"And you're sure it was Thursday she called to give notice?" she asked.

"Yeah, I remember. They needed to find someone to take her place for the weekend shows."

Serena thanked him again. She checked her watch as she left the theater. It was getting late, and she still had to make the long drive back to Duluth that night. Even so, she needed to make a detour to Lowertown. She didn't like the chain of events. On Saturday, Eric was seen talking in the park with Helen Danning.

On Wednesday, Eric was murdered.

On Thursday, Helen fled the city.

28

When Katrina Kuli answered the door, Stride remembered that she had covered the bruises on her face with makeup and shrugged off the cut on her neck when he had first met her at the Java Jelly coffee shop. He wished he had put the truth together sooner. She held the door open and waited stiffly while he walked into her apartment.

"I'm glad you called me back," he said.

Katrina closed the door and locked it. "I'm not filing a police report. I don't want this to become public."

She gestured at a yellow futon by the living-room windows, and he sat down. She made sure the blinds were closed and then lowered herself gingerly into an upholstered chair across from him. He saw her wince as she breathed.

"Are you still in a lot of pain?"

She shrugged. "A couple of cracked ribs. They don't do anything for that these days. Just grin and bear it."

"What about other injuries?"

"Bumps, cuts, bruises. I'm healing."

"I just want to make sure you're being treated."

"I am."

"What about a counselor?"

"I've got some names," Katrina said. "I haven't called anyone yet. I figured I'd be hysterical, you know, but I don't really feel anything. It's weird."

"It happens like that sometimes. I've talked to a lot of women who have been through this, Katrina. Some become very emotional, some go numb. It's normal. Just don't deal with this alone. Call one of those names, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Katrina was wearing a loose-fitting flannel shirt and gray sweats. Her round face was blank, and her hair lay in clumps on her forehead. Every few seconds, she fingered the cut on her neck tenderly, as if it might have gone away since she last touched it. Her hands trembled, and the barbed wire tattoo quivered.

"When did it happen?" Stride asked.

"Last month."

"Here?"

She nodded.

"How did he get in?"

"He came up a back stairway."

"I'd like to have a forensics team go over the apartment for trace evidence."

"There's no DNA. I cleaned up."

"There could still be hair, fingerprints, residue."

"Look, he wore gloves and a stocking cap. Trust me, he didn't leave anything behind. I'd just like to move on."

"Do you have any idea who it was?"

"No, and I don't want to know."

Stride leaned forward and balanced his arms on his knees. "Why don't you want to report this?"

"Are you kidding? If a pretzel stick like Tanjy got raped all over again in the media, imagine what they'd do to a girl like me. I know exactly what kind of jokes people would tell. 'They're not sure if they can charge him with rape. Is having sex with a farm animal a crime?' "

"No one would say that."

"Sure they would."

"Did you tell anyone after it happened?"

She nodded. "I told Sonia at the dress shop."

"Not Maggie?"

"Especially not Maggie."

"Why? You said the two of you were friends."

"She and I haven't talked in a while," Katrina said. "Plus, she's a cop."

Stride thought about what Tony Wells had said. This perpetrator picks women who are sexually vulnerable. "There's something else, isn't there?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this guy doesn't choose his victims by accident. He picks women who have something to hide."

"There are other victims?" Katrina asked.

"Yes, and they learned their lesson from Tanjy, just like you did. Don't report this if you want to keep your secret."

Katrina shoved herself out of her chair. She peeked through the blinds into the darkness and then turned back and folded her arms. She studied Stride. "If I tell you, the whole world will know."

"Not necessarily, but I can't promise you anything."

Katrina's lip bulged out in defiance. "What I do in my private life is my own damn business."

"I understand."

"You're right," she said finally. "I didn't report the assault, because there were some things about me that would have come out. Embarrassing things."

Stride waited.

"I was an alpha girl," Katrina continued.

"What's that?"

She hesitated and sat down on the other end of the futon sofa. "I'm not sure I should say anything. If you don't know what it is, it means you don't know about the club. I could cause problems for a lot of people."

"Katrina, you were raped."

"I know."

"Tell me what this is about. If it's something illegal-"

She shook her head. "It's not illegal. At least, I don't think it is. Immoral, maybe. I was part of a sex club in town. I was the alpha girl for the night."

Stride thought about his brief time in Las Vegas, which was a city that made a living on sex. Your basest desires were advertised on taxicab posters and hawked on the sidewalks. The only difference between Las Vegas and anywhere else was that Vegas didn't hide its lust. The city didn't invent sin; it imported it. All the people, all the desires, came to the desert from somewhere else. From places like Duluth.

"How did you get involved with this club?"

"Sonia recruited me."

Stride wasn't surprised that Sonia Bezac's name popped up in the middle of this. "She's a member?"

"She and Delmar started the club. It takes place at their house. There's a downstairs room she calls the temple."

"How many people are involved?"

"I'm not sure. There were a dozen or more people there when I was the alpha girl. Maybe seven or eight men and a few women, too."

"What's an alpha girl?"

Katrina squirmed on the sofa. "Look, I wasn't ashamed of it. I did it because I'm a wild chick, and I like to experiment. I'm not hung up about sex. But it's different when you have to start telling people about it."

"I'm not judging you."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that. There's a different alpha girl each time. We're basically there to have sex with anyone who wants us. Sometimes it's men who like to do it in front of other people. Sometimes it's wives whose husbands like to see them with other women. Sometimes it's the husband and wife together at the same time. There are also couples who simply like to see public sex and make out or masturbate while they watch us."

"That all sounds like an invitation to STDs."

"Condoms are the rule. Nobody goes bareback. Even the husbands and wives who have sex with each other have to use condoms while they're there."

"I'm having trouble understanding why you would want to do this to yourself," he said, choosing his words carefully.

"But you're not judging me, right? Ha. Hey, we're swingers, so what. I told you that most people wouldn't get it. That's why it's a secret. That's why I don't advertise it, and neither does anyone else."

"It feels dehumanizing to me, not erotic."

"Well, that's you. Me, I loved it. I was never more turned on in my life than I was that night. You have no idea how a big girl like me struggles with body image. But that night, every man wanted me. A bunch of women, too. I've never felt more desirable."

Stride wanted to get the facts and get out. "When was this?"

"Last month. December."

"How often does the club meet?"

"I'm not sure. Once a month, maybe."

"Do you think the rapist knew about the club?"

"Hell, he came after me the day after the party. It's not like that could be a coincidence, right?"