drugs other than Brevital used in subduing them?”
“Matter-of-fact, yes. It's the one common denominator found in all three cases, but then, given the pervasive presence of drugs in London society nowadays… Well, there you have it. No great shock. Rather think it should come as no surprise to an experienced forensics person like yourself,” Schuller said, his tone turned slighdy condescending.
“You think a lifestyle of habitual drug use had anything to do with their becoming victims?” On either side of the Atlantic the thinking was the same-most victims of violent death lived lives that courted such disasters. For the most part she couldn't deny that it held true, but the argument also lost in the end like blaming the rape on the raped woman. No one deserved murder or to be scammed out of their life's savings because they acted out of a desperation brought on by illness or old age. Still no one, coroners, pathologists, and medical examiners included, was without his or her prejudices. It sounded to Jessica, if she accurately read between the lines, that Schuller had an aversion to druggies.
Despite the choice of lifestyle, she maintained silently in her head that the victim did not nail himself to a cross. He did not kill himself. The victims were killed by someone of superior strength and cunning, possibly someone taking full advantage of the victims' weakest of weaknesses.
“Those who live by the needle, you know,” Schuller added, confirming Jessica's assessment of the good doctor. “Inspector Sharpe can attest to it. We've all seen it. An addict necessarily must associate with the dregs of society, those even lower on the food chain than the addict… The slightest something goes wrong and it's execution time.”
“I can't see a drug dealer crucifying addicts for nonpayment of debt, sorry,” Jessica replied, unable to listen to Schuller's nonsense any longer without comment. “Did you examine the female victim for signs of diabetes or other life-threatening diseases?”
“I urged you to do exactly that,” Sharpe said to Schuller.
Schuller shook his head. “All of them died not of disease but of evil mishandling. Someone cut off their oxygen supply to watch them die slowly and torturously. End of forensic story.”
“Did you check the woman for signs of sexual battery?” asked Jessica.
“Yes, and there were none.”
“Small favors,” she muttered, her hands now lifting Burton's punctured left foot closer to the magnifying glass. “What about souvenirs? Did the killer or killers take anything from the woman's body? Anything cut off and gone missing from any of the three bodies?”
“Nothing of the sort,” replied Schuller.
“I see, and the men, both intact.”
“Nothing stolen, save the breath of life.”
“So unusual,” she murmured thoughtfully.
“What's that?” asked Sharpe.
“That the killer should not retain something of his conquests, something of a souvenir. A token to memorialize the moment, a keepsake, say like some of the hair, a hand, a sex organ, an internal organ, the heart, something to mark the occasion, to lift from his box of memorabilia to relive the moment at some later date.”
Schuller lifted his chin high and said, “I assure you that Burton and the others were totally and wholly intact, not so much as a hair disturbed, other than the brutality done them as you see before you, Dr. Coran.”
She nodded and addressed Sharpe. “Could be part of the killer's fantasy, to send them over whole and intact… as pure as he can make them, perhaps. Still, the killer may've made videotapes to commemorate their-”
“Videotapes?” Raehael was aghast.
“A perfectly awful thought,” said Sharpe. “You do think like a killer, don't you. Dr. Coran?”
'Tapes of their deaths,” she repeated. “Remember, Christ hung on the cross for what, minimum three hours before he expired? Lot of time for photographs and videotape. Many serial killers collect pictures of the event.”
“If we imagine it all had to do with some sort of religious fantasy, involving the crucifixion-the blood, oil, and the water, all having rejuvenative powers, according to biblical symbolism-then any mutilation of the body, such as taking of a body part, might well interfere with the reanimation, the resurrection as it were. Do you suppose the killer or killers think they have the power to resurrect the dead?”
“It's a possibility, yes. Nothing's too fantastic for the fevered, psychotic mind.”
Richard nodded. “All sounds logical in a twisted way, of course.”
“If that is the case, it must've hurt the killer's sense of order and cleanliness to see the O'Donahue woman's body ran over,” she commented.
“I'm sure,” agreed Sharpe. “However, I do hope we can hurt the bastard in more places than his sensibilities.”
“I suppose it does sound foolish to speak of a killer's sense of order. But a killer like this one who premeditates, prescribes, stalks, plans out his kill. Inspector, is certainly concerned with a sense of orderliness and conduct in what he does.” She momentarily wondered whether or not J. T. back at home was having any luck with Tattoo Man's case. Now there was a case involving a deadly planning out of every detail. She wondered what, if anything, the two disparate cases might have in common.
Sharpe near-whispered, “Do you think we can catch this madman anytime soon?”
“In time. All in due time, Inspector.” He set his jaw and nodded. “Are we finished here? She considered the pros and cons of asking that Burton's body be tested for disease of every sort. What might it net, what problems would it cause between the British doctors and herself? She finally said, “Yes, all done. These gentlemen have done a thorough job of it.”
But the spirit in the corpse didn't think so, for slowly, almost imperceptibly, the swollen dead tongue, bloated to near bursting, parted the smiling lips and peeked out like a cautious gray gecko. The tongue kept moving now that it had parted the lips, moving as if independent of the body, as if it remained somehow alive. Forward it came, of its own accord, to lie over the lower lip where it stopped.
“What in God's name?” whispered Sharpe.
“Never seen anything like it,” added young Dr. Raehael.
“Not unusual in my experience,” Jessica said, albeit unnerved. Such artificial life movements in the dead always caused a ripple of fear in anyone looking on. The tongue made Burton's already distorted features an impious gargoyle's snicker. The overall effect made Burton a macabre clown poking fun to both startle and taunt all in the room.
Schuller, although curious, kept a straight face, while Jessica grabbed for the large magnifying glass on its swivel arm and focused it on the tongue, asking, “Had you seen this swelling before?” She wondered if it were not indicative of some exotic disease.
“Yes, it was mentioned as an addendum to my report,” countered Schuller.
Jessica, not knowing why, found a pair of large forceps and pulled the tongue as far as the corpse would allow her, staring at the decaying, bloated thing for some time before she lifted it to stare at the underside, and there she found something that made them all gasp-some sort of brand.
“Son-of-a Bristol whore,” said Sharpe. “Oh, pardon, Dr. Coran, but what the deuce is it?”
Schuller couldn't hide his confusion, nor the shakiness where he stood on the balls of his feet across from Jessica, staring at the blackened flesh. He finally asked, “Is it some sort of emblem?”
“Lettering…”
“What's that?”
“It appears to be lettering of some sort, but I can't make it out. Was there anything of the sort on the other two bodies?”
“No, some swelling of the tongue, but no… no branded letters on the underside of the tongues, no,” replied Schuller. “But then…”
“But,” Jessica finished for him, “there'd been no reason to look below the tongue, right?”
“Exactly, and what with the understaffing here and the overworked help…”
Sharpe, more interested in the message than the verbal jousting between doctors, firmly asked, “Can you make out what it says?”
“Small lettering. Guy had to use jeweler's tools or tattoo parlor tools or a hot brand to make this happen,” Jessica replied, again thinking there may well be some connections unforeseen between Tattoo Man and the
