Killer Heat

'Amber's been to my apartment from time to time,' he said. 'I'm a widower, Ms. Cooper. I invited her there occasionally, but then there are doormen to deal with in my co-op, you understand.'

'And her home?'

'Never. I don't even know where she lived.' He clasped his hands together and appeared to be confused by that question. 'Well, if she ever told me, I've forgotten. She had a boyfriend. Obviously, she didn't want our paths to cross. I thought maybe he lived there with her.'

'You know his name?'

He shook his head and his wrinkled neck jiggled. 'I never asked. I think he worked in a bar. At least that's what she said. It's a problem for me to separate the stories she told me-which ones were real and which were, well, fantasies.'

'It must have been even harder to get her past security at the Tribune than into a residential apartment building. Wouldn't she have to sign some kind of log?'

'Indeed, I'm sure there's a record of her visits,' he said. 'But believe me, if Herb Ackerman called down to say I was expecting a guest at nine or ten o'clock, and a well-dressed young woman showed up with a press pass, then-'

'A press pass? Did you help arrange that?'

He waved his hand across the desktop. 'Any kid can put his or her hand on one of those. Summer interns, students at local schools, freelance writers.'

'You got one for her?'

'Yes.'

'With a photo and the magazine logo and her name?'

'Yes. Well, that was part of the game we played.'

'Game?'

'She didn't use the name Bristol,' he said, with a chuckle that I could only hope was a nervous reaction. 'Amber Alert. That's what she called herself when she was with me.'

Perhaps this small-town girl with an unhealthy imagination liked the fact that her alias appeared on billboards all over America.

'Let me ask a few more questions, Mr. Ackerman. Then we'll make an appointment for a longer interview.'

'I'd like to get this done now.'

'The last night you were with Amber, did you and she engage in any sexual acts?'

'Sexual? Oh, Ms. Cooper, you're completely mistaken,' Ackerman said, his chin crawling back down onto his short neck. 'Our relationship wasn't about sex.'

I stood up to conclude the meeting. 'I was counting on your candor to help us, Mr. Ackerman. That's the only way we can be of any use to you.'

'But Amber and I never had sex,' he was almost whining as he looked at me.

'Then you tell me what your get-togethers were like.' I didn't want to give him any information about whips and handcuffs until he raised the subject himself.

Ackerman reached under his glasses with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and massaged his closed eyelids.

'She diapered me, Ms. Cooper. That's what she did.'

'She what?'

The forensic psychiatrist I had in mind, an expert in psychosexual disorders, would probably double his rates when I gave him the case hypothetical.

'It's a-a problem I have.'

'A medical problem?'

'No. No. Nothing I need,' he said softly. 'I like to be diapered.'

'Amber Bristol diapered you? In your office at the Tribune?'

I had been taught in my early years never to appear to be judgmental, but sometimes it was harder to feign indifference than others.

'Yes.'

'And there was no other sexual contact of any kind?'

'None. None at all.'

'Did she bring anything else with her when she visited you?'

'What kind of things do you mean?'

'You mentioned the word 'fantasy.' Any objects that went along with what you two did. And how was she dressed, Mr. Ackerman? Did she carry a handbag? Did she bring any kind of tote with her?'

'Amber was dressed-we laughed about it, actually. She looked like something off a sailing ship, is what I told her. She had just bought herself a jacket-sort of white cotton, double-breasted affair. It had gold buttons and epaulets, with some gold braid on the shoulders. I made fun of it, I guess, but she thought it was quite the style.'

The short-waisted military-style jacket had been the rage in the spring, sold all over town by department stores and boutiques knocking off the high-end version.

'The last I saw of her is when she walked out of my office. I saluted her and told her she looked like a ship's captain.'

The description of the clothing might be useful if it turned out Amber Bristol had been killed that night.

'Did she carry a purse?'

'Yes,' he said, nodding at me. 'Always did. One of those great big things, with long straps on her shoulder. Did you find that? It's where she kept her Palm Pilot.'

'Suppose we found it, Mr. Ackerman. Why don't you tell me what else was in it?'

'Do you enjoy doing this, Ms. Cooper?' He sat up straight and thrust his head forward again. 'Humiliating me like this?'

'That's not my plan, sir. I'd prefer not to be asking these questions.' They didn't seem a fraction as mortifying to me as the thought of seeing him undressed on a sofa in his office.

'Look, Mr. Ackerman. We know that Amber was also into sadomasochistic liaisons.'

He wagged a finger in my face. 'Not with me. I'm not involved in any business like that.'

'But she was,' I said. 'That's an indisputable fact. And we believe some of her own devices may have been used to kill her.'

'I never touched them. None of them.'

'None of what, Mr. Ackerman?'

'Handcuffs, then, okay? Is that what you want? Yes, she brought handcuffs with her sometimes. But I swear we never used them. She took them out of her bag occasionally to show them to me, but that wasn't my thing. God knows what else she carried around with her.'

He was distraught now, his head nestled back down onto his chest.

'Anything else?'

'No. Nothing at all.'

'Was there anything you would characterize as violent that occurred between you and Amber?'

'Absolutely not. I'm not like that, Ms. Cooper.'

I was trying to get a clue as to what Herb Ackerman really was like.

'You understand that we're going to have to get a sample of your saliva, for DNA,' I said, in case any other evidence developed. 'The detectives will do that later today.'

'I'm not a common criminal, young lady. I won't be treated like one.'

Many of my witnesses started with that attitude. The idea of Mike Chapman venturing into the Tribune building with a Q-tip to take a buccal swab from Ackerman made me think we'd find a more cooperative way to get it done.

'Did you speak with Amber again after she left your office?'

'You heard me, didn't you? I didn't hurt that young woman. I had nothing to do with her death. And no, I never heard from her again.'

'Did you try to reach her? Did you leave any messages for her?'