Listening to the tranquility of the ocean, Sin wondered how Man could take something so beautiful and use it for something so ugly. She laughed as it suddenly occurred to her that she was starting to sound like her father. Her quiet was interrupted by the sound of a police siren.
Short blasts attempting to grab her attention.
Startled, Sin turned to see an officer on a bicycle. Beach Patrol was written on the cross tube of his bike.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, but I’ve been sitting here for the last five minutes trying to get your attention. There is no parking on the boardwalk, Miss. I need you to move your motorcycle.”
Sin was going to flash her badge, but she realized that he was just doing his job. Smiling and nodding she was just about to start her Harley when the officer dismounted his bicycle and walked over. He smiled at her and then his eyes roamed, not over her frame, but over the frame of her machine.
The officer whistled his appreciation. “A 1952 Panhead,” his eyes opened wide in excitement.
Sin gave him her full-wattage smile. “You know your bikes.”
“Hell, every Harley fan knows the ’52 Panhead. And if not,” he lifted his head and winked at her, “they should be riding a Honda.”
Sin laughed—a sweet, flirtatious laugh—and swept her manicured nails through her thick, black hair.
The officer pulled a card out of his shirt pocket. “Officer Keith Jones,” he said. “A bunch of us ride every Sunday. We start here at seven a.m., grab some breakfast, and head,” he shrugged, “wherever the road takes us.” He cringed at his own words. “That sounded pretty cliché, but if you’d ever like to join us, we’d love to have you.”
Sin reached into her saddlebag and pulled out her own card. She handed it to Keith and told him that she was only in town for a little while, but she would try to make it. Smiling again, she thanked him for not giving her a ticket, and drove the hog away. In her rearview mirror, she watched Keith look down at her card and do a double take.
She smiled almost the entire way to the coroner’s office, but seeing the sign that read “Medical Examiner” erased the smile from her face.
Concentrate O’Malley, she thought, you’re here to catch a sick son of a bitch, not to go on some joy ride.
The autopsy was fairly routine—routine for this case, anyway. The only difference was the lack of embalming and the metal cage that the killer had welded onto the victim’s head. Sin took photos from every conceivable angle before Quincy cut the helmet off. And once he did, he was able to get to work on removing the paint.
There was no surprise once the paint came off. What appeared to be a beautiful girl was actually a plain looking one.
They cleaned up and sat in Quincy’s office, drinking coffee and reviewing the autopsy. A few minutes had passed when they heard a knock. Jack walked in, his complexion blanched.
“I have a feeling you’ve seen the body,” Sin said.
“Yeah,” he made the motion of putting a helmet on with his hands, “and the head-thing . . . that’s just weird.” He took a deep breath, exhaled through pursed lips, and shook his head. “This case just keeps getting more bizarre.”
Quincy poured him a cup of coffee and pointed at a chair. “Have a seat, Jack,” he said. “It’s been a long morning for all of us and it doesn’t look like the day is going to end any time soon.”
“We were just about to open the envelope,” Sin said. “Drink up and we’ll do it together.”
Sin watched as Quincy fumbled through papers scattered over his desk. “What are you looking for, Doc?”
“My X-acto knife. With everything that’s been happening, I’ve been amiss at keeping my desk clean. It’s in this mess somewhere.”
Sin reached into her pocket and pulled out her pearl-handled straight razor. “Here, use this.”
Quincy looked up from his mess and whistled. “That’s a beauty,” he said as she placed it in his hand.
“Be careful. It’s as sharp as any scalpel you’ve used.”
Quincy opened it with a flip of his thumb and studied the blade. “The edge is so sharp, it almost disappears. What is it made of?”
“Titanium,” Sin answered.
“Government issued?” Jack added sarcastically.
“Gorilla issued,” Sin smirked.
He put his hands up in mock arrest. “I don’t even want to know.”
Quincy, still enthralled with the razor, rotated it in his hand until the overhead light hit the cutting edge just right. He said nothing—his smile said it all.
He eyed the envelope and then Sin.
“Cut it open, Doc,” she said, “we’re burning daylight.”
With the slightest of pressure, Quincy cut through the envelope and then handed the blade back to Sin. “I need to get one of those.”
Sin snapped the blade closed and pocketed the razor. “I’ll see what I can do. Now read the damn note.”
Quincy removed the note with gloved hands and laid it on top of the envelope.
“And Jealousy a human face.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Jack mumbled.
“I don’t know,” Sin said, “but I might know a way we can find out.”
23
Sin met with Jack and Alejandro back at the office and organized their next steps. Jack was going to follow up on George and get his reaction to the words left behind by the killer. Gonzales was going to do the same with Ashley. Evelyn was given the victim’s fingerprints and picture in order to use all the resources at the Bureau’s disposal to establish an ID.
Sin had other plans. She was headed to the one place where she could find information that was otherwise hard—or impossible—to find. She was headed for the Keys; more specifically, to the Johnson place.
Two hours later, she rumbled
