CHAPTER

31

TODD RAMAGE WAS alone and he looked as desolate and broken as a human being could. He was still wearing his suit, but it looked as abused as he did, like he’d spent the night on a bench in a bus station. He seemed lost in his own house as he led Magozzi and Gino to a sunken seating area with a large stone fireplace. There was no cheery, crackling blaze warming the hearth tonight—it was in mourning along with its owner.

There was a half-drunk glass of red wine on the coffee-table, which seemed so sad to Magozzi, even sadder than the dark fireplace. On any normal Friday evening, there would have been two glasses and two people.

Todd drank the rest of his wine and sagged into a puffy velvet sofa. “I’m glad you’re here, Detectives. I arrived an hour ago and I couldn’t even go into the bedroom to change. I can’t stand this. Kelly is everywhere, but she’s nowhere. She’s gone.” He looked up at them with glassy, swollen eyes. “Please tell me what happened. This may seem twisted, but I’d rather know the worst than not know anything at all.”

“It doesn’t seem twisted at all, Mr. Ramage. Uncertainty makes it difficult to process the death of a loved one.” Magozzi cringed inwardly, because he sounded like a shrink, and he hated shrinks. There was truth to what he said, but his delivery sucked.

Todd’s brows lifted as he ran a hand along the grizzled stubble on his jaw. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Thank you for understanding.”

“We haven’t spoken with the medical examiner yet, but we believe your wife was suffocated. There were no signs of breaking or entering at Eleanor’s place, no signs of struggle, and several things about the scene indicated that it had been a planned meeting.”

He dragged his hands down his cheeks. “She was having an affair, then.”

“We’re not sure about that.”

“What do you mean? You said you thought it was planned.”

“This could have been her only encounter.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Ramage, do you know anything about a website called BaDSaMmatch?”

He shook his head. “No. What is it?”

“It’s a meet-up site for people who are into bondage and sado-masochism. Your wife had an account.”

Magozzi had expected shocked disbelief, denial, anything but narrowed, angry eyes. This wasn’t a surprise to Todd Ramage.

“Bondage,” he said in a flat voice. Not a question, a statement.

“Yes, sir. It was an element in the crime scene.” The antiseptic language sounded cold and impersonal, but it was a hell of a lot better than laying out the ugly details. Todd Ramage was enduring his own torture right now, and it just seemed cruel to elaborate on his wife’s.

“Kelly was fascinated by it,” he continued bitterly. “And by auto-erotic asphyxiation. But I—I couldn’t. It was repulsive to me. I loved Kelly, and you don’t debase people you love.”

Gino cleared his throat. “You didn’t suspect that she might have been exploring it on her own?”

“God, no. Never. I thought it was a flight of fancy. She was younger, and a little wild, but …” He put his head into his hands. “But she was obviously compelled to find somebody who would … do those things. And he killed her.”

“We’re sorry, Mr. Ramage.”

“I never understood it. But maybe I should have tried harder. She had a difficult childhood, a very cruel, abusive father. He tried to drown her once, in the bathtub. He almost succeeded.”

Magozzi looked at Gino, who gave no indication that he remembered Blanca Szabo talking about the victim in her premonition almost drowning.

A tear tracked down his cheek and he brushed it away absently. “I wish she’d talked to me. Or that I’d talked to her. Please tell me you’re getting close to finding the bastard who killed her.”

“We’re working multiple leads right now, but we need her computer. There might be something useful there.”

“Of course, anything.” He led them to his wife’s study, where there was a closed laptop computer on a neat oak desk. No knick-knacks or clutter, just a notebook with a pair of kittens on the cover and a wedding photo in a heart-shaped silver frame.

“That’s Kelly’s computer. I didn’t touch it, as you asked.” He gestured to the notebook. “You should take this, too. It has a list of all her passwords and phone numbers. She liked to keep a hard copy in an old-fashioned place in case we were ever robbed.” His breath hitched. “She said that no robber would ever think of taking a notebook with kittens on the front.”

Magozzi had initially wanted to jump and click his heels together when Todd Ramage had offered the notebook of passwords, but the poignant detail that followed crushed the joy. “Thank you.”

“She loved cats. Especially kittens. Who doesn’t love kittens? I’m allergic, but she showed me a website once with cats that are supposed to be hypoallergenic. I should have bought her a pair right then and there.” He shook his head. “You must hear this all the time, the regrets of surviving family members. I can’t seem to remember anything I did right, just the things I didn’t do or did wrong.”

Gino, as bullish as he was, had some deft skill in handling the bereaved. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Mr. Ramage. It was a tragedy. Don’t let it take away your good memories. That’s what you have and it’s how you’ll get through this.”

He nodded woodenly. “It’s good advice. I hope I can follow it.”

“Were you able to spend some time with friends and family today?”

“Mostly on the phone. Eleanor’s flight arrives in a few hours, and Kelly’s mother is flying in tomorrow morning. My family is on their way down from Duluth. Thank you for asking.”

“Take care of yourself, Mr. Ramage. You have our cards, call us anytime.”

He nodded, then left them to box up the computer—Todd Ramage wasn’t interested in watching them remove evidence from his wife’s office. With her notebook of passwords in hand, the computer wasn’t as critical now, but there was always the possibility that she kept some of her secrets there and no place else. Tommy would let them know.

As they left the room a little emptier and sadder than it had been a few minutes ago, Magozzi noticed a shelf stuffed with books on fashion, film and art. One of the larger volumes was titled: RADO—A Syzygy of Art and Technology. He pulled it and paged through, seeing some of the same disturbing images he and Gino had observed in person today. No secret notes or scribblings in margins, although a book like that would be a good place to hide them—most people would throw it across the room in disgust after the first few pages.

Todd Ramage walked them to the front foyer, a replenished glass of wine in his hand, and a few drops sloshed on the floor. He didn’t seem to care about that or how his evening would end, because his world had already ended, at least in the short term, but he was still gracious. “Thank you for your attention, Detectives. I know you’ll find out who killed my wife and that gives me peace.”

“We will, sir.” Magozzi paused at the door while Gino trundled the computer out to the car. “Mr. Ramage, did your wife visit fortune-tellers or mediums?”

Todd Ramage looked at him curiously. “Not that I know of, but as I found out today, she kept things from me.” He took a hefty gulp of wine. “That’s a strange question. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing, just an unrelated detail. They come up sometimes in the course of an investigation so we have to ask, just to cover every possible angle.”

“You’re being thorough. As an accountant, I appreciate that.”