Victor climbed out of the black sedan and gingerly walked around the front of the building. His hand rubbed his abdomen slightly as they walked through the yellow tape to the front of the club. He flashed his badge and slipped a hand on to Emalee’s back, ushering her through the door first.

Inside the reception area, they found a number of police officers, Sara Rippley and Miles Harrison. The room was a disarray of overturned chairs and crooked pictures. Sara looked shaken and stood with her arms wrapped around her waist, much as Victor had done after Emalee kicked him.

“What happened?” Victor asked as Woods stepped up beside him.

“One of the guests got out of hand and started destroying the place,” she said. “He killed one of the workers and started after the receptionist when Harrison shot him.”

“Is he dead?” Emalee asked, looking around the room at the blood splattered on the far wall, near the entrance to the main body of the club.

“He was shot three times, but he’s alive. The paramedics are taking him to the hospital,” she turned back to Victor as she continued. “Michaels, Richards, and Kelly are with him. Fortunately, they were able to give him a sedative to knock him out. You’d have thought he was Superman the way he acted to the bullets. It was like he didn’t even realize he’d been shot.”

“Any idea who the man is?” Victor asked as they walked toward Miles, who looked up as they approached.

“Kevin Friedman,” Miles answered with an angry glare. “He came in when Sara was showing a couple to a room and went into the VIP suites.”

“Who did he kill?” Emalee asked, glancing at the receptionist briefly.

“One of my trainers,” Miles answered, running a hand across the back of his neck. “There were three dancers here, from The Western Club, working out a new routine when Friedman attacked.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were involved with Natalie Banton and her dancers?” Victor asked in an angry tone.

“You never asked, and I never thought of it. Why?”

“Because the victims we’re investigating were two of her dancers. You said you never heard of them before.”

“I don’t know everyone she sends over here,” Miles said honestly, the look of surprise visible on his handsome face. “Natalie Banton has been a long-time client of mine. When she asked if she could have her dancers come here to work out new routines, I didn’t argue. They come here two or three times a week, for lessons in specific areas they think will go with their dance moves. They have a private set of rooms and three trainers. I never ask who she sends over because she vouches for them personally. They never mingle with the other clients and when they’re done they leave. She pays for the private lessons and we keep things quiet, so the dancers don’t get recognized by anyone who might know them outside the club.”

“Where were the dancers when Friedman attacked?” Emalee asked, hoping to give Victor some time to reign in his anger.

“They were in the game room,” Miles answered looking at the police officer beside him. “I’ll show you if you’d like.”

Emalee and Victor nodded, and the cop moved aside so Miles could escort them down the hallway. They moved past several clients who returned to the rooms they had rented, curious at the commotion, yet fearful of being recognized.

Miles pushed past a group of police who were charting the crime scene, grunting as he proceeded. Victor turned to Emalee who had removed a small digital camera from her bag, amazed that the woman was never without at least one.

“I’ll meet you inside,” he told her, nudging her elbow with his arm, just enough to send electrical waves shooting through her body.

She nodded silently and began snapping the pictures necessary for the investigation, as he moved through the nearby doorway and into the room beyond.

The game room, as Miles had called it, was nothing like any game room he had ever seen. Victor looked around at the net swing that hung in the corner of the room and instantly had to look away. Images of Emalee sitting naked in the hammock-like seat flashed before his eyes and he found himself clearing his throat softly.

“What kind of games are played in here?” he asked in an attempt to get back to the task at hand.

“Anything you can think of,” Miles said. “This room is specific for exploration and trying out new techniques. There are handcuffs on the walls, the bed, and chairs, the tables are the right height for sex, and the toys are used for every position a person’s mind can come up with.”

“What’s the ropes for?” he asked as he looked at the long ropes and ribbons that hung from the ten-foot-high ceilings to the carpeted floor, winding around into a small pile.

“For the more athletic client, they can be used as a swing, to tie up your partner, or if you prefer, for hog-tying. There are also vibrators, dildos, clamps, whips, all the most popular instruments.”

“And the bench?” Victor asked, walking to a leather bench, similar to his workout bench only taller, with a board across the bottom with clamps, bolts, and two small holes.

“It’s a more advanced instrument,” Miles said, walking over to it and lifting the board in place, then using a hand lever, he lifted the center of the table, so it was in a perfect upside-down V. “You insert the machine of your choice and lay your partner face down,” he continued. “It’s best to have their hands cuffed to the brace below. If you’re playing with a man, you use one machine.”

