Dead of Night (Page 40)

“Is that what you think is happening with the cases here in New Orleans?”

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know yet. What I do know is that the first crime scene was loaded with satanic symbolism, like that old house in Arkansas. And the victim had fresh tattoos. Two things that would lead me to think Sarah might be the one person who could help with the case. She’s always been fascinated by the occult, and she’s familiar with every tattoo artist in the city. So I get her over to the crime scene and the first thing she asks about is footwear evidence. She wants to know if we found any unusual prints around the crime scene. Two days later, the coroner shows me cloven-shaped bruises on the victim’s torso. That has me wondering how Sarah knew about those footprints before we did.”

The implacable eyes met Sean’s across the desk. “Did you ask her?”

“She said there was an old legend in the town where she grew up about the devil’s footprints. It was rumored that those marks were found near her sister’s body. The symbolism at the crime scene triggered the memory, and her question about the prints was an unconscious response.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I believe she wants to believe that’s a plausible explanation.”

“But you don’t.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what to think. The similarities to her sister’s case worry me.”

“Do you think Sarah is somehow involved in these killings?”

It was Sean who stayed silent this time.

Garrett leaned forward. “If I were to determine that any of my patients provided a significant threat to others, I would be required by Louisiana law to report my judgment to the proper authorities. I’ve made no such report, Detective.”

Sean nodded. “Okay. I hear what you’re saying.” He wanted to be relieved, but there was still too much about this case that he didn’t understand. Too much about Sarah’s past that kept niggling at him.

“The cloven-shaped bruises are interesting,” Garrett said. “Did you find similar marks on the second victim?”

“No, and that bothers me, too,” Sean said. “The killer went out of his way to stage everything about the first crime scene, right down to the numbers in the street address. The symbolism was almost overkill. Everything he did was precise and full of meaning. But there was very little of that at the second scene. It was like he’d already made his point. He killed the second victim somewhere else and then dumped her where he knew the body would be found. But he still tattooed her back and carved up her face to make sure we’d know he did it.”

“Carved up her face?”

“That’s another one of his calling cards. He slits the corners of the victims’ mouths and removes their eyelids. It distorts their features into a macabre death mask.” Sean removed photographs from an envelope and walked over to Garrett’s desk. “These are from the first crime scene. The symbols on the walls are called udjats. The eye of Lucifer. You can see he drew both the right and left eye, which I’m told is rare. The right eye represents the sun, the left eye, the moon. Day and night. Good and evil. The symbol in the palm is a thaumaturgic triangle, which is used to summon demons. Like I said, overkill. He wanted to make sure we got his point.”

“You think the symbolism is misdirection?” Garrett turned on the lamp and reached for a magnifying glass.

“I don’t know yet. Sarah suggested the tattoo on the palm and the one on the back were made by two different artists. The triangle is noticeably inferior to the inkblot. But it’s easy to buy a tattoo machine off the internet. With a little artistic talent and some practice, he could probably create a pretty decent tattoo, especially if he took his time. But if he was in a hurry or if he got nervous, his inexperience could cause the quality of the second tattoo to slip.” Sean stared down at the images. “What I need to know from you is whether the tattoo on her back is based on a genuine Rorschach inkblot. That could indicate he’s had a psychological evaluation at some point in his past.”

Reaching into a desk drawer, Garrett pulled out a leather portfolio, then removed a set of Rorschach prints which he shuffled through like a deck of cards. Finding the one he wanted, he placed it beside the crime-scene shot and studied them together.

“Do you have the photograph from the second victim?” he asked.

Sean took it out of the envelope and tossed it onto the desk. “The tattoos look identical at first glance, but they’re not.”

“I can see that.” Garrett took his time examining the photographs. “Both tattoos are definitely inspired by the same Rorschach image.” He pointed to the card he’d removed from the portfolio. “He’s modified the design, however, to represent something specific to him.”

“Can you tell what that is?”

“It could be anything. The inkblots are ambiguous. They mean something different to everyone who looks at them, because each individual brings his or her own set of unique circumstances into the interpretation.” Garrett looked up. “The only thing I can tell you is what the killer seems to want us to see.”

“Which is?”

“Faces.” He pointed to the photograph. “In his modification, the face on the right is in the light, while the face on the left is shaded. The left side, just like the left udjat, is the night side, the dark side. Let’s say it represents the mirror image. But the tattoo on the second victim is the opposite. The face in the light is the mirror image. The hidden side.”

“So what the hell does any of this mean?” Sean asked impatiently.

“He’s using these images to communicate. To send a message. But that’s actually not the salient point here. With whom is he trying to communicate?”

“The police, I guess,” Sean said. “These guys like to flaunt how clever they are. And the tattoos aren’t the only messages he left for us. At the first crime scene, he wrote something backwards on the wall so that it had to be read in a mirror. At the second scene, he left it on the mirror.”

“What did he write?”

“‘I am you.’ Maybe he’s trying to tell us he’s one of us. A cop.”

Garrett frowned. “I am you,” he murmured, and then his expression subtly altered. “I…am…you.”

“Does that mean something to you?”

“He may not be trying to communicate with you at all, Detective Kelton.” Garrett’s voice sounded deeply troubled. “It’s entirely possible the killer is leaving these messages for himself.”

* * *

“How’d it go at the morgue?” Sean asked Danny, who had beat him back to the office.

“We got a positive ID, so at least now we can start checking for a connection between Amber Gleason and Holly Jessup.”

“Well, that’s progress. Don’t you want to know how it went with the shrink?”

