The Face of Death

I remember is talking to you in the bedroom.'

'You don't remember asking for me?'

'No.'

I cock my head at her. 'Why did you?'

She gives me a measured look of consideration that reminds me, for a moment, of Bonnie.

'Since I was six years old, a man has been coming into my life, taking away anything and anyone I love. And no one believes he exists.'

Her eyes move across my face, dancing along my scars. 'I read about what happened to you, and I thought, Maybe she'd believe me. I could tell you knew what it was like. To lose everything. To be reminded of it, every day. To wonder whether dying might be better than living.'

She pauses. 'I got the diary a few months ago and I wrote it all down. Every ugly thing. I was going to find a way to contact you and give it to you.' The shrug is small and bleak. 'I guess I did.'

I smile at her. 'I guess you did.' I bite my lower lip. 'Sarah, what he said to you, about you being a murderer . . . you know that's not true, right?'

She begins to shiver. The shivers turn into shakes, full-body trembles, her eyes wide, her face pale, her lips white and pressed flat together.

'Barry, get the nurse!' I say, alarmed.

'N-n-no!' Sarah says.

I look at her. She shakes her head as an underscore and crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself and rocking back and forth. I watch, poised to hit the call button. A half-minute goes by and the shaking subsides back to shivers, the shivers die away. Color comes back into Sarah's face.

'Are you okay?' I ask, feeling stupid for asking. It's an impotent question.

She moves a lock of hair away from her forehead.

'It happens sometimes,' she says in a voice that's surprisingly clear. 'Bubbles up out of nowhere, like a seizure.' Her head snaps around, her eyes meeting mine, and I'm startled by the clarity and strength I see in them. 'I'm almost done, do you understand? This is it. Either you find him and stop him or I'm going to take away the thing he wants the most.'

'What's that?'

He gaze is steady but haunted. Firm yet lost. 'Me. More than anything, he wants me. So if you can't catch him, I'm going to take me away for good. Do you hear me?'

She turns back to the window, back to the sun, and I could argue with her, I could protest, but I realize she's gone away from us for now.

'Yes,' I reply, my voice soft. 'I do hear you.'

'So what'd you think about all that?' Barry asks. We're back outside, in the parking lot. He's smoking and I'm wishing that I could do the same.

'I think that was a horrible, horrible story.'

'Got that right,' he mutters. 'If she's telling the truth.'

'What do you think?'

'I've heard some crazy tales in my time. Seen a lot of lying. This didn't feel like that.'

'I agree.'

'What did you think about the suicide threat?'

'It's real.'

That's all I say, all I need to say. I can tell Barry agrees with me.

'What about our guy?'

'I'm still fuzzy on this perp. Revenge is the motive to a near one hundred percent certainty. And it's everything to him. He was willing to give up personally mutilating the bodies so that he could force Sarah to do it. Hurting her was more important, more fulfilling, than cutting them open himself.'

'But not killing them,' Barry observes.

'Except when it came to the boy. Again, making her do it, his observation of her pain, was enough. But murder, per her, gives him an erection. Playing with the blood

.

.

.

that's ritual, that's sexual.

Watching her do it seems too cerebral.' I rub my face with my hands, try to shake myself into a semblance of normality. 'Sorry, I'm not being helpful.'

'Hey, we've worked a few of these together. This is how it goes for you.'

He's right, this is how it goes. Observe, observe, observe, think, correlate, feel, and do it all again until the killer's outline goes from fuzzy to focused. It's chaotic and jumbled and contradictory, but this is how it goes.

'Can you get a sketch artist over here?' I ask. 'The tattoo will be distinctive, unique.'

'I'll make it happen.'

'I'll reach Callie and see what occurred at the Vargas scene. I'll make sure she calls you and fills you in too. Barring a big forensic break, I think the most productive path is going to be digging into everyone's past, with special attention to Vargas. That's where the answer lies. Based on the vengeance motive, and the way he treats the bodies of the children, I'm interested in the human-trafficking angle.'

'That's one for you then.'

'Why?'

'Apparently, the trafficking beef was federal all the way. FBI, in fact.'

'Here?'

'Californi-yay. But I'll start rooting around in the Kingsleys' lives. Sarah's too. I'll check out her parents, see if they really were murdered. Oh yeah, and I'll follow up with the medical examiner. Damn, I'm busy.'

'I'll make sure Callie gets you a copy of the diary.'

We both stand there, thinking. Making sure we've covered all the bases.

'Guess that's it then,' Barry says. 'I'll be in touch soon.'

'That apartment was a disgusting pigsty, honey-love.'

'I know. What did you find?'

'Let's see, where to begin? Method of death was the same as the Kingsley family. Throats were cut, blood drained into the tub in the bathroom. Mr. Vargas was disemboweled. No hesitation cuts on him, however.'

I tell her about Sarah.

'He made her cut them open?'

'Yes.'

Silence. 'Well, that would explain it then. Moving on. The young lady wasn't mutilated--as you saw. We don't have an ID on her yet, but she was young. My guess would be somewhere between thirteen and fifteen. We found a tattoo of a cross, with Cyrillic writing underneath it that translates to 'Give thanks to God, for God is love.' '

'Seems odd that an American girl would have Cyrillic writing tattooed on her. She's either Russian or local Russian. Which makes sense.'

The Russian mob has become a huge player in human trafficking, including underage sex workers.

'The scarring on her feet is very similar to what we saw on the footprints recovered at the Kingsleys', except these are fewer in number by far. They also seem relatively fresh. The ME estimated, based on color and fading, that they're about six months old.'

'Odd coincidence, don't you think? Both her and the perp having the same kind of scarring?'

'No, because I don't believe it's a coincidence. All the prints we recovered matched the two victims. We have a ton of hair and fibers. We also have a lot of semen stains, but they're all old and dry. You know, flaky.'

'Thank you for that visual.'

'I've only given the computer a cursory once-over, but I did see e-mail and various documents on it, as well as lots and lots of porn. Lots of porn. I'm having the computer brought back to the office, where I'll be going through it. Did I mention lots of porn? Mr. Vargas wasn't a nice man.'