Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ellis leaning in for a closer look.
'What in God's name is that?' he asked.
'Looks like some sort of symbol. Where's Coop?'
'He's in here. Hold on.'
Darby didn't know what the symbol meant, but knew it had been tattooed into the skin using some sort of ink invisible to the naked eye. She thought about the stamps used at nightclubs, amusement parks and some kids- themed restaurants. A hand was stamped with a fluorescent but invisible ink as the person entered. Then, if they had to exit the place and come back in, the person placed their hand underneath a black light, which illuminated the stamp and let the business know the person had already paid the entrance fee. That ink washed off and eventually faded. The ink on the lip had been tattooed into the skin. In a hidden area.
Coop stepped up on the other side of the table and leaned in across the body for a closer look. She showed it to him and then they talked about the best way to photograph it.
'We don't have that kind of equipment here,' he said.
'What time is it?'
'Quarter to six.'
'Call Ops, have them page ID.'
He used the wall phone in the autopsy suite to call Operations. Boston lab techs, as well as those who worked for ID, the separate section that dealt with forensic photography, had to live within a certain radius of Boston so they could report to a crime scene or the lab within an hour.
Dr Perkins calmly asked her to step aside. She did and watched the man use a pair of long tweezers to grab a small brown spider trying to crawl its way out of the victim's mouth.
60
Coop helped her to photograph the front torso and to diagram the wounds, searching each one for trace evidence. Darby kept stealing glances at the vic's mouth to see if anything else had decided to crawl out.
They found a lot of fibres on the wounds and body, a lot of dirt. On the vic's shoulder she found a dried white blob; it appeared to be candle wax. They collected blood samples and made detailed diagrams of each wound, noting its location, length and size.
'I need to make a quick phone call,' she said.
Standing in the back, she took off her face shield, picked up the phone and called the direct number the Harvard professor had given her.
'Professor Ross, this is Darby McCormick. We spoke earlier.'
'Yes, yes, of course. The Latin phrase.' The man sounded as though he was fighting a cold. 'I've made some notes for you.'
'I was told it's a reference to someone who once enjoyed the pleasures of life and has now been transformed in death.'
'That would be a correct interpretation, as some believe the phrase was spoken by Death, a reminder for one to enjoy the pleasures of earth. Other scholars believe Et in Arcadia ego is an anagram for another Latin phrase that means 'Begone, I keep God's Secrets.' I don't know how much information you need. I don't want to bury you in it.'
'I want to send you a symbol I found, see if it ties into this phrase in any way. Would you be willing to take a look?'
'Of course,' he said, sounding positively delighted.
'Do you have a fax machine?'
He gave her the number. She wrote it down on a piece of paper and took it with her down the hall to Ellis's office. Inside, she removed a sheet of paper from his printer tray, drew the symbol and faxed it to the Harvard professor with a note saying to call her immediately if he knew anything.
Stepping back inside the autopsy suite, she saw that ID had arrived. She didn't recognize the faces of the two men behind the face shields. Coop showed them the tattoo and then left the table to give them room to work.
Darby followed him to the corner. Her eyes felt dry and gritty, like sandpaper, and her head had begun to feel thick and sluggish from lack of sleep. She thought of the photographs of Sarah Casey, of the young girl's severed finger, and that helped to keep the haze at bay.
'Where's Casey?' she asked.
'He left with the fingerprint card.'
'Where?'
'To Ellis's office, I think.'
'I was just there. I didn't see him.'
'That guy that was standing outside, the one with the suitcase? He has a fingerprint transmitter. And he's a courier. That bee you found? I saw Casey hand it off to him.'
'That was, what, two hours ago?'
'That finger belongs to Casey's daughter, doesn't it?'
'I think so,' she said.
'I saw the wound. Up close. Judging from the marks, I'd say it was snipped off with something like a bolt cutter.'
Jesus. 'What about the USB drive?'
'He took that too.'
'Before it was fingerprinted?'
'Casey said that other guy was going to take care of that.' He held up an apologetic hand. 'Hey, don't give me that look. His show, his rules — remember?'
She did. She did remember, and she was going to have to have a discussion with Sergey about the former profiler. Jack Casey was a force of nature, a genuine cult of personality; she had the enormous reverence with which Sergey and the others treated the man — maybe out of simple respect, maybe because of his background as a profiler and his service to the Bureau. But he had an emotional stake in this case now, and he needed to be removed — not from the case but from calling the shots.
And there was something else at work, something that she couldn't quite identify. Something that reminded her of rotting floorboards found in a derelict house. Something unsafe. And the others had sensed it too. She had noticed how none of them stood too close to him.
ID had finished with the pictures. They agreed to go back to the lab and print out copies. Darby asked them for duplicates. After they left, she used a desk phone to call Sergey. She told him about the tattooed symbol and explained why she had called in ID to take the pictures. She didn't have to tell him what she had found inside the victim's throat; Casey had already called him. He said he'd meet them at the lab shortly and then abruptly hung up.
Coop helped her turn over the body. They kept at it, fighting through their exhaustion, talking to each other so they didn't miss anything. Checked over each other's work and, wanting a fresh set of eyes, asked Ellis to look over everything.
Darby checked the clock as she stripped off her gloves. Twenty to eight.
She grabbed her kit, about to leave to allow Ellis to begin the autopsy, when Perkins insisted on doing a thorough inspection of her clothing. Spiders, especially some of the smaller ones, he said, could find all sorts of places to hide. She stood holding her arms out by her sides while Perkins checked every fold and crevice and corner. When he finished, he turned to Coop.
Darby went across the hall to strip out of her gear and found Keats still posted beside the door. She unbuckled her face shield.
'Where's Casey?'
'He left,' Keats said.
