Indulgence in Death (In Death 31)

“Did he ever hurt you, physically?”

“No, never. I think there might have been others, other women he did hurt, but never me. I was his wife, and that was, again in a strange way, a point of pride—for a while. Still, it was after we were married, a year or so after Winnie and Felicity broke up and Winnie was out and about with women, that Sly asked me if I’d be agreeable to experimenting with a third bed partner.”

She paused, sipped, studied Eve. “Felicity told me she felt you were very nonjudgmental.”

“I have no reason or cause to judge you, Ms. Delaughter.”

“Do me a favor, considering the topic. Call me Pat.” She set down the water, said nothing for a moment as conversations murmured around them, as people came in, as others walked out. “This takes me back. God, I really was crazy about Sly. I thought he was everything I wanted. Exciting, handsome, daring. And at that point in my life I was completely open to trying everything. Except initially I thought he meant Winnie, and that I wasn’t open to.”

“Why?”

She leaned forward. “I came to understand Sly wasn’t everything I wanted, and there was something in there that would doom or damn me, but Winnie? After Felicity broke things off, he was, again under that polish, vicious. There was something in his eyes, in his voice, in his body that sent alarms out. I don’t really know how to explain it to you, but young and adventurous as I was, I wasn’t willing to share a bed with him. And on that point I was very clear, very firm.”

“How’d he take that?”

“He barely spoke to me for the next two weeks, and in fact, took off without me for a few days to spend some time . . . God, I don’t remember where. It hardly matters. When he came back, and we made up, he told me he’d been angry because of my attitude, because I’d insulted his closest friend, and put restrictions on our own relationship.”

She smiled a little. “It didn’t change my mind about those restrictions, but I was relieved when he told me that wasn’t what he wanted either. He didn’t want another man, even his good friend, in bed with us, but another woman. And I thought, what the hell, that could be fun, and I had been pretty harsh about Winnie. So why not?

“He suggested hiring a pro, which would keep things very level. No emotional involvement. I liked the idea, I admit it. And at first it was very sexy, very exciting, strangely intimate. She was skilled and truly beautiful, and seductive. Patient with me as it was my first time with a woman or with more than one lover.”

Eve felt the buzz. “Do you remember her name?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t. I’m not sure I knew it, or if she used her name. Is it important?”

“It might be. Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Perfectly. It’s etched.” Patrice didn’t smile as she tapped her forehead. “Sly enjoyed watching us together for a time, and having us with him, arou

nd him. But then he began to hurt her, he was so rough, so unlike himself—or what I expected. I didn’t like it, but it didn’t seem to bother her. In fact, she soothed me. I remember drinking buckets of champagne, smoking some zoner, doing what I thought was Exotica. Then it all went a little mad. A lot mad. It turned frantic and mean. I had no control, no boundaries. And I have very little memory of the rest of the night, into the next day.”

“He slipped you something.”

“He gave me Whore and a chaser of Rabbit. My husband did that to me.” She pressed her lips together for a moment, gripped the chains around her neck as if they were an anchor keeping her in place. “I like sex. I like a lot of sex, but this wasn’t voluntary. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I thought, when I surfaced, we’ll say, that I’d just overdone it with the alcohol and drugs, with the experiment. Physically I felt sore and sick and blurry for days, enough that Sly had the house droid keep me in bed and bring me soups and teas until it passed. But worse, I had flashes for months after, where I swore I saw Winnie’s face over mine, heard his voice, felt his body. Sly never asked me to repeat the experiment, and told me I imagined things, so I let it go. But part of me knew, from the way Winnie looked at me, I hadn’t imagined it.”

When Patrice lapsed into silence, Eve leaned forward so their eyes met. “Do you need a break?”

“No. No, let’s just get it done. One day I was waiting for a friend at Chi-Chi’s. We were going to have lunch and do some shopping, and the pro slipped into the chair across from me. I was surprised, to say the least. She said there were lines, and my husband had crossed them, but she would deny ever having spoken to me if I told him. She told me he’d given me drugs, and he’d let his friend have me when I was under them.”

Her voice faltered, but she took a long drink of water and came back stronger.

“Maybe I didn’t care, and that was my business. She could lose her license if she engaged with a client who used illegals, so she would deny that, too, if it ever became an issue. But I had a right to know he’d abused me. She told me they’d recorded it. Recorded taking turns with me. That she’d said and done nothing because she was afraid of them, because she was new, because my husband was her client. And she left before I spoke a word, before I could think of a word to speak. I knew she told me the truth.”

“Do you want more water?” Eve asked her.

“No, I’m fine. It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” But she took a deep breath. “I waited. It took weeks. I had to search when he was out of the house, when I knew I’d have plenty of time. But eventually I found the disc. I made a copy, which I still have. Which he knows I still have. I confronted him, and I suppose—technically—I blackmailed him. I got one hell of a settlement in the divorce.” She breathed again, sat back. “I suppose that was cold and mercenary.”

“Personally, I think it was fucking smart.”

That spectacular smile shone again. “Thanks. I’ve never told anyone. Not even my husband—my third—whom I do love, very much. I married a second time before I was over what had happened, and that was a mistake. But Quentin and I have a good marriage, a good life, and I’d rather, even now, he didn’t know. But Felicity thought it was important, vital even, that you understand who these men are.”

“It is. Very. Excuse me a minute.” Eve rose, pulled out her communicator and stepping away contacted Peabody. “My partner’s going to bring in some pictures for you to look at. Is that okay?”

“Yes, all right.” Her fingers closed over her chains again, twisted them, untwisted them. “Should I get out of town?”