The lower row of photographs were from the same perspective but were shots of her back, where the butchery had been just as vicious.
'I can see why the police chief thinks Satanists were involved,' Meyer said. 'This is obscene.'
St Claire leaned over Meyer's shoulder and together they read the homicide report filed by Chief Hiram Young:
On October 27, 1993, at approximately 8 A.M, I answered a call to the home of George Balfour, local, which was called in by a neighbour, Mrs Miriam Peronne, who resides next door. I found a white female, which I personally identified as Linda Balfour, 26, wife of George, on the floor of the living room. Mrs Balfour was DOA. The coroner, Bert Fields, attributes death to multiple stab wounds. Her son, age 1, was five feet away and unharmed. Her husband was several miles from town when the crime occurred. There are no suspects.
Meyer turned to St Claire. 'Not much there,' he said.
But St Claire did not answer. He stood up and walked close to the screen. He was looking at the close-up of the back of the woman's head. 'What's that?' he asked. 'What?'
'There, on the back of her head.' St Claire pointed to what appeared to be markings under the woman's hair. 'I'll zoom in,' Meyer said.
He isolated the photograph, then blew it up four times before it began to fall apart. Beneath the blood-mottled hair on the back of her head were what appeared to be a row of marks, but the blown-up photo was too fuzzy to define them.
'Maybe just scratches,' Meyer suggested. 'Can you clear it up any?' St Claire asked. Meyer digitally enhanced the picture several times, the photo blinking and becoming a little more distinct each time he hit the key combinations.
'That's as far as I can take it,' Meyer said. 'Looks like numbers,' St Claire said, adjusting his glasses and squinting at the image. 'Numbers and a letter…'
'Looks like it was written with her blood,' Meyer said with disgust.
A familiar worm nibbled at St Claire's gut. Nothing he could put his finger on, but it was nibbling nevertheless. 'Ben, let's give this Chief Young a call. He's got to know more about this case than the network's got.'
'Harvey, I've got four cases on my desk…'
'I got a nudge on this, Ben. Don't argue with me.'
'A nudge? What's a nudge?'
'It's when your gut nudges your brain,' the old-timer answered.
In the lobby of the Ritz Hotel, the city's three hundred most-powerful men preened like gamecocks as they headed for the dining room. They strutted into the room, pompous, jaws set, warily eyeing their peers and enforcing their standing in the power structure by flaunting condescending demeanours The State Lawyers Association Board of Directors luncheon was the city's most prestigious assembly of the year and it was - for the most powerful - a contest of attitudes. Three hundred invitations went out; invitations harder to acquire than tickets to the final game of a World Series because they could not be bought, traded, or used by anyone else. The most exclusive - and snobbish - ex officio 'club' in town established who the most powerful men in the city were. To be on the invitation list connoted acceptance by the city's self-appointed leaders. To be dropped was construed as a devastating insult.
Yancey's invitation to be the keynote speaker was a sign that he was recognized as one of the city's most valued movers and shakers. For years, he had secretly yearned to be accepted into the supercillious boys' club and he was revelling in the attention he was getting. Vail followed him into the dining room, smiling tepidly in the wake of the pandering DA as he glad-handed his way to the head table. This was Yancey's day and Vail was happy for him, even though he regarded the proceedings with disdain.
His seat was directly in front of the lecturn at a table with three members of the state supreme court and the four most influential members of the legislature, an elderly, dour, and boring lot, impressed with their own importance and more interested in food and drink than intelligent conversation. Vail suffered through the lunch.
Yancey got a big hand when he was introduced. And why not? Speaking was his forte and he was renowned for spicing his speeches with off-colour jokes and supplicating plaudits for the biggest of the big shots. As he was being introduced, Yancey felt an annoying pain in the back of his head. He rubbed it away. But as he stood up to speak, it became a searing pain at the base of his skull. He shook his head sharply and then it hit again like a needle jabbing into his head. The room seemed to go out of focus; the applause became hollow. He reached for the lectern to steady himself.
Vail saw Yancey falter and shakily steady himself by gripping the lectern with one hand. With the other, he rubbed the base of his neck, twisting his head as if an imaginary bee was attacking him. He smiled,