Mark of the Demon

interior.

A tapping on the observation window drew my attention, but I couldn’t see who was standing on the opposite side. The other room was darkened to make it easier for observers who didn’t want to get too close to the smell and gore to view the autopsy. Doc apparently knew who it was. He lifted a blood-covered gloved hand and motioned the person in.

The door to the autopsy room opened, and a man dressed in a dark-blue suit with a bland yellow-and-blue- striped tie entered. Brown hair that held just the barest touch of red in it was cut short but still had enough length to show that it would probably be wavy if ever grown long. Green eyes flecked with gold that were almost too pretty for a man were set in a rugged face that was not pretty but still managed to be handsome. He had an athletic build and was taller than I was by about a head, which I figured made him about six feet tall. And he was a Fed. I could almost smell it on him.

He gave me a brief, almost dismissive glance, then turned his attention to Doc. “Good morning, Dr. Lanza. I’m sorry I’m late. I hope I haven’t missed too much?”

I kept my expression controlled, trying not to show my annoyance at the way he’d dismissed me. Okay, so I didn’t look very detectively at the moment, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with my hair in a ponytail, but I’d learned the hard way about wearing nice clothing into an autopsy. Had a task force been formed already? Was this one of the Feds assigned to the case? It would have been nice if someone could have given me a heads-up.

“How ya doin’, Agent Kristoff?” Doc said. “Have you two met? This is Detective Kara Gillian. She’s the lead on this case for the Beaulac PD.”

Agent Kristoff returned his attention to me again, eyes narrowing in another appraisal—one I obviously failed the second time around as well, since he merely gave a tight shake of his head. “No, not yet. Special Agent Ryan Kristoff, FBI.” He extended his hand and, when I returned the gesture, he shook my hand for the absolute minimum length of time necessary for politeness, then dropped it and returned to ignoring me—even going so far as to step around me and approach the body.

Doc caught my eye and gave a barely perceptible shrug. I just sighed. And to think I’d been looking forward to having the help of the FBI.

“Dr. Lanza,” Agent Kristoff said, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over and peered into the already dissected torso, “does the symbol on this victim match what was found on the previous Symbol Man victims?”

Doc gave Agent Kristoff a slightly puzzled smile, which delighted me, since I knew the expression was a total act. “I can’t say, Agent Kristoff. I haven’t reviewed the old case files to be able to make a comparison.” He paused. “Detective Gillian’s the resident expert on the Symbol Man.”

At that moment I loved Doc.

Kristoff’s eyes slid back to me. “You know the case?” he asked, the trace of disbelief so slight that I wasn’t sure if it was even there. Maybe I was being overly sensitive.

“I do. I’m sorry, but are you on the task force?” I asked, keeping my tone ingenuous.

The skin around his eyes tightened fractionally. “Yes, I was assigned this morning. I just drove over from New Orleans.”

I put on a friendly smile, forcing my face into the position. “Ah, I see. I’ll have to get you up to speed, then.”

“I’ve read the files,” he said flatly. “I was only hoping that Dr. Lanza had some recollection of the markings from when the previous Symbol Man was working this area.”

Dr. Lanza shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. The only Symbol Man victim I posted was three years ago, right after I first came over here. We had a hard time finding the symbol at first, and even when we did it was tough to make it out. I just trusted the detectives when they said that it matched the others.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m sorry, Agent Kristoff, but you keep saying ‘the previous Symbol Man.’ What makes you think this isn’t the work of the same person?”

His expression shifted to something between a glower and a smirk. “I’m not willing to jump to the immediate conclusion that this is the same person. That line of thinking would limit the investigation far too much, and I don’t think that would be a wise thing to do so early on.”

Holy shit, how I wished I could smack the smug right off his face! But through sheer force of will I managed to merely give a shrug and a nod. “I suppose I can see that point of view. But, in my opinion, it’s a waste of time and resources to be looking for other options when so much of the data and evidence points to it being the same person. Sure,” I hurried to continue when he opened his mouth to speak, “I can understand that we need to keep other options open, but I prefer to keep them on the back burner at the moment, unless some compelling evidence comes up to give us more of an idea that it’s a different individual.” I tilted my head and smiled. “I’m pretty familiar with the case and the symbol and all of his methodology.” And the arcane traces, I added silently. “So I figure that if this guy is a copycat, he’s a damn good one. Which means that he’ll most likely follow the same methodology as in the previous murders. Which means that focusing on that methodology would be a good thing.” I found myself masking a grin. Had I really just said all that?

I could see a muscle in his jaw twitch. He opened his mouth to reply, but Doc spoke, interrupting the brittle tableau.

“She was strangled repeatedly.”

Agent Kristoff and I both turned to Doc. I stepped over to the table. “Repeatedly?” I asked, peering down at the neck muscles that had been peeled back.

“See the bruising?” he said, pointing to clots of blood within the muscle with the tip of his scalpel. “It’s in several lines across these strap muscles. She died of ligature strangulation, but it was tightened and loosened several times.”

“More torture,” I murmured. “Poor thing.” I wanted to add, Just like his other victims, for Agent Kristoff’s benefit, but managed to resist.

Doc grimaced. “Yeah, she didn’t die easy, that’s for sure.”

I glanced at Agent Kristoff. He was watching me again, those too-pretty eyes fixed on me and an unreadable expression on his face. He shifted his gaze back to the body when he saw my attention, not speaking.

I felt another flare of annoyance. Was he looking down on me because I expressed sympathy for the victim? I’d run into that a time or two among other police officers—disdain for people who’d lived the sort of lifestyle that made them easy prey.

Well, if he’s that sort, he won’t last long on my task force, I decided. Not that I was sure I even had the power to remove people, but it made me feel better to think it.

We stepped back as Carl snapped pictures of each layer of muscle, showing the depth and position of the bruising. Then Dr. Lanza took a pair of scissors and removed the throat. I watched him as he palpated the trachea.

“Hyoid bone’s fractured. Definitely a strangulation.”

This wasn’t a surprise, since the markings had been so livid on the girl’s neck, plus there’d been so much haemorrhaging in her eyes and face. But it was still hard hearing it actually said out loud. It was almost as if it could be denied, as if the obscene cruelty had not occurred if it was not voiced.

“So that was the cause of death?” I asked.

Doc nodded and set the section of throat aside. “That’s what I’m going to put in my report. I mean, she’s suffered a ton of other trauma, but as hideous as it all is, none of it’s life-threatening. She was tortured for probably close to a week, then killed slowly.”

“Fucker,” Agent Kristoff muttered. I glanced at him, then back to the body. Finally something we could agree on.

“But I think she was bled too,” Doc continued.

A cold knot formed in my gut. “What do you mean?”

Doc lifted her arm and pointed to a notch cut in the crook of her elbow. “The vein is nicked there, and there are similar cuts in the other elbow and in her ankles.” My sick horror grew as Doc pointed out the notches in the veins. I’d missed those deeper cuts among all the other shallow ones. Had those been on the other victims? After a couple of weeks of decomposition, there’d be no way to tell with all of the other trauma.

“So she might have died of blood loss?” Agent Kristoff asked.

Doc shook his head. “No. She died of the strangulation, but she could have lost up to a liter of blood and still been alive when he decided to finish her off with the ligature.”