He opened a drawer underneath the bench to remove a strange, almost drill-like instrument with a long slender dildo on the end. He inserted it into the top hole and turned it on just as Emalee joined them. She paused behind Victor and listened silently as Miles explained the horror looking torture table.

“You insert this into the rectum and adjust the speed as you wish,” he explained turning the device up in speed. “It can be used as a punishment or a reward, depending on the results of the evening.”

“And the other hole, I assume, is for a female partner?” Victor asked as Miles removed a second rod from the drawer and inserted it into the drill.

“Women have two holes; therefore, both can be stimulated, or punished, whichever you choose. It’s all a matter of taste.”

“It’s too much for my taste,” Emalee stated, drawing the two men’s eyes toward her.

“Don’t condemn something you haven’t tried, Honey,” Miles said with a wicked grin. “A body like yours was meant to be explored and enjoyed.”

“What were the dancers doing when Friedman interrupted them?” Victor asked, stepping between Emalee and Miles, causing his friend to narrow his gaze to him suspiciously.

“They were working on the chairs,” he told them, moving to two chairs at the foot of the bed, both bottomless, one with a similar device as the table protruding upwards from the bottom. “You secure your partner into the restraints,” he continued, showing them a silver bar with two cuffs and two chains on the ends, with another set of leather handcuffs. The front legs of the chair had two matching chains, smaller in length with leather restraints.

“Once in it, you can do a number of things. The dancers were practicing their routines, dancing, gyrating, teasing without touching, that sort of thing. The chair, if used as intended, can add a great deal of pleasure. You can whip your partner, use the wax, even the open mouth gag can provide an unobstructed opening for…”

“Enough,” Emalee snapped, horrified at what the former policeman was describing. “I’m leaving. I’ve heard more than I care to, for one day.”

The two watched as she turned and left the room quickly, passing by four policemen and Woods, as she made her way back into the reception area. Miles turned to Victor and narrowed his eyes again.

“We were taping the session if you’d like to see it?” he asked waving his hand toward the hallway Emalee had just disappeared through.

Victor nodded and followed the man out of the room and down the hall. He spotted Emalee in the front office taking pictures of the blood splattering the walls and the disrupted pictures and furniture. She turned and saw her partner who motioned for her to wait, an act she was all too comfortable with.

“What are you doing, Vic?” Miles asked as soon as the door was closed, and they were out of earshot of the others.

“What do you mean?” he asked, knowing the tone of voice of his former instructor.

It was one he had heard many times over the six months at the academy.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. How many times did I tell you not to get involved with coworkers? Regardless of how beautiful she is - and she is - you cannot jeopardize your career over an office affair. Hell, look at me. Why do you think I quit the academy? There was no way I was ever going to earn the respect back after what happened between me and Angela Raymond.”

“First off, I’m not one of your cadets nor am I some kind of snot-nosed kid. You have no place to speak to me like I am. Second, there is no affair, no romance, and nothing to earn the disrespect of anyone. I may be attracted to Emalee, I’ll admit that, but that’s where it ends.”

“I hope so, for your sake,” Miles said, walking over to the large wall unit next to his desk and turning on the computers. “I have a good life with this club and I’m richer than I ever imagined I would be. I’ve worked a long time to make this place the best in the business and we accept only the highest paying clientele, but if I had to do it all over again, I would never have taken Angela up on her offer to go away for the weekend. I loved my job and I was good at it. Hell, look what you’ve become, and you were my star student. I’m proud of everything you’ve accomplished in your career, I just don’t want to see you flush it all away for a pretty face.”

“Lay off Miles, I’ve already told you there’s nothing between us. Now, what about this tape?”

Miles pulled up a program that showed a variety of small screens, as he typed in the information he needed for the specific video in question. The screen went black for a second or two, then the image of the room he had just left came into view, as the door opened, and three men walked in, two carried small duffle bags with them.

He watched as the two began talking about the routine they were thinking of improving on, then the third moved to a small table next to the bed, then pushed a button on a remote he took out of the drawer. The lights dimmed and the sound of music, like that they had heard at the club the two times they were there, came on the speakers.

Half an hour later, after watching the men dance and gyrate around the empty chairs, taking off one piece of clothing after another, the door opened again, flooding the room with bright light from the hallway. One of the dancers turned, as the other tripped over the edge of the chair and fell on his face, just as a bullet rang out, striking the trainer who had been standing behind them. Chaos and confusion encased the room as the dancers ducked behind furniture for protection, while Friedman fired another four shots, before turning and running out of the room.

