Makes sense, I guess." He stood just inside the door-way and watched her move around the very elegant but peculiarly impersonal bedroom. Despite her dismissal of the likelihood she'd tap into anything in this room, he was alert to the slightest change in her face and spoke up immediately when a faint frown came and went. "What?"

To herself more than to him, Nell said, "That weird feeling again. Like everything's at a distance."

"Again? It isn't because of the electricity?"

She looked at him and frowned once more as she headed for the doorway of the master bath. "Not unless there was some kind of electricity out at the bayou where Ferrier drowned. I felt it there too."

Max didn't have to completely understand her abilities to be wary of anything Nell considered out of the ordinary, and he came farther into the room so he could watch her while she went into the bathroom. "Then what could be causing it?"

"I don't know." Nell looked at the neat vanity, the designer towels hung just so, and candles and several decorative jars and bottles placed around the sunken tub. She picked up one jar, studying the sea-salt crystals within for a moment, then put it down and went to open the linen cabinet. "Patterson wasn't married, right?" she asked after a moment.

From the doorway, Max replied, "Right. He had been, once, years ago, but the divorce was final back when I was in college, and she moved out of town right after. Why?"

"Did he date? Openly, I mean."

"His public socializing was limited to church events," Max said. "One of the reasons why his little game room in the basement was such a shock to people."

Nell reached into the linen cabinet and withdrew a half-empty bottle of lavender bath salts. "I don't suppose you noticed if he ever smelled like lavender?"

Lifting one eyebrow, Max answered, "Sorry, no."

If she was amused by the response, Nell didn't let it show. Her voice was grave when she said, "It isn't what you'd call a traditional fragrance for a man."

"I wouldn't have thought so. But given what was found in the basement, it seems obvious he had women in the house from time to time."

Still frowning slightly, Nell returned the bath salts to the cabinet and shut it. "Yeah. It is obvious, isn't it?"

Max backed into the bedroom as she came out to join him, saying, "But nobody knows who they were, is that what's bothering you?"

"He was killed back in January, Max. And this is a small town. If Randal Patterson had a string of willing partners over the years, surely at least one of them would have been identified by now."

"I don't know, Nell. Even in these supposedly modern times, there are some things people would do their best to keep private, and I'd think sadomasochistic games would rank high on the list. Maybe the women are too embarrassed or too scared of the consequences to come forward."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Or maybe there was only one woman, Randal's regular Saturday night date for years. Relationships have lasted longer with less than a common sexual need binding two people together. And a single partner would sure as hell be less likely to be noticed and a lot harder to find."

Nell nodded. "It makes sense."

Max heard himself add, "I mean, Jesus, how many women in Silence could there be who're into that sort of thing?"

"You tell me."

He shook his head, wishing he could convince himself she was implying a purely personal interest. "I have no idea, not being into it myself. But I'd be very surprised if there were many."

"So would I. But we're making an assumption, you know."

"What assumption?"

"That his playmate was a woman."

After a moment Max said, "I guess it is an assumption."

"Yeah; which way is the basement?"

"Since I've never been here before, I don't have a clue." He knew he sounded disgruntled and made a mental note to try harder to rein in his emotions. Or at least stop making them so damned obvious.

Nell sent him a glance he couldn't interpret to save his life, then led the way from the bedroom, saying, "There's usually a stairway somewhere near the kitchen, I think."

She found it very easily, in a small hallway off the laundry room, and indicated with a silent gesture the keyed dead bolt that promised whatever lay beyond the door would remain private even within a private house.

"Is it locked?"

"Shouldn't be, since the police have been here." It wasn't, and Nell didn't hesitate to open the door, flip the light switch, and head down the stairs.

This was not something Max had looked forward to, for a variety of reasons but mostly because of the sexual nature of what he knew they'd find in the basement. He was not a man who was easily embarrassed, nor was he in any sense a prude, but he was far too conscious of Nell and what they had once had together to be able to stand beside her and view with impersonal detachment the carnal playroom of another man.

Especially when it reeked of sex.

That was the first thing he noticed, the strong yet faintly musty odors of sweat and other secretions mixed with the sharp smells of leather and rubber. Even before they reached the bottom of the stairs, he was trying to brace himself to face what they would find.

But bracing himself didn't help at all.

"Jesus Christ." His own voice sounded strange to Max, and he wasn't surprised.

Harsh fluorescent lights made it as bright as day despite the absence of windows, and everything was clearly visible. The basement was unfinished, the floor concrete and the walls unpainted cinder blocks, with heating ducts and plumbing pipes and wiring exposed overhead.

The hot-water heater and furnace as well as what looked like a chest-type Deepfreeze were in the far corner, half hidden behind an incongruous Oriental screen. In the near corner, what looked like a very expensive Oriental rug provided a cushioned "room" in which sat a beautiful mahogany sleigh bed complete with luxurious bedding in rich, dark colors. There was even a nightstand with a lovely, shaded lamp atop it beside the bed.

Underneath the stairs and against one wall was an enclosed space that obviously contained a bathroom or half bath, Max couldn't tell which for sure from where they stood. In any case, it was a far less… interesting space than the remainder of the basement.

Another richly colored Oriental rug occupied the center of the huge room, its size providing plenty of space for the equipment and tools placed there.

There were things Max didn't want to even try to identify in that space; appliances and devices hung on a pegboard on the far wall, many made up of or decorated with silver-studded black leather. There were large wooden… instruments holding various fastenings for wrists and ankles to contort a body into awkward, degrading, and painful positions; one of them was a large, upright X-shaped frame, while another looked like nothing so much as medieval stocks — and a third was a kind of wooden horse, complete with a saddle.