Cyrus didn’t know about that.
“The viciousness is true,” Doc said. “God bless her dark heart, I have heard stories all the way down here.”
“You into that?” Cyrus asked him. “Getting the shit kicked out of you?”
“By her? Who wouldn’t be?” Doc chuckled again, and Nora only looked to the heavens. But she was smiling the way a woman does when paid a good hard compliment.
“You say you heard stories down here? Did you ever meet Queenie over here before she came down to Nola?”
“Never had the pleasure,” he said. “But legend travels.”
“You ever had one of Nora’s red business cards in your possession?”
“If I did, I would wear it on a gold chain around my neck. Why do you ask?”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?” Cyrus doubted it.
“Let me handle this,” Nora said. “Doc, you keep your fucking mouth shut about this or no dominatrix—in this town or any other—will ever strip you, whip you, and make you her bitch again. Ever.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Doc said.
Cyrus wiped his hands on a linen napkin before taking the photo of Father Ike out of his breast pocket.
“Could you tell me if you know this man?”
Doc gingerly took the photograph from Cyrus and gave it a long hard look. Cyrus tried not to get too excited, but he knew from experience that if somebody didn’t know somebody, they knew it at once. If they kind of recognized somebody, it could take a long time to remember how and where and when they’d met them.
“Possibly,” Doc said at last. “Though if I had to swear I’d seen or met him in a court of law, I couldn’t.”
“We’re not in a court of law,” Cyrus said. “But can you tell me maybe where you saw him? How you might know him?”
“Since I retired, I’ve started teaching classes on various kink and fetish topics,” Doc said. He was still staring hard at the photograph. “I think this man came to one of my classes.”
“Where are the classes held?” Cyrus asked.
“Adult bookstore in Metairie has a basement we use. I’ve been trying for two years to get the Queen to come teach a class,” Doc said.
“Too busy being lazy,” Nora said.
“When was this class?”
“This past summer. July.” Doc said it firmly, no question mark at the end. He was more certain than he gave himself credit for.
“And this class you taught,” Cyrus continued, “what was it about?”
“Again, I can’t swear that was where I saw him,” Doc said, “but if my old brain can be trusted, it was a class on medical fetishes.”
He returned the photograph to Cyrus.
“All right, so, medical fetish?” That was a new one for Cyrus. Then again, they were all new ones.
“Oh, you know,” Doc said, his voice airy, casual. “Latex gloves and naughty nurses, exam tables for very intimate examinations. Speculums. Forceps. Suturing. One of the Queen’s specialties.”
“Funny, I never could sew on a button,” Nora said, “but give me a guy with a med-fet and some needle and thread, and suddenly I’m doing embroidery on his face.”
Cyrus turned his head and eyed Nora.
“He thinks you’re joking, Majesty,” Doc said.
“Let him think that,” Nora replied with a wink.
“I don’t think you’re joking. I think you’re scary.” Cyrus meant every word.
“Ah, now he’s starting to see it,” Doc whispered to Nora. “Why you’re the Queen, and no one else is.”
“Pfft,” Nora said, batting the comment away with a wave of her hand. “Every domme I know does sutures.”
“Yes, but you’re the only one who left them in,” Doc said.
“True.”
Cyrus shifted a few inches away from Nora.
“Wise man,” Doc said.
“So…all right. You think maybe the man in the photograph was at a medical fetish class. That stuff we found, though, it wasn’t like forceps and needles.”
“No.” Nora pursed her lips. “True. That was all basic bondage stuff in the bag.”
“Will you ever tell me who we’re talking about?” Doc asked.
“No,” Nora said quickly. Doc took it well.
“Did that man possibly ask any questions in the class? Come up to you after?” Cyrus was not about to let this interview get off track, especially since it seemed they were finally onto something.
“He did not.” He paused, brow furrowed. “He might have emailed me.”
“What?” Cyrus’s eyes widened. “You sure?”
“Not in the least. But after that class, I received an email from some anonymous account. The address was just gobbledygook, numbers and letters. Free Yahoo account or some such. I only think it might be him since he mentioned he’d been in my class and there were only three men in the class. One I knew. One who talked to me after the class. And then him.”
“You still have that email?” Nora asked.
“I doubt it.” Doc sounded unsure. “Even if I did, I don’t know if I’d feel comfortable sharing it, however.”
“If it’s this man,” Cyrus patted his breast pocket over the photo. “He’s dead.”
“What if it isn’t him?” Doc asked.
“Then you know neither of us will say a word to anyone about it,” Nora said. Cyrus nodded.
“I’ll see if I can find it in my trash,” Doc said. “But I tend to delete everything I can as permanently as I can. You have to be discreet in this line of work.”
“What did the email say?” Cyrus continued. He really ought to be writing this stuff down in his notebook, but he’d do all that after Doc was gone. If he brought his notebook out now, Doc might clam up.
“A short email, the kind I get often. He said he was a man looking for a professional with medical expertise for work on male genitals, money no object.”
“CBT?” Nora asked.
“What’s that?” Cyrus said.
“Cock and ball torture,” Nora said.
“I hate this job sometimes,” Cyrus muttered. “Go on, Doc.”
“I don’t believe he specifically asked about CBT. Very short email. I replied that I didn’t know any professionals who had medical degrees or medical training other than the sort for playing doctor in a dungeon. They call me ‘Doc,’ but that’s just a nickname. Retired art professor. I replied to the email that I was sorry I couldn’t help but mentioned a few contacts in other cities—San Fran, New York, L.A.—who might know pros. And that was that.”
Nora said nothing. Neither did Cyrus. Something Doc had said earlier had struck him as strange though.
“Money no object,” Cyrus repeated. “You said the email said, ‘money no object,’ yeah?”
“That’s true,” Doc said. “I do remember the writer clearly wrote that. He put it in all caps. Why?”
“The man we’re investigating wasn’t known for having a lot of money,” Cyrus said. “That’s all.”