Victor watched the dancers get up and move to the trainer, leaning over him before gathering their belongings and leaving the room. He looked to Miles who had watched the tape for the first time, anger filling his eyes as he clenched his jaw tight.

“Was it just me, or did Friedman look like he was after the one dancer?” Victor asked.

“That’s exactly what it looked like.”

“Who were the two dancers?”

Miles reached for his phone and began dialing, then leaned back in his seat and waited for the connection. Several seconds passed before he spoke again, asking for Natalie Banton.

“It’s Miles,” he said in a serious, stern tone. “I want the names of the dancers you sent over here.” He paused for a moment, then slammed his fist on the desk, knocking over the drink he had poured during the viewing of the tape.

“I don’t give a damn about the agreement. One of my trainers is dead and your dancers are witnesses. I want their names and I want them now.”

He removed a pad of paper from his desk drawer and quickly jotted down the information supplied to him, then handed the pad to Victor.

“Until further notice, your dancers are banned from my club. I want this settled before I allow any of your people back in here, if I allow them back.”

Without waiting for a response, Miles slammed the phone down on the receiver and stood from his seat, walking back to the wall unit.

“I suppose you’ll want a copy of the film as evidence?” he asked slipping a disc into the machine and burning the images onto it.

“I’m sorry this happened, Miles,” Victor said, folding the paper and slipping it into his breast pocket. “But I can promise, there won’t be a plea bargain this time, for Friedman.”

“He was only twenty-three,” Miles said sadly, as he took the disc out of the machine. “His name was Andy Wayne. He wanted so badly to be a trainer. He’d only been here for a couple of months, but he was very good, and everyone liked him. It shouldn’t have happened Vic,” he finished, handing the disc to his friend. “I have high standards and high security…or at least I thought I did. I want that bastard to fry for what he did.”

“If he’s behind the other attacks, he’ll be lucky to see daylight again, I’ll make sure of that.”

Victor took the disc and shook his friend’s hand, then left the office, rejoining Emalee in the reception area. She was sitting in one of the chairs, looking very tired and in need of sleep. The room’s activities had died down and the guests were leaving discreetly through a side door. Sara Rippley had already left, and in her place was a slightly older woman with shoulder-length blonde hair. She wasn’t as pretty as Sara, but she was still attractive and looked up, smiling to Victor as he stepped through the closed doors.

“Ready?” he asked Emalee gently as she stood up.

“I’m past ready,” she told him as they walked back out into the cold night air. “Michaels called and said Friedman died in route to the hospital.”

“Damn it,” Victor snapped. “I wanted that bastard to pay for his actions.”

“He will now, in ways we could never imagine.”

“Don’t tell me the daughter of hippies is the religious type?” he asked unlocking the car as they neared it.

“When all you see day after day is senseless death and perverted lunatics, a person has to find some hope to hold onto, otherwise everything we’re doing is for nothing.”

“Maybe,” he said pulling the door open for her. “But if there was a God, where is he? Why is he allowing this kind of hell to play out on the planet he created?”

“Maybe because it’s all part of a bigger plan than anything we can comprehend. I believe in the afterlife and I believe that everyone will answer for their actions, whether it’s with a God or an alien overlord. It’s all I have left when I go to bed each night. Without hope and faith, I’d be no better than the creeps we hunt.”

“You’re a dreamer, Female Peker,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

“I’m a visionary, Detective Armstrong. It’s heads higher than a dreamer.”

Morning arrived much earlier than Emalee would have preferred. Victor dropped her off at her apartment shortly after two o’clock, leaving her to pace the room alone for what seemed like hours. Thoughts of what she had heard Miles explaining to Victor, bothered her more than she was willing to admit. She was far from being naïve, yet the images of what that room was used for, floated in front of her sleep-deprived eyes until after five o’clock.

She slept in until ten, then reluctantly showered before catching the bus to the precinct. The skies had opened up shortly after dawn, leaving a new layer of snow on the streets and sidewalks, making the irritation of the passengers on the bus seem all the more agitated.

Emalee looked around at the many faces and tried not to focus on any of them for long. She wasn’t in the mood to make conversation or to ward off any unwanted attention. She really didn’t live very far from the station and would normally just walk, but the weather was so bad, she decided to be warm instead of frozen like an icicle, by the time she got there. A conversation from the other side of the bus caught her off guard, and she looked out the side window, in order to concentrate on what was being said.

Two women, both dressed in upper-middle-class attire were discussing the news from the morning paper. The shooting had made front page, as did the name of the shooter, the son of one of New York’s most illustrious families.

