He threw the backpack on his bed, unzipped the main compartment as well as all the side pockets. He started digging everything out, separating the trash and shaking his head at the stupid stuff he couldn't believe he still had in there. The bulge in the main compartment was something he didn't recognize. Definitely something he didn't own. He didn't know where it'd come from. Who the hell put it in his backpack?
Gibson pulled out a brown leather portfolio, tossed it onto his bed and stared at it How did the frickin' thing get into his backpack?
CHAPTER 45
Omaha, Nebraska
Maggie didn't get to her hotel room until almost midnight. She had to hand it to Cunningham, the junior suite at the Embassy Suites was more than the standard comfort level that she was used to on the road. It was also only a few blocks from the police station at the edge of a downtown area Pakula had called the Old Market. It was a quaint area with cobblestone streets and old brick warehouses remodeled into shops and restaurants that included hundreds of tiny, glittering white lights outlining the shop awnings and flat rooftops.
She had just replaced her street clothes with her nightshirt, made herself comfortable in the middle of the king-size bed and started to devour her room service when her cell phone rang. She swiped barbecue sauce from her lips as she lunged for her jacket. She had called Gwen earlier, leaving only a message when she kept getting Gwen's answering service. Maybe she was finally returning her call.
"Maggie O'Dell," she answered after swallowing a mouthful of food.
"Maggie, sorry to bother you so late." It was Adam Bonzado. "Julia told me you were out of town and probably a couple of time zones behind us. I hope I'm not waking you."
"Actually Nebraska is only one time zone behind you. But no, you're not waking me. I just got in, winding down with some room service." Room service which was her first and only meal of the day and which she was starving for. She licked barbecue sauce from her fingers. "What's going on?"
"Julia will probably fill you in on everything, but I have something I thought I might fax you directly. If I fax it to Julia and she faxes it to you, we'll lose too much detail."
"Hold on a minute. Let me find the hotel's fax number." She crawled out of bed, careful not to spill her loaded tray. She had gone a bit overboard and ordered too much.
"So you're not in bed yet?" He sounded disappointed. "I was hoping I'd catch you in your skivvies."
"My what?"
"You know, your… your pj's."
She immediately felt her face flush, but she certainly couldn't let him know that. "What makes you think I wear any pajamas?"
"I… ah… excuse me?"
She laughed, thinking neither one of them was very good at flirting. She'd let him off the hook this time. Before he could say anything more, she said, "So what's the something you want to fax?"
She found the hotel's service guide and started flipping the pages, waiting for him to get back on the business track.
"I was able to clean up the tattoo. There's a lot more of it than we expected. Once I removed some of the epidermis, the colors started to pop. That's usually the way it works with tattoos."
"Instead of a fax, maybe it would be better if you e-mail a digital image of it to me. That way I can see the colors, too."
"You're right. That's a better idea."
There was an awkward silence.
"I don't think I have your e-mail address," he finally said.
She gave him an address he could use, but she didn't want to wait. "Are you able to make out what it is?"
"The very bottom of it is missing, but there's a tattoo parlor here in West Haven. When I called the guy who owns it, he recognized the design right away from my description. He faxed me the whole image. I'll e-mail that to you, too. It's a long-stem red rose intertwined around a pink-handled dagger."
"A dagger? And this is what she had tattooed on the back of her neck?"
"More on the right side of her neck toward the back."
"Is there a way to track what other tattoo parlors offer this design?"
"Good question. I'll ask," Bonzado said. "One thing the guy did tell me is that it's been a popular design for him with what he called D and D chicks."
"D and D?"
"Dungeons and Dragons. You remember that?"
"Yes, but I thought the game was sort of passe."
"Actually some of the college kids around here have started playing the game again, only it's a computerized version. I've heard some of my students talking about it, but they don't call it Dungeons and Dragons anymore. There're all sorts of versions and spin-offs, ones that they can pretty much design themselves, creating characters by using profiles of real-life people they know, people they'd like to knock off. I've heard that one of our English professors seems to be a popular target. You know, just for pretend, to blow off steam. I don't know if that helps you, but I thought it was interesting."
"One of the other victims was a Virginia Tech student," Maggie told him. "That might explain how he meets them. May even explain why they might trust him enough to go someplace private with him."
"Do you think the killer might be a student, too?"
"A student seems too young to pull off these murders. Although his rage certainly comes out of some part of him that he has no control over, as if he. reverts to adolescence. But I'm thinking he has a maturity that kicks in when he needs to hide his slip-ups."
"I'll ask some of my students how they hook up to play. If it's by invitation or if anyone can join in."
"That's a good idea. Hopefully you won't find out there's a character profile for a Professor Bonzado."
"Nan, couldn't be. My students adore me. I have them all under an ancient anthropological spell. Now if only I could do the same to a certain FBI profiler."
She said goodnight without a follow-up comment. Maybe he was better at this flirting thing than she was. As she clicked off her cell phone, she realized she was smiling.
CHAPTER 46
Venezuela
Father Michael Keller stared at the computer screen. With only two citronella oil lanterns lit, the computer screen reminded him of a beacon in the dark room, bringing to light answers he wasn't sure he wanted. He had been knocked off the Internet connection several times and had long ago used up his allotted time. But like an addict, he signed on again and again, impatient and frustrated with the long dial-up and many interruptions.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to make the blur go away, trying to make the emotional sting go away. Why hadn't he thought about it before? Why had he been so stupid, so naive? Why hadn't he suspected something? Instead, he wanted so badly to have a friend, someone he could trust, that he ignored glaring signs. After all, who in the world uses such an e-mail name as The Sin Eater? And here he had simply thought it clever, taking a term from an arcane Catholic legend. He'd never felt threatened because his friend, or rather this person who lured him in pretending to be his friend, had never given him reason to feel suspicious, let alone threatened. No reason at all. Until now.
He had read the articles about the two murdered priests over and over again. Monsignor O'Sullivan was someone he had met briefly while he himself was a pastor at Saint Margaret's in Platte City, Nebraska. Yet he didn't understand the connection. Why had his friend e-mailed him these articles with the warning "You may be next"? Why did he believe Keller was in danger? Did his "friend" know about the Halloween mask? Was he the one who had sent it? Was it meant to be a warning as well and not a prank he'd hoped it to be?