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?He smiled and we clicked glasses.
?As tapas were served, we were able to relax a bit. It was past 11:00 at this point, and it had been a trying day. We made polite small talk, but I couldn’t help but pull the conversation back to the murder.
?“It was odd, him strung-up like that,” I pointed out.
?“Was Randall into anything kinky?”
?I was sure that this time I turned beet red as memories flooded back to me.
?“I’m sorry,” Mark attempted, aware that I was uncomfortable. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”
?I felt myself flush a second time and was annoyed that I was acting like a shy virgin instead of a thirty-four-year-old experienced woman. I lowered my voice. “Randall was into…many things. Unusual, sometimes creative, and sometimes bordering on the perverted.”
?“I guess you would know,” he pondered.
?I tried to just shrug it off. “We had ‘adventures’ during our time together, but he wanted to go further than I was willing.”
?“Such as?”
?I squirmed. “I—don’t want to talk about it.”
?What was it about Mark that made me so reticent? I’ve regaled girlfriends with some of the antics Randall and I pulled, including a coupling on the steps in the crown of the Statue of Liberty. Why did I want Mark to think I was a demure little thing? Or was it something else? Was it that since he was a more serious man, I wanted to be a more serious lady, who left such adventures behind?
?“I understand,” Mark said. “But if he was into bondage—considering how he was found—that seems to point to a woman.”
?I had to agree.
?He went on. “As I see it, get him into the room, get him trussed up, and he would be helpless. And with that pipe ending up there…it had to be someone who’d seen me with it.”
?I thought about my next words carefully. “I might be biased, but I think Candy is a cold enough bitch to pull it off. However…”
?“What?”
?“What if the murderer wanted the police to think it was a sex crime?”
?“What do you mean?”
?“Upon reflection, the room in the photos is like a stage set,” I extolled and pulled out my pad to scribble notes. “Everything put together to draw the attention away from the actual reason for the murder and focus the attention on the sexual angle.”
?He frowned. “But if that was the case, why not kill Randall using a rope around the neck to suggest sexual asphyxiation?”
?“Simple!” I put the stub of the pencil in my mouth like a cigarette. “A rope is rough and might pick up fibers from the murderer’s clothing, or show what kinds of gloves he was wearing.”
?“Gloves?”
?“Certainly, the killer must have worn gloves, as the only fingerprints they found were yours. The rope could have traces of leather or rubber, which would point to another suspect. By using the pillow and pressing down, the murderer could have worn gloves or not; there’s no way to tell.”
?“Ah,” Mark agreed. “Thus suggesting a sexual encounter gone wrong. Well done, Homes!”
?“Thank you, Watkins,” I giggled. I immediately took another sip of my scotch. Why was I acting like this? First, I want him to think I’m a vestal virgin, now I’m giggling like a fourteen-year-old. I’ve never made a fool of myself like this with any man before. Why am I starting now?
?Mark leaned forward. “If only we could find out who did it, then we’d be off the hook.”
?My head snapped up. “Of course! You’re right!”
?“What?” He frowned.
?“We should find out who the killer is!”