“I went to school with him,” the young blonde was saying. “He and my brother were fairly close until college. He was accepted into Oxford of all places, Brian stayed here and went to NYU. At first, I felt really sorry for Kevin. His parents were horrible to him and treated him like a huge inconvenience. One Christmas when I was in middle school, they had gone to France and left him ten thousand dollars to buy his own presents. He came over to our house for supper and stayed for the rest of the week.”

“Poor kid,” the redhead sitting next to her said. “No wonder he was so screwed up.”

“But he wasn’t anything like that when he was younger. I had such a crush on him. My brother even set us up on a date once when I was in my senior year of high school. He had come home from England for spring break, and of course, his parents were out of town. He was used to it, so it really didn’t bother him much. We had a great supper and then went back to his place to watch a movie. I don’t remember what happened,” she said lowering her voice as her eyes glazed over with memories.

The woman seemed distant as she remembered the past, as if it was playing out in front of her, her tone barely a whisper, making Emalee strain to listen.

“I passed out on his sofa, and when I woke up, I was naked in his bedroom and sore all over. I don’t remember anything that happened. He said we had a private party and it was so great he just had to videotape it. I was horrified. He said he taped all his lovers. He had hundreds of movies hidden behind the shelves in his bedroom.”

“Do you think he drugged you?” the other woman asked as their voices went even lower.

“I was so sick afterward, it took me three days before I could eat again.”

“Did you tell your parents or your brother?”

“No, Kevin was really well-liked, so I doubt anyone would have believed me. My brother had him over for Easter weekend and I tried to avoid him, but he snuck into my room after everyone was asleep. I woke up to him going down on me, but I was tied to the headboard and he’d taped my mouth, so I couldn’t scream.”

“He raped you?” her friend gasped, then looked around to make certain nobody was listening.

“It wasn’t the last time either. One night after leaving work, he ran my car off the road. He put me in the back seat of his car and drove to a park, then another time he caught me coming home from school. He loved to tie me up and tape my mouth, so I couldn’t scream. He took me back to his house, it was like all his servants were used to his actions because nobody tried to stop him. He took me to his bedroom and made me watch the tape he had made of us the first night, then he started hitting me, everywhere except my face, he didn’t want anyone to see the bruises. I couldn’t sit for days afterward. I tried to leave and go to my friend's place up north, but he found out and followed me. Before I could make it out of town he caught me and beat me until I passed out. When I came to, I was back at his house. I was kept a prisoner in his basement for days. Nobody knew about it. He made me call my friend and tell her I changed my mind, but my parents still thought I was staying with her, so he was safe.”

“How horrible, I knew he was sick, but I didn’t know he was that sick.”

“The things he did to me, the things he made me do…I’ll never forget it.”

“How did you get away?”

“His parents came home and caught him. I was tied to a beam in their basement. He was using all kinds of instruments on me. His father was so angry he started beating him. He paid me twenty thousand dollars to keep quiet and sent him away, but a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant with Andrea. They tried to get me to abort her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t love him, but I knew my parents would kill me if they knew he was the father.”

“Oh my God, Heather. I never knew he was her father. What did his parents do?”

“I went to my cousin’s place in New Hampshire and gave birth. That’s where I met Steve and he decided to raise Andrea as his own. When we came back to New York, there was a message from Kevin’s parents that they wanted to see me. I left the baby with my parents and took Steve with me. They tried to talk me into giving her up for adoption, but we refused. They paid me two hundred thousand dollars to never mention Kevin was my baby’s father. Every year on Andrea’s birthday, I get another hundred thousand deposited anonymously into my bank account.”

“Well, at least you got a beautiful daughter and a butt load of money from all of it.”

“But I will never forget what he did to me. The nightmares are there every night. I’m not sure how much longer Steve can take it. I just want it to all end.”

“He’s dead, now you can move on and put the past behind you.”

“I hope so,” the blonde said as the bus came to a halt and the two of them stood up and walked to the front doors.

Emalee looked out the window as the women passed by, then realized she had passed her own stop listening to them. She glanced around and spotted the boxcar diner Victor liked so much, then hurried out the back doors before the bus drove away. She went inside and ordered a cup of coffee and a bowl of chicken soup then took her cell and dialed her partner.

“Hey, where have you been?” he asked through the speaker. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I know, I’m sorry, I overslept. If I can get a ride, I’ll buy you lunch. I’m at the diner.”

