“No, I don’t believe she is. If she has a job at this point, it’s likely something she can do alone, or where she can flex her hours.”
Shifting, Mira uncrossed, recrossed her legs. “As you noted in your report, she must have a place, a private area where she can carry out her torture, where she can take these men without being detected. I also agree with Morris. She has some medical skill or has practiced the castration. The amputations were much too clean and precise for them to be done by a novice. Additionally, our ME’s belief that a ceremonial-style blade was used says the castration—the unmanning, as you put it—is the main mission.”
With a slow nod, Eve thought it through. “The hunt, the lure, even the torture, those are as much for her entertainment as punishment. The purpose, the point, is severing their manhood, removing that, taking that, so they die without it. Sexless.”
“Yes.” Mira smiled as if at a clever student. “Exactly that.”
“She’s able to project the persona, the image of what each of her victims wanted. That’s part of the game, the entertainment,” Eve added. “She’s the attractive, available redhead McEnroy would invite into his
privacy booth. Then the type of LC Pettigrew favors so he let her into his house. I think with Pettigrew it would have been quick. Hi, come on in. But with McEnroy there had to be some flirtation, some verbal foreplay. This wasn’t a business transaction. She had to be what he was looking for. And even though it was quick, she had to be what Pettigrew expected.”
“She studies them, adapts.”
“Acts?” Eve leaned forward. “I’m wondering if she has acting skills, experience, abilities. She has targets, and not just these two. They won’t all be quick and done like Pettigrew. She has to entice, lure, meet specific expectations to put the men she selects into the situation where she can take them out.”
“That’s certainly possible,” Mira agreed. “But she believes in her mission, her goal. She prepares—that’s the control. She becomes—that’s part of the preparation. No doubt she practices. She has time, she has the space and the means. The wardrobe, for instance, the hair, whether wigs or styling, the transportation, the drugs. All that takes means. She’s made an investment.”
Mira tilted her head. “Does this, too, apply to Darla Pettigrew?”
“Yeah, the means, the acting skills—potentially. The shoes.”
“Shoes?”
“One of the other women told me she came off rich—expensive shoes. She’s got the private home—a big one where she lives with her grandmother. The grandmother’s recovering from an illness, and in addition you can see they’re tight. That’s the shaky corroboration on the shaky alibi.”
“And does Pettigrew have acting experience?”
“Not that shows, but the grandmother does. Big-deal actor. Eloise Callahan?”
“Really?” Shifting again, Mira blinked. “Yes, a very big deal. She’s brilliant, revered. And she’s quite the activist, too.”
“She knows Peabody’s grandmother, they did the activist thing together.”
Mira let out a light laugh. “That shouldn’t surprise me a bit. Callahan’s also well known for her philanthropy. From what I know of her it’s hard to picture her involved in torture murders.”
“She doesn’t have to be involved, directly. It strikes me that the granddaughter may have picked up some tips over the years. Acting, makeup, wardrobe. Even, what’s it—staging. The whole thing is full of drama, right down to the poems and the name she’s given herself”
“Yes, there’s a flair for the theatrical. Is that how she struck you?”
“No. The opposite. Quiet, unassuming—even, I don’t know, plain. But she overplayed the grief and shock. It just hit wrong. It looked, sounded, genuine, but it hit wrong. It’s all I’ve got,” Eve admitted with a shrug. “She hit me wrong.”
Sitting back again, Mira took a moment to process. “Well, she would be in the age group I’ve profiled. She would have means, and motive, and the privacy. She attended the support group. You have ample reason to consider her a suspect.”
“Right now, she’s prime. But I can’t get a warrant on a hunch.” Eve rose, and as she set the cup aside found herself surprised she’d actually finished the tea. “Thanks for the time.”
“Be careful. She’s vicious,” Mira added. “Once that part of her is unleashed, she’s vicious.”
“Hey, me, too.”
As Eve headed back to Homicide, Darla ran a few errands. With the rain, both she and the day nurse agreed to cancel Grand’s walk. But Darla enjoyed the rain, strolling in it as she stopped in the bakery for Grand’s favorite cannolis, moved on to the market for some fresh fruit.
She’d used the excuse that she needed to get out, to walk, to keep busy to help settle herself over Thaddeus. Both Grand and the nurse, she thought as she examined bunches of the tart green grapes Grand liked, had been so understanding, so sympathetic.
God, she loved that.
She’d seen the hints of pity, too, for a woman discarded and betrayed who still loved, and could grieve for the man who’d hurt her.
She enjoyed the pity quite a lot.