“How do we know what to look for?” Patsy asked. “That was our trouble with the Ghost—anonymity. How is this any different in that respect?” He glowered. “I thought you weren’t going to call the murderer a mastermind?”
“I hate it, yes,” said Carmine patiently, “but it’s both accurate and convenient. Unless you want to go all FBI and give the guy a code name? How about Einstein or Pauling? Moriarty? No? Let’s just stick with what we’ve got. As to how this one is different, Patsy, it is because someone else—the mastermind—evicted the killer from his fantasy home, and our hermit crab isn’t comfortable yet in his new shell. Walking sideways still terrifies him, and he’s no Ghost. I have an idea where to look for him—the Ghost was fantastic training. Refresh us on Bianca, Patsy, please.”
“She was found naked,” Patsy began, “wrists and ankles tied with single-strand steel wire. She was conscious throughout, except for brief periods of asphyxiation induced by a pair of pantyhose around her neck. Burned in twenty-nine places by a cigarette, cut in seventeen places by something like a Sheetrock knife. Particular attention was paid to the breasts and pubes. Multiple rape, but no semen was found in any orifice. Death was caused by a broken bottle shoved into the vagina; she bled out. There’s a case exactly like it in a book about sexual deviance that’s well thumbed by psych students.”
“How old is the book?” Delia asked.
“Published ten years ago to an outcry. It was felt to be too accessible to thrill seekers.” He looked wry. “Not like wading through Krafft-Ebing and wondering what frottage was—dictionaries didn’t give definitions of words like that in my day. I think the author was German and the book was translated from the German. Kaiserine Germans invented the sex vocabulary.”
“Thank you, Patsy,” said Carmine firmly. “We know this guy. By that, I mean we must have seen his face several times, maybe even interviewed him. He’s undersized and unattractive, but I’m not sure of his age group.”
“We go to Cornucopia,” said Abe instantly, “and we start with Dr. Davenport’s male secretary.”
“What makes you say that?” Corey demanded, looking jealous and frustrated. Larry Pisano’s lieutenancy was never far from the forefront of his mind.
“I remember the secretary,” Abe said. “He fits.”
“When you said you weren’t sure of his age group, Carmine,” asked Delia, “did you mean very young, young, and older young?”
“No, Delia, I meant young, middle, or elderly.”
“What about his job?” she pursued, not having been there during the frantic days of the Ghost.
“With sex killers, that’s a mystery, but in this case I’d say he was more used to taking orders than giving them. Otherwise the mastermind couldn’t have brainwashed him.”
“That’s an interesting choice of verb,” Patsy said. “It’s to do with ideological conversion, I thought.”
“Brainwashing? Don’t forget the FBI is sniffing for espionage on the perimeter of this case,” Carmine said. “But seriously, I think the term can be applied to any kind of conversion process that digs deep into the psyche.”
“Especially,” said Abe, “if there’s a tendency already.”
* * *
Back they went to Cornucopia to begin with Richard Oakes, secretary to Dr. Erica Davenport, Chairman of the Board and now managing director of Cornucopia Central. She was outraged, but she couldn’t prevent Abe and Corey from subjecting the young man to an inquisition that lasted two hours. When he emerged he was in tears, shaking uncontrollably, and suffering the onset of a migraine aura that had his boss put him in an ambulance and ship him to Chubb-Holloman Hospital.
“I’ll sue you for this!” she shouted at Carmine.
“Rubbish,” he said scornfully. “He’s as nervous as a filly at a starting gate, is all. It wouldn’t matter who interrogated him for a suspected wrong, he’d react the same. Importantly for me, he’s cleared of the Tolano murder.”
“What grounds have you got for believing him guilty?” she asked, stiff with anger.
“They’re none of your business, Dr. Davenport, but I will inform you that I’ll be questioning some other men at Cornucopia, as well as in other places around Holloman, including Chubb.”
She gave a mew of frustration, and flounced into her office.
Hmm, thought Carmine. I begin to see why Wallace Grierson thinks she’ll run the Cornucopia ship aground.