Devoted in Death by J. D. Robb Read Free Book Online

kind.”
    “Okay.” Her hands slid into her pockets as she let the image play through her mind. “So he’s knocked out, restrained. He’d still be able to make sounds with that sort of gag, but nothing intelligible. But the killer would hear him try to scream or beg.”
    “I have to believe Dorian would have done both. I’ve sent for a tox report, so we’ll see if any drugs were administered. I didn’t find any signs of stunner marks, pressure syringe.”
    “Tranq him, he feels less. Where’s the fun in that?” She caught herself. “Sorry, Morris.”
    “No need, thinking like the killer leads to finding him. The burn marks. I concur with your on-site. Some were caused by a cigarette, others by a tool. These, for instance.”
    He fit on the goggles, as did Eve, and both leaned over the body. “Lower torso, abdomen, genitals, precise, from a narrow flame.”
    “Hand torch. And the limbs, the hands. Those are wider, not precise. grinding out a smoke of some kind. The bruises here, along the rib cage. Not from fists.”
    “More likely a sap. Used on the bottom of the feet as well. You see many of the cuts are shallow. Punctures, slices. At least two different blades used.”
    “Punctures I’m looking at? Ice pick, or something similar.”
    “And the slices, a jagged-edge blade, not smooth like the punctures.”
    “Had himself a toolbox.”
    “The more superficial wounds came first, along with the burns. Some are approximately two days old.”
    “Just getting started. Don’t want him dead. Want the fear, the pain, the helplessness.”
    “His fingers were broken over the two-day period, not all at once. And the right hand, these bones were crushed. The left were snapped.”
    “Stomped on the right, or pounded with a tool, or dropped a heavy weight.”
    “The second is my conclusion. A hammer, striking here, along the top ridge of the knuckles, repeatedly, and with force. Left hand first, right within the last twenty-four hours. The deeper cuts and punctures, also within the last twenty-four.”
    “Increasing in severity over that twenty-four, working up to the kill.”
    “Yes, but, Dallas, the killer treated some of the wounds.”
    “What? How?”
    “There were traces of what I’m sure the lab will identify as NuSkin or one of its derivatives. Some of the more severe wounds were treated to stop the blood flow, then opened again. And more than once, until the mortal slice along the abdomen.”
    “It would take him a while to bleed out from that.”
    “Even with the other injuries, the trauma, at least an hour. More likely two before the loss of blood would have taken him under, taken him away from the pain. Death would have taken longer still, but that, at least, would come gently.”
    “Does he watch, does he record? The Groom recorded everything, his grand experiment. But this… it doesn’t feel as organized, as sickly scientific. Humiliate, torture, terrorize.”
    She pulled the goggles off, took a hit from her tube of Pepsi, wandered as she tried to visualize.
    “Organized enough to have a plan, to have tools, to have transportation and a place to work. But snapping the fingers of one hand, pulverizing the other, stubbing out a smoke on the limbs, hands, feet, using the tool on the torso and genitals. The sap. Ice pick, jagged blade. Naked. Ball gag. Is it a psychotic grab bag or… The heart? When did the killer carve the heart?”
    “Postmortem, and that with a thin, smooth blade. Very precise, again.”
    “Because it’s the signature. It’s pride or maybe… Maybe the D isn’t for Dorian. He didn’t matter. His pain, yes, the fun of torturing him, having him splayed out for entertainment, but who he was, his name? What if that didn’t matter a damn? If his mother’s right, no one who knew him could have done this to him. If no one who knew him did, his name meant nothing. But D and E , they’re important.”
    “Carving the heart in him,” Morris murmured, “like lovers carve a