“Sure. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Emalee hung up and ordered Victor’s favorite chili cheeseburger with fries and coffee and waited for him to join her.

A few minutes later he was sitting across from her, his lunch in front of him completely forgotten, as he listened to the story of the two women Emalee relayed to him.

“Did you get the woman’s name?” he asked, keeping his voice low, so they could not be heard.

“All I heard was her friend called her Heather and her husband’s name is Steve.”

“I think we should pay a visit to Friedman’s parents,” Victor said as he began cutting into the meal.

“You know, I almost felt sorry for Kevin, listening to those women talking. He was a lonely kid who felt unwanted and unloved by his own parents. It’s no wonder he was so screwed up. Maybe all this kinky stuff was just his way of trying to gain control over his fears of being left behind.”

“Maybe, but it’s all worthless theory now. We’ll never know what turned him or what screwed him up.”

“I’m just sorry everything ended up the way it did. He’s not alive to prosecute so the victims and their families will never have the satisfaction of knowing why he did the things he did.”

“We have a lot to check out before we can put this case to rest, and we have to prove he was the one behind the attacks,” Victor told her.

“Why was he at the club last night?” Emalee asked, sipping her coffee. “I mean, why come back to a place where you have nothing but enemies? There had to be a reason he came back to New York. I’d like to know who the man was that he shot, what he was to Friedman.”

“I don’t think it was the trainer he was after,” Victor said. “That tape Miles showed me had one of the dancers ducking for cover. I think Friedman pulled the trigger for him and missed.”

“Who was the dancer?” she asked with wide eyes as Victor pulled out the piece of paper Miles gave him the night before.

On it were two names, Alex Gibson and Carter Jennings.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Friedman,” Victor was saying an hour later as he and Emalee sat in the parlor of the expensive mansion.

The woman across from them, dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, as she waved the maid away once she sat the tray of teacups and pastries on the marble top table.

“Thank you, Detective,” she said in feign grief.

It was obvious the woman was not in pain. Her makeup had been perfectly applied and there were no signs of tears or streaks, to indicate she had just lost her only child.

“I’m just not sure what to think. I mean Kevin was such a loving child, I don’t know where we went wrong.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” he said, stopping Emalee from commenting on the conversation she had overheard. “Your son was misguided by those around him.”

“That is so true,” she said, pouring the tea and handing a delicate china cup to both of her visitors. “We tried to give him the best of everything, but he was so easily led by those who were stronger willed then our Kevin.”

“We would like to ask you a few questions if you are feeling up to it,” Victor continued, setting the cup back on the silver tray and removing his notepad from his breast pocket.

“Anything I can do to help, of course,” the aristocrat said.

“Can you tell me if your son owed any money to anyone? Maybe someone who he was so scared of, that he felt the only way out, was to take the law into his own hands?”

“No, there was nobody that I can think of. If he owed money to anyone, he surely would have been able to get it from his father. My husband is a very wealthy man. We have never denied Kevin anything, he knew that.”

“What about anyone who may have been threatening Kevin, perhaps an old friend, an ex-lover, someone who may find it profitable to have him gone?”

“Well, he did have an ex-lover,” the woman began. “A girl who claimed to have had Kevin’s baby, but we proved her wrong with tests. She was very angry that we would not pay her to keep quiet. The last I heard though, she had moved out of state and married the child’s real father.”

“Do you happen to remember her name by chance?” Victor asked as the woman raised her handkerchief to the corner of her eyes again.

“Heather something, I’m not sure if I even knew her last name.”

“I’m sorry to bring up such sad memories for you. Can you tell me about his friend, Brian?” Victor asked, patting the woman gently on the hand.

“Oh, Brian Miller? He and Kevin were the best of friends growing up. We were all very close, but time has a way of changing things, doesn’t it detective? We drifted apart several years ago…after the children were grown that is. I don’t think Kevin had seen or heard from Brian in years.”

“I see. May I ask you where Kevin has been this past year? Maybe that will help us understand why he did what he did.”

“He was in Canada with my sister,” she said hesitantly. “She has been very ill, and Kevin is such a caring person, he volunteered to go there and take care of her.”

“When did he get back?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. My husband and I were in Europe on a second honeymoon until late last night. We don’t get the chance to go away often, so we took the opportunity to go abroad. We heard about what happened after we returned. I haven’t had a chance to call my sister yet today.”

“I understand, it must have been devastating news. Well, that’s all the questions I have,” he said ignoring the shocked look on Emalee’s face. “I was wondering if we might have a look at Kevin’s room. Maybe there’s something there that can help us understand what happened.”

