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employees’ apartments?”
    “No, just those who are into the more dangerous stuff.”
    “You mean there’re sexual fetishes more dangerous than trying to strangle yourself?”
    “Maybe not as dangerous, but certainly walking the edge, yes.”
    I walked across to the apartment building’s main doors and pressed the buzzer for apartment 1B. While I waited for Alana to answer, I asked, “How long ago did he actually die?”
    “Yesterday. He didn’t turn up for work today, so I called in on the way home. That’s when I found him.”
    So at least twenty-four hours had passed, if not more. I wrinkled my nose. The chances of the dead man’s soul hanging about were slim. Even if he was there, the odds that I’d actually understand him were practically nil. To date, it seemed that the fresher the kill, the stronger I could see or hear the soul—and vice versa.
    “The police took your statement, I presume.” I pressed the buzzer again, then stepped back and looked up. No one answered, and there didn’t seem to be any movement or sound evident from either of the first-floor apartments.
    “Yes, they did. You can double-check it if you think I’ve been lying about anything.”
    I smiled. “Oh, I will, but not because I think you’re lying. I want to see what the cops and coroner all thought.”
    “I didn’t think coroners worked that fast.”
    “It depends on the situation.” And in this one, it could be days before a full report came out. He was right on one thing—BDSM deaths stood side by side with suicides at the bottom of the priority list when it came to cause-of-death examinations. Still, they’d have initial impressions, and those would be in the case notes. “Where are you now?”
    “Home.”
    I gave the intercom buzzer one final push. Still no answer. Alana was either out or working. “Can you get to your mate’s place quickly?”
    “Be there in fifteen.” He gave me the address, then added, “I really do appreciate this.”
    “You owe me a coffee. And I hope you realize there may be nothing I can do.”
    “I know.”
    “Meet you there, then.” I hung up, then shoved my cell back into my purse and headed down to my car. Ben’s dead friend lived in Prahan, which wasn’t that far away, even with the late-afternoon traffic going nowhere fast.
    I got there with a few minutes to spare. Ben was nowhere to be seen, so I leaned against the trunk of my car and studied the building. It was one of those boring brick designs that were put up in the latter part of the twentieth century—a basic straight-up-and-down affair with few windows and little imagination. Someone had recently painted it cream, and there were neatly trimmed hedges along the front and the sides, but the greenery didn’t do a whole lot to relieve the blandness.
    Not a place I could live in, if only because the apartments didn’t look particularly large. It would have made me feel like a caged animal.
    The roar of a motorcycle caught my attention. I looked around to see a leather-clad man on a big, mean-looking bike come roaring up the street toward me. He gave me a wave when he saw me looking, then slowed and drove the bike into the parking spot behind my car.
    I smiled and walked back to him. “Fancy entrance,” I said, as he took the helmet off.
    Ben patted his bike affectionately. “Haven’t given this old girl a run for a while. It’s nice to be on her again.”
    I looked at the bike. It didn’t look anything particularly special to me. “It’s a bike.”
    Amusement gleamed in his bright blue eyes. “No, it’s a 1975 GL1000 Gold Wing. Some of this baby’s features were way ahead of her time.”
    “Well, I’m charmed to meet her,” I said, voice dry. “Now, do you want to take me up to your mate’s place?”
    His grin was as sexy as all hell as he climbed off the bike, his teeth a stark contrast to his rich black skin. “Not into motorcycles?”
    “No.” But my treacherous hormones were certainly into all