It is something atrocious.
Erickson was still looking at him. If the literal meaning of the words eluded him, their underlying emotions were easy to translate.
“I’m not saying anything for sure, but it doesn’t appear she was shot.” The cop knelt, pointed to the rust- colored stains. “The bleeding wasn’t that heavy—”
“No spray patterns like you’d expect from a bullet wound, either,” Ricci said.
Erickson glanced up at him.
“Right,” he said. “From the way the drops struck the floor and their cast off angles… you see these streaky lines trailing toward the wall… I’d guess she fell back against it in a struggle and got cut or something.”
As he spoke Ricci shifted his eyes to a much larger stain crusting the floor of the shop.
“Must’ve been a more serious wound left that one over there,” he said, gesturing across the counter top. “You have a theory to explain it, too?”
Erickson straightened and turned to him.
“The main thing you need to know is that our tests fixed the blood group as different from Julia Gordian’s,” he said.
Ricci regarded him curiously.
“Any bullets or casings picked up in the storefront?”
“No.”
“Ideas how the blood got there?”
“We’re still narrowing down the possibilities.”
Ricci tipped his chin toward the front entrance without taking his eyes off Erickson’s face.
“I can see from here that door got kicked in,” he said.
Erickson nodded.
“Wouldn’t have been hard for a strong man,” Ricci said. “It seems pretty lightweight.”
Erickson nodded again.
“Means there was probably a fifth perp,” Ricci said. “At least a fifth.”
“Right.”
“So maybe the blood stain was left by whoever came crashing through the door.”
“I told you we’re looking at the possibles.”
“You going to have more for us on them soon?”
Erickson took a moment to answer.
“We’ll see what develops,” he said. “Meanwhile, it would help if you could come up with the names of anybody who might have grudges against your employer, knowledge of his family… whatever you think is relevant.”
Ricci’s gaze remained fixed on the detective.
“Share and share alike,” he said. “I want to take another quick swing around the grounds before we leave. Got any problem with that?”
Again Erickson was quiet.
“I doubt you’ll find much that can add to what you know evidence-wise, but can’t see why not… with some stipulations,” he said. “The residence downhill is still being processed, and we’re considering whether to extend the crime scene to the woods. That puts them off limits.”
“Howell off-limits, too?” Ricci probed.
“Couldn’t stop you from talking to him if he were here, but he’s staying with family.”
Ricci grunted.
“Okay, what else?”
“I stay with you,” Erickson said. “Acceptable?”
Ricci nodded.
“Come on,” Erickson said. “We’ll start out back, work our way down to your car. So I can do you two fellas the final favor of seeing you off.”
The Sword ops showed no hint of amusement in their expressions.
A moment later they all went out into the rain.
“That e-mail, Pete. Did you get it yet?” Megan asked over his radio headset.
In the bird chopping west from the hospital at Lambarene, Nimec could hear a distinct tremor in her voice.
“Hold on,” he said. “These goddamn gadgets… the co-pilot had to reset the display mode for me. Okay, it’s coming through now… I need a second to check it out.”
Nimec stared at the helicopter console’s multifunctional readout panel. The message on its GMSS comlink display left no question about what had left Megan so badly shaken and stretched his own control to the limit. He felt a sick, lancing anger.
Delivered to Megan’s computer from an anonymous proxy server, the e-mail now bouncing across uncounted miles of world to Nimec via satellite bore the subject line:
Aria D’entrata — For the Life of Julia Gordian
Nimec had opened it immediately and read the text:
She wears freedom on her shoulder. A combination of ideographs discreetly tattooed on the upper left side. When she goes for a jog with her dogs, alternate mornings, the body art can be seen on her sleeveless arm, as green as her eyes and lovely against her white skin.
The father’s dream on her shoulder.
What we have taken we can return. The father is to make an announcement tomorrow on the Sedco oil platform. Its nature will be revealed to him in advance of the designated time. The words are to be honored or the daughter will be killed.
Its ideograph is 
The tattoo needle will apply it to her dead face twice, a black kanji symbol below each dead green eye. The arm that carries the dream will be cut off and discarded before her dead body is tossed into the waste.
Defy us and the father will see all this and worse.
Nimec finished reading it and took a deep breath.
“Those first couple of words in the subject, Meg. You know what they mean?”
“
Nimec felt that white-hot spike in his gut again. They were being taunted.
“The tattoo…”
“Julia told me she was going to have it done,” Megan said. “It must have been the last time she stopped by the office. A month ago. Maybe more. I’m not even sure Gord knows about it yet. She made me promise to stay mum, wanted to spring it on him in person. You know how she likes to get a rise out of him, Pete—”
“Meg—”
“Yes?”
“Listen to me,” he said. “The description’s to confirm this e-mail isn’t a hoax from somebody who might’ve found out what’s happened through a leak. Something of that nature.”
“There’s a lot of information,” Megan said. “The reference to the color of Julia’s eyes. Also that part about the jogging. Her greyhounds. Even her schedule.”
“She’s been watched.”
“Yes.” Megan took an audible breath. “Pete, what do you think whoever’s behind this is after? If she’s being
