Jonathan Kellerman - Flesh And Blood

The word victim made Dugger wince. His forehead was sweating, and he wiped it with his sleeve.

“Lauren,” he said. “It’s so… This is horrible, this is just horrible.” He shifted in his chair, played with his glasses. Stared at me and his eyes slitted. “The study Lauren’s been working on involves the geometry of personal space. How people configure themselves in various interpersonal situations. For example, if the client was a cosmetics company, they might want to know about the geometry of comfort zones.”

“How close people get to each other,” said Milo.

“How close people get to each other when they’re in varying social situations. How people approach each other.”

“Men and women?”

“Men and women, women and women, men and men, the influences of age, culture, distraction, physical attractiveness. That’s where Lauren fit in. She was very beautiful, and she served as our attractiveness confederate.”

“You wanted to know if guys got closer to good-looking as opposed to ugly women?”

“It’s not that simple.” Dugger smiled weakly. “Yes, I suppose that’s basically it.”

“How’d you come to hire Lauren, sir?”

“She answered an ad in the campus paper at the university. The ad was actually soliciting subjects – we were going to use a modeling agency to get confederates – but when we saw Lauren, we realized she might fit.”

“We?”

“My staff and I.” Dugger looked pained. The sky behind him dimmed, turning the ocean black, graying his face.

“Because of her looks,” said Milo.

“Not just her looks,” said Dugger. “It was also her bearing and her intelligence. She was – so bright. The experiment involves following complex sets of instructions that change from situation to situation.”

“Instructions about what?”

“Where to position oneself in a room, duration of pose, what to say, what not to say, nonverbal cues. There’s some scripting involved – if the subject says one thing, you say another. When not to talk. We use a special room with grid sensors in the floor that are tied in with our computers, so we can track placement and movement directly-” Dugger stopped. “You don’t want to hear this.”

“Actually, we do,” said Milo.

“That’s it, really. Lauren was attractive, extremely bright, able to follow directions, motivated, punctual.” Dugger’s glance wandered to the ceiling, then lowered. His right hand slid over its mate, and both his knees began bouncing.

“Motivated how?”

“She expressed an interest in psychology. Was considering a career in psychology.”

“She talked to you about that.”

“It came up during the screening interview,” said Dugger. Another quick glance upward. A man with Dugger’s training might have known, intellectually, about the telltale signs of evasion, but it didn’t stop him. His knees bounced faster, and sweat beaded his upper lip.

Milo wrote something down, kept his eyes on his pad. “So basically, you placed Lauren in this computerized room and measured how guys reacted to her.”

“Yes.”

“For how long were she and the subjects in the room?”

“That’s one of the things we vary. Duration, temperature, music, dress.”

“Dress? She wore costumes?”

“Not costumes,” said Dugger. “Different outfits. Varying colors, styles. In Lauren’s case, she brought her own clothes, from which we selected what she wore.”

“Lauren’s case?”

“It was actually Lauren’s idea. She said she had an extensive wardrobe, suggested we might make good use of it.”

“Creative,” said Milo.

“As I said, she was motivated. Punctual, absolutely reliable, terrific with details. Plus she had the perspective of a researcher – intensely curious. So many people say they want to become psychologists because they have some ambiguous notion about helping people. Which is good, nothing wrong with that. But Lauren went beyond that. She was extremely keen-minded and analytical. Had a very good sense of herself – socially poised, much more mature than other students we’d worked with.”

“Sounds like you came to know her quite well.”

“She worked with us for four months.”

“Since the summer.”

“Yes, late July. We ran the ad during the summer sessions.”

But Lauren hadn’t been registered for the summer session. I kept silent.

“Mature,” said Milo. “Then again, she was older than most students.”

“Yes, she was, but even so.”

“Four months… Full-time, every day?”

“Her work schedule was flexible. We run studies when we get enough subjects. Generally, I’d say it worked out to half-time – sometimes more, sometimes less.” Dugger wiped his lip with the back of his hand. His knees were still. Dealing with details had calmed him.

“How’d you reach her when you wanted her to come in?”

“We issued her a beeper.”

“When’s the last time you beeped her?”

“That I couldn’t tell you. However, if you call the Newport office tomorrow, I’ll make sure her time cards are available.”

“Why Newport and not Brentwood?”

“The Brentwood office is new, not operational yet.”

“So you beeped Lauren and she drove down to Newport.”

“Yes.”

“How many other confederates are you using in this particular experiment?”

“Two other women and one man. None of them has met each other. None knew Lauren. We do that for contamination control.”

“And how many subjects did Lauren sit in a room with?”

“That I couldn’t begin to tell you,” said Dugger.

“But the information is available.”

“You can’t really expect me to hand over my subject list. I’m sorry, I really can’t do that – Detective, I won’t tell you how to do your job, but I’m sure there are more productive ways to solve your case.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, I’m just saying it had nothing to do with the experiment – My God, the thought of someone destroying a life that vital is sickening.”

Milo got up, walked past him, stood near the wall of glass. A wisp of brass striped the southwest sky. “Gorgeous view – Did you and Lauren have any personal contacts?”

Dugger’s hands laced. Another ceiling glance. “Not unless you call going out for coffee personal.”

“Coffee.”

“A couple of times,” said Dugger. “A few times.” He’d gone pale again. “After work.”

“Just you and Lauren?”

“Sometimes other members of the staff were there. When work ran late and everyone was hungry.”

Milo said, “And other times it was just you and Lauren-”

“Hardly alone,” said Dugger, in a tight voice. “We were in a restaurant, in full public view.”

“Which restaurant?”

“More like coffee shops – the Hacienda on Newport Boulevard, Ships, an IHOP-” Dugger’s hands separated. He drew himself up, twisted in his chair, met Milo’s gaze. “I want to make this perfectly clear: There was absolutely nothing sexual going on between Lauren and me. If you had to characterize the meetings, I’d liken them to student-teacher chats.”

“About psychology.”

“Yes.”

“What aspect of psychology?” said Milo.

Dugger continued to stare up at him. “Academic issues. Career opportunities.”

“Sometimes students confide in teachers,” said Milo, walking around so he faced Dugger. “Did Lauren ever get into her personal life? Her family?”

“No.” Dugger wiped his lip again, and his knees began bouncing again. “I’m a researcher, not a therapist. Lauren had questions about research design – excellent questions. Why we were structuring an experiment in a certain way, how we developed our hypotheses. She even had the courage to make suggestions.”