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"I have. They're treating it as low priority."
"Why?"
"Because Denny was a known participant in the BDSM scene, and his death looks like sex-play gone wrong."
"And if he was into that scene, they might just be right."
"Except for the fact that Denny only dabbled in BDSM. What really got his rocks off was asphyxiophilia."
I frowned. "Which is?"
"Erotic asphyxiation. Only he wasn't found hanging from his neck, he was found hanging by his wrists, with his back and stomach stripped."
"He got off by trying to kill himself?" That didn't sound like very much fun to me. There again, neither did having my back and stomach beaten so badly that the flesh peeled away.
"He didn't do autoerotic asphyxiation. He was always - always - with a partner."
Something Ben couldn't actually be sure of, unless he was there each and every time. And as frank and as open as wolves were about sex, most of us didn't go blathering to all and sundry about each and every sexual exploit. "Did police find any indication of a partner in the apartment?"
"No, although there had to be one given the state of his body."
"So what do you want me to do? Try and find the partner?"
"I want the truth of what happened. Finding the partner would be a good start, yes."
"I'll need to get in his apartment." Smell the smells, see if his soul was hanging about for a chat. Though not all souls did, as evidenced by Gerard.
"I have a key. I can let you in."
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a key to all your employees' apartments?"
"No, just those who are into the more dangerous stuff."
"You mean there're sexual fetishes more dangerous than trying to strangle yourself?"
"Maybe not as dangerous, but certainly walking the edge, yes."
I walked across to the apartment building's main doors and pressed the buzzer for apartment 1B. While I waited for Alana to answer, I asked, "How long ago did he actually die?"
"Yesterday. He didn't turn up for work today, so I called in on the way home. That's when I found him."
So at least twenty-four hours had passed, if not more. I wrinkled my nose. The chances of the dead man's soul hanging about were slim. Even if he was there, the odds that I'd actually understand him were practically nil. To date, it seemed that the fresher the kill, the stronger I could see or hear the soul - and vice versa.
"The police took your statement, I presume." I pressed the buzzer again, then stepped back and looked up. No one answered, and there didn't seem to be any movement or sound evident from either of the first-floor apartments.
"Yes, they did. You can double-check it if you think I've been lying about anything."
I smiled. "Oh, I will, but not because I think you're lying. I want to see what the cops and coroner all thought."
"I didn't think coroners worked that fast."
"It depends on the situation." And in this one, it could be days before a full report came out. He was right on one thing - BDSM deaths stood side by side with suicides at the bottom of the priority list when it came to cause-of-death examinations. Still, they'd have initial impressions, and those would be in the case notes. "Where are you now?"
"Home."
I gave the intercom buzzer one final push. Still no answer. Alana was either out or working. "Can you get to your mate's place quickly?"
"Be there in fifteen." He gave me the address, then added, "I really do appreciate this."
