Kismet

Chapter 17 Kobe #2

I earned the official Dominique smile that activated on one side only.

It brought a rare sparkle of life to the surface, and I was glad to see his perpetual sadness gone.

“You presume I’m a good enough person to marry based on my cooking?

” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What if I’m terrible in bed? ”

“Good point. What was I thinking? Let’s revisit the marriage proposal in the morning, shall we?”

Dominique arched a brow as he stabbed the leafy greens of his salad. “You’re spending the night now? Awfully presumptuous. I recall inviting you for dinner, not for a sleepover.”

“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

“Apparently.”

“Are you kicking me out after dessert? Tell me now, and I’ll prepare for a broken heart.”

“We’ll see.”

I grinned.

Dinner was divine. I polished off two helpings and assisted Dominique with cleanup.

We fell into easy conversation, discussing work mostly.

Dominique shared his frustrations about having students at his elbows every time he turned around, expressing how they slowed him down and made it difficult to adhere to a proper schedule.

“I was not made to teach. I’m too introverted for that. Stuck in my ways.”

“I bet you do fine.”

“Did Delmar get back to you?”

“He did.” I sighed. “It was a dead end. The science behind fragrance extraction is fragile and complicated. Considering the only sample we have is on a rapidly decomposing flower, he can’t help me.

Even if he could extract something, the rose itself would compromise the sample since it has its own fragrance. ”

Dominique frowned. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be more helpful. Did you get my report for Ford Carrigan?”

As we finished in the kitchen and moved into the living room, I tugged my phone from a pocket. “Did you send it?”

“Yes.”

Dominique moved to the curio cabinet and poured drinks as I scrolled through my email. “Shit. I didn’t notice it came through.” The document was pages long, so I glanced at Dominique. “Did anything stand out that I should know about?”

He placed the drinks on the coffee table and retrieved a folder from on top of the bookshelf before sitting beside me. “Here. Have a gander.”

“You brought Ford’s file home?” I flipped through the pages, skimming blocks of text and examining the diagrams, looking for anything out of the ordinary that might give our case a new direction. I’d learned to parse medical terminology long ago.

When I got to the images and measurements of the spike and its insertion point, I cringed and closed the folder. “Nope. Still can’t look at it. Why would someone do that?”

Dominique softly laughed. “Because it sends a powerful message.”

“It sends a painful message.” I smacked him playfully with the folder. “And don’t make fun of me. Find something useful with all these DBs so I can solve this godforsaken case and make Rue proud.”

Dominique sipped his drink and stared at the closed folder for a long moment with a look of contemplation. “You want my personal feedback?”

“Desperately.”

“All right.” He removed the file from my hand. “I’ll give you something, but it may not help much.”

He opened Ford Carrigan’s autopsy report to the exact page I didn’t want to see. When I groaned, he squeezed my thigh. “Stay with me, Detective.”

“I’m trying. I was hoping for a kinky night, but this is killing the mood.”

Dominique smirked. “If you think I’m mean now…” He placed the open file on my lap and stood, retrieving two more folders from the top of the bookcase. “It’s about to get worse.”

When he rejoined me on the couch, I read the labels on the new files. Navis Kordestani and Jesse Vargas. “Should I ask why you have all my victims’ reports on hand? I mean, it’s convenient but a little odd.”

“I don’t usually take my work home with me, but sometimes it’s necessary. This case is important to you. Hence, it’s important to me. I’ve been reviewing the autopsies more thoroughly. Looking for errors or things that were left behind unintentionally.”

“And?”

He opened Jesse’s report to where he’d recorded the information about the spike and did the same with Navid’s. He lined them up side by side on the coffee table.

“Remember how you asked me about the precision involved in stabbing a man between the ribs and lodging the spike directly into the heart.”

“Yeah. You said that when done postmortem, it wouldn’t have been difficult to hit the heart on a first try while avoiding the ribs altogether.”

“Correct, and I stand by that theory. In your next two victims, the spike penetrated the penis.” He indicated a close-up photograph. I unconsciously pressed my thighs together, feeling a phantom sting.

“Yep. I see it, Doc. I don’t want to, but you seem insistent on showing me. I’m starting to think you take pleasure in making me uncomfortable.”

“Hardly.”

“Is this some sort of pathologist’s foreplay? I’m not turned on.”

Dominique chuckled inwardly, like the sound wasn’t meant to be shared or he was embarrassed to express it. “I assure you. It’s not.”

“Thank god. I knew you could do better.”

“Should I stop?”

“Nope. Keep going.” I blew out my cheeks.

“In both instances,” Domnique continued, glancing at me, likely to ensure I was paying attention, “the spike was inserted in the corona”—he pointed—“and exited the frenulum.” He tapped another picture.

“I see it. It hurts, but I see it. Please explain why this is important.”

“I don’t know that it’s important, but it is identical. On both victims, the measurements are the same.”

“So you’re saying it was deliberate?”

“I’m saying the placement is anatomically precise on both victims, which makes me believe the piercing of the heart was less by chance or luck and more by design.

There are no signs of hesitation. Often, false starts are apparent.

Not in these cases. Every piercing was made intentionally and not carelessly.

The spikes are made of fragile plastic, and if not employed correctly and cautiously, they could easily break, or we might see stress fractures. ”

My discomfort vanished, and I drew both Jesse Vargas’s and Ford Carrigan’s autopsy reports forward. They hadn’t just been stabbed through the penis. They had been stabbed through the exact same part of the penis is what Dominique was saying. No hesitation. Was it important? Did it mean something?

“So, our unsub didn’t get lucky with Navid. They knew precisely what they were doing.”

