I explained. “I read the reports. I know the facts. That’s not what I’m looking for. Crime scenes always have more to say, and don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You can’t look at those killings and not have a gut reaction or inkling. I want to know what yours is saying.”
“I’m not qualified for behavior analysis.”
“I’m not looking for your credentials. I’m looking for your opinion. Off the record. Me and you.”
A flicker of understanding crossed his face. “It sounds like you have an opinion.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Let me hear yours first.”
I scanned the café, but it remained quiet. No one was within earshot, but I kept my voice down regardless. “Okay. The murders were premeditated. This person kept tabs on our victims and knew their routines. Both attacks took place sometime during the night between Saturday and Sunday. It’s a quick turnaround for our killer. Not much of a cooling-off period.
“Our victims were strangled. It’s intimate. Personal. Strangulation is strongly associated with domestic violence, and typically, the victims are women. Ours are both men. Also, a large number of strangulation victims are found to have been sexually assaulted. Again, that doesn’t apply to our case.
“What do we have? Two dead men, no signs of sexual assault, and a ritualistic postmortem climax, if you will.” I added air quotes, unsure what else to call it. “Both victims were stabbed after death. The messages, to me, scream vengeance. They’re angry. Direct. Whoever did this wants us to know that these people died for a reason. They were heartless and self-righteous. Likely to the extreme, which begs the question, what did they do? Are you following?”
“I’m not sure. Are you suggesting there’s a romantic element involved?”
I waffled my head from side to side. “Not necessarily. I’m suggesting whoever did this knew the victims personally.”
“A lover?”
“Could be. I think the perpetrator was a victim in their own right. The killings are their way of fighting back. Getting even for a real or perceived wrong. These men, according to the little information we’ve gathered, were not well-liked. We have a heartless doctor and a uni student who was in trouble with the law a few times. The only issue I have is that I’m not wholly convinced we’re looking for a woman.”
I held up a finger before Domnique could speak. “I’m not being sexist. Rue’s already read me the riot act. And yes, the perfume slash rose element could be a calling card. I’m not dismissing it, and I called your guy, by the way. Still waiting to hear back from him. I want your honest thoughts. Your gut feeling. What are the chances a woman could have pulled this off? Twice.”
Dominique’s gaze turned inward. He wet his lips several times before speaking. “I think it’s highly probable.”
I deflated. “You do?”
“You say the attacks were planned. The surge of adrenaline and element of surprise would work to anyone’s advantage. But let me ask you something. Why do you assume it was one person? Why not two or three women?”
I stilled, considering. “I… Okay. Maybe. Shit, that could work.”
“You think these men deserved it.” The statement drew me from my thoughts. When Dominique saw he had my attention, he clarified. “Before. You said, ‘the asshole had it coming.’”
“Jesse. Yeah.” I huffed and shook my head. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s unprofessional, and Rue would have my head.”
How could I have been so careless?
I suspected judgment in Dominique’s gaze. Did the unfiltered comment taint his view of me? “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say that. Even if Jesse was a sick fuck, he didn’t deserve to die. I know next to nothing at this point. My opinions don’t matter. Rue would remind me to stick to facts.”
I checked the time on my phone and was shocked to realize we’d been camped out at the café for over an hour. “Shit. I need to get to work.”
I studied my coffee date, trying to determine if my unfiltered mouth had ruined his impression of me, but Dominique was too closed off to tell. We sat in awkward silence for a beat as Ireplayed the date, realizing I hadn’t painted a pretty picture of Kobe Haven. Between my adventures in Mexico and opinions about murder victims, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dominique didn’t want to pursue more with me.
“I had a good time,” he said after a minute, surprising me with his one-sided smile.
“Oh yeah? I thought I screwed up.”
“How?”
I waved dismissively with a self-deprecating laugh. “Never mind. I’m my own worst enemy. Was it good enough that you might want to do it again?”
“Perhaps. I hear there’s live jazz at the Apothecary on Thursday evenings.”
I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt. “There is.”
