“Give me a Leinie’s Dark, then.”
The bartender brought the bottle, a glass, and a coaster. Cork handed him a twenty. “Keep the change,” he said.
The bartender looked at the bill, then at Cork. “You’re buying more than beer, I’m guessing.”
“I’m interested in a man.”
“Honey, aren’t we all?”
From his jacket pocket, Cork pulled the photo of Will Kingbird that Lucinda had given to Jo. He held it out for the bartender to get a good look.
“Familiar?”
“Who wants to know?”
“His wife.”
“Can’t help you.”
Cork took another twenty from his wallet and laid it down. The bartender’s hand swallowed it. “I still can’t help you. Honestly, I’ve never seen the guy.”
“He might have been here Wednesday night.”
“Ah. Bondage-a-Go-Go.”
“Bondage-a-Go-Go?”
“S and M lite. A lot of straights in the crowd. Kenny’s behind the bar on Wednesday nights. You could come back then. Or you could talk to Mistress Imorg over there.” He nodded toward the woman drinking alone and reading in the booth up front.
“Mistress Imorg?”
“Her professional name. Otherwise she goes by Sue. She’s a Wednesday-night regular.”
Mistress Imorg, otherwise known as Sue, appeared to be in her late twenties. She was slim and had blond hair pulled back in a long ponytail. She wore glasses with slender, rectangular frames. She was dressed in a white sweater and jeans and sported pink sneakers on her feet. Her nails and lipstick matched her shoes.
“Mistress Imorg?” Cork said.
The woman looked up slowly and didn’t speak.
“Could I buy you a drink?”
The woman continued to stare and to hold to her silence.
Cork produced a business card and set it on the table. “I’m looking for information on a man who may have been here last Wednesday night.”
She glanced at the card. “Let me guess,” she said in a flat tone. “A wife who doesn’t understand.”
“Not exactly. May I sit down?”
She considered him. Her eyes were chips of jade. She closed her book and nodded for him to sit on the other side of the table.
“Mistress Imorg,” Cork said. “A dominatrix?”
“In the business, also known as the top.”
“Why ‘Mistress Imorg’?”
“Do you really care?”
“Yeah, I do.”
A little smile crept across her pink lips. “It’s from an episode of the old Star Trek series, the first one, with Kirk and Spock. They find a planet where women dominate men. The men are called Morgs, the women Imorgs. The men speak of the women as the givers of pain and delight.” She took a sip of her Bloody Mary. “What about this man you’re interested in?”
“He’s in trouble. I’m trying to help.”
Cork explained about Will Kingbird.
“So if he was here,” Mistress Imorg said, “he couldn’t have been in your little town doing what he’s confessed to doing?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re convinced his murder confession is a lie?”
“His wife is. She thinks he was here on Wednesday night.”
“If so, maybe he’d rather be known as a murderer than a man who enjoys bondage.”
“That seems extreme.”
“How much do you know about S and M, Mr.-” She glanced at the card Cork had given her. “-O’Connor?”
“About enough to fill a matchbook cover.”
She spent a good half minute studying him. Her sharp jade eyes never left his face. Finally she leaned forward and said, “Buy me that drink you offered, then I’ll educate you.”
Cork headed to the bar. When he returned, Mistress Imorg was reading again. He saw that it was a novel, Great Expectations. “For my master’s thesis,” she explained as she closed the book. “Dickens wrote during the Victorian age, a time of incredible moral contradictions.” Cork put the drink down and slid into the booth. She took the celery stalk from the glass, delicately tapped it clean, and set it aside.
“Some people, Mr. O’Connor, have to be tied up to be free,” she began. “Those who don’t understand bondage believe it’s about sex. Generally speaking, it isn’t. It’s about catharsis. It’s about people who hold such a tight grip on their lives that they desperately need a way to let go and bondage is their liberation. I have clients-we call them bottoms-who head major companies or are doctors or lawyers. These are very successful, very powerful people. For them, the moderate sadomasochism I offer isn’t a sexual aberration so much as it is a metaphor through which the psyche speaks of its suffering and its passion. Strength can be a terrible burden. It’s a constraint, which often can be relieved only in moments of abandonment, of letting down and letting go.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“In a way, I am. I offer clients a release that allows them to continue their daily living without the deep desperation that might threaten their normal lives, their families, their jobs, their mental health. But I’m not like your average MSW or PhD with a diploma hanging on the wall. People who go through accepted therapy are reluctant enough to reveal that fact. Imagine my clients. I’m sure there are those among them who would go to extreme measures to hide their proclivity.”
Cork pulled out the photograph of Will Kingbird that Lucinda had given him and slid it across the table. “Is this man one of them?”
She took the photo, but her face gave away nothing. “Part of what I promise my clients, Mr. O’Connor, is discretion.”
“Look, I don’t want to resort to threats, but I could probably make your professional life difficult. I have friends on the Duluth police force.”
She almost laughed. “You think I don’t?”
Cork sat back. “Sorry. I’m just a little desperate here. You have to understand that Will’s wife has been through a lot lately. Now her husband’s in jail for a murder he probably didn’t commit. Lucinda believes he was with a prostitute on Wednesday night and she’s accepted that. How much worse could this be?” He opened his hands toward her. “If you can, Mistress Imorg, help her. Please.”
She sat perfectly still, studying him carefully, weighing his words. Finally her eyes softened and she said, “My name is Sue.”
FORTY-ONE
It was almost six thirty when Deputy Duane Pender escorted Will Kingbird into the small interview room. Kingbird sat at the table across from Cork.
“Buzz when you’re finished,” Pender said.
“Thanks, Duane.” Cork waited until Pender was gone, then said to Kingbird, “I just came back from Duluth, Will. I had a long talk with Mistress Imorg this afternoon.”
Kingbird’s face had been slack with disinterest, real or feigned, but now his whole body reacted as if electricity had just passed through it.