“It’s possible. Although I’m not sure how much it helps your case. This isn’t like using a knife or a metal object. The precision is noteworthy and deliberate… in my opinion.”

I rolled the information around, examining its implications. We’d briefly suspected our unsub might have medical training, but the evidence wasn’t concrete enough to use as a basis for elimination. It still wasn’t. Not really. But the plausibility was growing.

Navid was a doctor. He worked in the hospital and taught at the university, meaning he was surrounded by medical professionals on both sides.

On the other hand, victims two and three were students taking technical engineering and accounting.

Jesse’s girlfriend had been in the medical program, but otherwise, where was the connection?

Did it matter?

Dominique’s observation, although interesting, didn’t seem to change anything.

“Question. Suppose an everyday citizen with no medical training wanted to do this. How hard would it be for them to read up on anatomy to ensure their message was clearly sent without errors?”

“Not hard at all.”

I deflated. “That’s what I figured.” I tapped the reports. “Did you find anything else?”

“No. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.”

I continued to page through Ford Carrigan’s report, framing and reframing the information we’d gathered. My mind drifted to the arguments I’d had with Rue, the unfiled report made by Yates three years ago, the perfume and flower, the spikes and messages. We were missing something.

A feathery touch to my hair pulled me from my thoughts, and I returned to the present to find Dominique had shifted on the couch to face me, one knee folded between us. He moved the hair off my forehead with the faintest brush of his fingers and tucked it behind my ear.

“Hey.” I softly smiled. “Sorry. I drifted.”

“It’s all right.” Our eyes locked, and Dominique traced the curve of my face with the backs of his fingers. “You seemed troubled.”

“I was thinking about the case. Not the evidence, per se, but the motive. The reason behind all these deaths.”

Dominique withdrew his hand and curled his fingers under his chin, propping his head up, elbow resting on the back of the couch. “Talk it out. I don’t mind listening. I’m intrigued.”

I wanted him to touch me again. I wanted to leave work alone and see where the night might otherwise lead, but I was making a conscious effort not to scare Dominique off and push him into something he wasn’t ready for, so I talked instead.

Angling my body, I mirrored his pose. His attention was captivating. I had a hunch Dominique would listen to my wild theories without judgment, unlike my partner, who continuously shamed me for having an opinion. Who thought I was unfocused and chasing ridiculous ideas.

I told Dominique about Yates, about the unnamed girls and the nervous boy who had come into the station years ago to make a report.

How the name Jesse had surfaced as one of the men who had raped her.

I explained my theory that Navid Kordestani and Ford Carrigan might have been the other two involved in the assault, despite Navid’s significant age difference.

“It’s far-fetched, I know, but I want to talk to Navid’s ex-wife again. She might know if her ex-husband was overly friendly with students or hung out with them outside of class. I want to ask about his porn habits. Maybe he had an affinity for barely legal teens, and these girls caught his eye.

“Fatemeh didn’t seem to suspect Navid of cheating, but if he harbored disgusting secrets that bordered on pedophilia, he would have been extra careful, right? Maybe she remembers the Jesse Vargas incident and how her husband voted since he was on the committee.”

I shifted, rubbing my hand over my stubbled jaw as I thought. “What if these girls, three years older now, are hunting down the men involved in the rape? I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking it’s possible, right? Am I fishing for connections? Is this stupid?”

“Do you think you’re fishing?”

“No. I’m looking for answers, turning over every rock.

I’m not afraid to think outside the box.

Rape would be a solid motive for murder.

If these girls tried to get help and the police brushed them off, I could see them taking matters into their own hands.

Dammit. I wish I knew why Ford Carrigan was on campus the night he was killed.

He had no reason to be there. What do you think, Doc? ”

Dominique’s brows lifted. “This is beyond my realm of study. I’m not an investigator.”

“I know, but I’d love your opinion. I strongly suspect these men sexually assaulted someone who is now fighting back.

Maybe it has nothing to do with those girls from three years ago.

Maybe they were the first, and Jesse and his cohorts got a taste of something they liked.

They got away with it once, so why not again?

It’s disgusting. It makes me utterly sick to my stomach, but this world is full of fucking psychos, and I know for a fact that people get away with far too much. ”

“Are you retracting your claim that your unsub is a man?”

I huffed a humorless laugh. “I think I have to. Like you said before. A determined woman—”

“Or women,” Dominique cut in.

“That too. A determined woman or women with a plan could pull this off. Plus, the perfume seems to be a calling card. A signature. The fragrance is definitely feminine.”

“And someone who’s been sexually assaulted—”

“Would be pretty fucking determined to seek revenge.”

“I say follow your instincts.”

“I’m trying. Rue doesn’t appreciate my mind.”

We sipped our drinks in silence, the haunting truth of my theory lingering between us. Dominique’s accordant expression urged me to say what was on my mind. Rue would crucify me for my uncouth thoughts. My boss would fire my ass in a heartbeat.

But Dominique?

“You know. If I’m right.” I traced a finger around the lip of my glass, unable to look him in the eye.

“If we’re looking at a woman or multiple women who’ve been…

brutalized like that…” I paused, tasting the words before they crossed my lips, ensuring I wanted to say them because once they were out, I couldn’t take them back.

Dominique waited, intently staring.

I met his gaze and took a risk. “If I’m right, Dominique, then I don’t want to find her. Fuck that. She deserves her revenge. They deserve to be dead.”

At first, Dominique didn’t react, and my stomach squeezed so tightly I thought I might vomit.

Then, slowly, he brought the glass to his lips and nodded.