“Yeah, but I need to tell you something first.”

For the first time, Sean noticed Danny’s worried expression. “What’s going on?”

“Do you know a guy named Clovis Tenney?”

“He’s married to a friend of Cat’s. Why?”

“Morales says he called here while you were out. He was pretty anxious to talk to you. He says his wife’s gone missing. Says she went out on Saturday night and he hasn’t seen her since.”

“Did he file a missing persons?”

Danny nodded. “A patrol officer located her car parked on a side street just off North Rampart.” He handed Sean a piece of paper with the address. “That’s a bad location these days.”

“Any sign of foul play?”

“One of the officers noticed a small amount of blood on the driver’s side door.” Danny paused. “That’s not all. Tenney says he thinks Cat was with his wife on Saturday night.”

* * *

Sean stood on the street and watched as the crime-scene unit went over the car. Once they were finished, a crowbar was used to pop open the trunk, but nothing was found inside. Except for the blood on the door, the car appeared to be clean.

But that spot of blood worried Sean a great deal, as did the location of the car—less than a block from Sarah’s house. He remembered what Danny had told him the other day about Cat’s intention to confront Sarah and he was starting to get worried.

Sean had been at Sarah’s house on Saturday night. If Cat had seen him there, she would have probably jumped to the wrong conclusion. And it was very possible she’d showed up at Sarah’s door to have it out with her before Sarah left for Arkansas. If that were the case, Sarah might well have been the last one to see Cat.

While he waited for the car to be searched, Sean called Sarah’s cell phone and left a message when she didn’t answer. He had a feeling, though, that voice mail from him would go unopened.

He called anyone else he could think of who might know of Cat’s whereabouts. One of her friends had seen her with Ginette early Saturday evening, so it seemed that Clovis Tenney was right. The two women had been together. And now they were both missing.

After the wrecker hauled the car to the impound and the scene was cleared, Sean walked up the street to Sarah’s house. He still had his key and he let himself in.

Standing just inside the door, he glanced around. He didn’t know what he expected to find. It was entirely possible that Cat and Ginette had gone off with someone else. They both loved Biloxi. For all he knew, they could be having a high old time in one of the casinos. Danny was right. This was New Orleans. Erratic and impulsive behavior was not only expected, but encouraged, and Sean knew better than to jump to any conclusions.

But that spot of blood on the car door… He didn’t want to be married to Cat, but he sure as hell didn’t want anything to happen to her.

He had no right entering Sarah’s house without her permission, but she was miles away, refusing to take his calls, and time was crucial. In missing-person cases, minutes—let alone hours—could make all the difference, and he needed to know if Cat had been there.

Slowly, he walked from room to room until the only place he hadn’t searched was the bedroom. His skin prickled as he opened the door and looked inside.

He’d shared this room and that bed with Sarah for over two years. He knew the space like the back of his hand. Every corner, every crevice. He had no reason to suddenly feel so unnerved. No reason to feel the need to draw his gun before pulling back the closet door.

Something moved inside, and Sean jumped back, then laughed nervously when he realized he’d spotted himself in the mirror.

No one was there.

The house was empty, and he could find no sign that Cat had ever been there. Yet Sean knew something was wrong. Something kept tugging at him.

Then it came to him. The room had recently been cleaned. The air smelled faintly of lemon oil and ammonia. And now, as he glanced around, he realized the space was spotless. Sarah was neat, but she wasn’t anal about it. She stacked clothes on the dresser, draped her robe over the back of a chair. Had books lying around everywhere.

Nothing was out of place.

Even the bed was painstakingly made up with fresh linens, but the comforter was missing.

Something else was missing, too. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

He walked over to the mirror. Spotless.

Glanced down at the dresser. Spotless.

As he moved toward the bed, something crunched beneath his shoe. Kneeling, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then picked up a glittering piece of glass and held it up to the light.

Traces of what looked like blood clung to the creases of the cut crystal.

Chapter 24

Sarah was having a second cup of coffee the next morning when she looked out and saw a squad car pull into the drive. She watched as Lukas Clay got out and strode up the walkway. A moment later, the doorbell rang.

“This is a surprise,” she said when she opened the door. “I’d planned to call you later to set up a time when I could come in and look at those files.”

“That may have to wait.” He shifted nervously and cleared his throat. “I have something I need to tell you. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

“Maybe you’d better come in then.” Sarah stepped back so he could enter, and then closed the door behind him. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but…your father is dead.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “When?”

“Early this morning. The nurse went in to give him a shot and she found him.”

“He must have died in his sleep then.” Sarah supposed that was the best way to go. And he’d told her on Sunday that he was ready. That he didn’t want to linger. So this was for the best.

But Lukas was staring down at her strangely. “Your father didn’t die in his sleep, Sarah. He was murdered.”

She felt her face drain of color. “Murdered? My God. Are you sure? I mean…of course, you’re sure. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. It’s just…I can’t believe it.”

“Maybe we should go in and sit down,” Lukas said gently. He took her elbow and guided her into the living room. She dropped to the sofa, her legs suddenly too shaky to support her. Lukas sat down beside her.

“I don’t understand.” She turned and searched his face. “Why would someone murder him? He was terminal. Everyone knew he didn’t have much time left. Is it possible someone was trying to spare him?”

“It wasn’t a mercy killing, if that’s what you mean.”

“How do you know?”

He still had that strange look in his eyes. “There’s no easy way to say this. Your father’s throat was cut.”

Sarah felt as if she’d been body-slammed against the floor. Everything inside her went still, and for a moment, she completely lost her breath.