Down the Rabbit Hole

“She would have been very susceptible to hallucinations, yes. I’m having tea.”

“No, please. I mean go ahead, but I don’t have time for it.”

In sapphire blue heels to complement her winter white suit, Mira ordered tea from her AutoChef.

“Not only would she have experienced an altered state—a sensation of extreme well-being—but a kind of spacial confusion. I’m surprised she was able to navigate to her brother’s apartment.”

“The doorman said she walked to the building. Maybe whoever gave her this crap transported her close to the building.”

“I don’t believe she could have driven herself in this state. Eve, I’ve never seen this combination of drugs—herbal and chemical, but with some of the derivatives sometimes used to aid in hypnosis, to relax the patient, help open them to suggestion. Some practitioners use small doses to aid in weight loss, rehabilitation of substance abuse, even anger management. But this combination?” Mira took a sip of tea from one of her delicate china cups. “I would want to do a full analysis myself, but I believe this would have left her open to post-suggestions with hallucinations and altered perceptions. The addition of phencyclidine?”

Eve wasn’t a chemistry whiz, but she was a cop. “That’s the base element for Zeus.”

“Yes, and while this amount and combination isn’t Zeus, it could cause someone to harm themselves. To burn themselves—even set fire to a building mistaking a flame for a flower, for instance. Or cut themselves believing a knife was a bar of soap. To fall, seeing a drop off a building as a set of stairs.”

“She stabbed her brother three times. She might have thought she was giving him a love tap. She fell fifty-two floors, maybe thinking she’d sprout wings and fly.” This fit, Eve thought. This worked for her, both brain and gut. “We may never know, but it’s pretty damn clear somebody fucked her up, and if she needed help getting to her brother’s place, they wanted him dead, too.”

Nodding, Mira brushed back a curve of rich brown hair. “Look for someone who’s skilled. This combination took time and practice to perfect. Someone also gifted. It’s very likely they are indeed a sensitive, as they read this victim very well. They also gained her trust, and I would say gained it quickly.

“It’s most likely a male—she would see a male as authoritative, experienced. Probably between forty and sixty. He’s experienced, he’s studied, and she wouldn’t have been as susceptible to a younger man.”

“Misses father, depends on older brother.”

“Yes. Your killer is a sociopath who exploits his own gift. He’s organized and intelligent, and enjoys having control over others, and looks for gain. He likes to live well. He may also be a psychopath, finding pleasure in causing death, yet he has no direct hand in the killing.”

“I found pieces of what the lab’s confirmed was a lapel recorder near her body.”

“Ah.” Mira nodded again. “No direct hand in the killing, but a desire to watch. To kill, essentially, without being there or getting his hands bloody. He’s unlikely a physical sort. A manipulator.”

“She was sleepwalking.”

Mira frowned over her tea. “The sleep aid should have prevented that.”

“The three times her fiancé found her at it, she was doing or saying weird things. Pouring tea for a party, down in the kitchen; crawling under the bed saying she needed to go down the rabbit hole. Sitting on the bed, waking him up with a riddle about a raven and a writing desk.”

“Alice in Wonderland.”

“That’s what Louise said.”

“Interesting.” Mira sat back in her blue scoop chair, sipped more tea. “A sort of test, I’d think, laying a base for the post-hypnotic suggestions. An interesting choice. A kind of surreal story filled with a young girl’s bizarre adventures. Some interpret it as drug-based—the hookah-smoking caterpillar, the mushrooms that cause Alice to grow, and so on. He may be an addict himself. A combination of psychic abilities and hallucinogens would give him a heady sense of power.”

“He kills—or rather causes another to kill because he can, and because it gives him a sense of power. Watches, from his . . . client’s point-of-view—that gives him a front-row seat.”

“Yes, and Alice again. Perhaps delight; a childish delight in watching the murder and suicide he’s manipulated.”

“He’s probably done it before.”

“It worked so seamlessly, really, it’s difficult to believe this was his first.”

“Then I’d better find him before he sets the next one up.” Heading back, she switched from elevator to glide, moving briskly, and spotted Roarke the minute she turned in to Homicide. He sat on the corner of Jenkinson’s desk holding a conversation that had her detective grinning.

When he saw her, he rose, strolled over. “Lieutenant.”

“Are you here to report a crime?”

“No. I had a meeting nearby and took a chance my wife might be about. And here she is.”

“Not for long.” But she considered her options. “How much time do you have?”

“That would depend.”

“If you’ve got an hour, maybe two, I’d split Darlene’s list with Peabody.”