“I suppose there would be no harm in that,” she said standing and walking to the doorway. “My maid will show you where it is,” she continued. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to contact my secretary and begin arrangements for my son’s burial.”

“Of course, we won’t be long, and I promise we won’t bother you again. Thank you so much for your time and our sympathy goes out to you and your husband. Where is Mr. Friedman by the way?”

“Oh, he had to go back to work. It has been such a dreadful day, but his job needed him, and it keeps his mind occupied.”

“Of course, well, thank you again, Mrs. Friedman.”

The small frame of the house’s middle-aged maid came into view and quietly led the two detectives up the winding staircase, as their hostess went to her phone. They walked down two corridors and around a corner before finally reaching Kevin Friedman’s room, on the other end of the mansion. Victor followed the woman into the room and looked around.

It was cleaned spotless, much as he had expected, yet there was something that told him it was only recently done. He looked at the dustless furniture and the spotless carpet of the room, twice the size of his own apartment.

“Can you tell me when Kevin left yesterday,” he asked the maid who stood with her hands folded in front of her.

“It was around six o’clock,” she answered in a heavy Irish drawl.

“Was anyone with him?”

“No sir, just him, but he did receive a phone call that made him quite angry.”

“Who was it, do you know?”

“Yvette Campbell,” the maid answered.

“Have you worked for the Friedman family long, Miss…?” Emalee asked gently, speaking up for the first time since arriving in this mausoleum.

“My name is Anna O’Neal, ma’am,” she answered. “And yes, I’ve worked here for about thirty years.”

“And do you happen to remember Heather Miller?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Anna looked down at her hands as she answered.

“Do you remember what happened to her while she was held prisoner by Kevin?” Emalee asked softly as Victor picked up a photo of who he assumed was Kevin, dark hair, dark eyes, and an arrogant smile across his face.

He supposed the man was good looking with his expensive haircut and tailored suit, though the demon that was hiding inside couldn’t be as comfortable as he appeared in the photograph. Victor glanced back in time to see Anna nod her head silently in answer to Emalee’s question, then glanced at his partner knowingly.

“Thank you for your help, Anna,” Victor said and turned to the shelves Emalee had heard Heather telling her friend about.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything else,” the maid said, then glanced around to make certain they were not being eavesdropped upon, then lowered her voice as she continued.

“I think you’ll find Master Kevin’s copy of The Great Gatsby of considerable interest.”

She turned quickly and left the room, closing the door behind them.

Victor went to the shelf and looked at the many books that lined the expensive wood, then found the one in question. He picked it up and instead of finding a mysterious key hiding inside, he found a handle in the wall behind it. He pulled on it and looked up as the front of the shelf popped open, hiding a secret compartment behind. He pulled the shelf open further and saw the many cassette cases of VHSs and the number of DVD cases on the lower shelves. Emalee quickly counted them as Victor took one that had the initials H.M. on it. There were a hundred and sixteen DVDs and ninety-six discs.

“At least we know most of what you overheard was right,” Victor said, slipping the cassette into his jacket.

“I think we need to review these and see who else is on them,” Emalee whispered as he closed the shelf quietly and replaced the book.

“We’ll need a court order,” he told her.

“Unless we have inside help, say a maid that doesn’t seem all that keen on what her employers’ son was doing.”

Victor led the way back around the corner and down the two hallways to the staircase. They carefully and quietly descended the stairs overhearing Mrs. Friedman on the phone.

“The funeral is planned for Thursday. That will leave us just enough time to catch our flight to Acapulco and then to New Zealand. I have to get out of this horrid city and all this cold. I swear the only thing that could survive here are penguins.”

Victor deliberately stomped his foot as they came off the carpeted stairs and onto the marble floors, putting a halt to the woman’s phone conversation. She stepped back out into the hallway and glanced at the two who approached her.

“Did you find anything of use detectives?” she asked with a fake sniffle.

“Not really, but I’m not surprised. You did say he had been in Canada for some time,” Victor said with a half-grin that made the woman blush.

“Yes, that’s true. Well, if we can help further, please let me know.”

“Of course, thank you for your time and once again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

Outside, Emalee turned to him and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Seriously?” she snapped. “Did you have to use that smile on her?”

“What smile?” he asked with the same half-smile he had used on Mrs. Friedman.

“You act all innocent, but you know exactly what that look does to women, and you do it whenever it suits you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said as he opened the door for her. “Let’s get back to the office. I want to see what’s on this tape and I want to contact Heather Miller.”