“That would induce the pattern of injury on the victim,” Katherine agreed tightly.
Vito ran a hand through his hair. “So we have poses like statues on medieval crypts, a chair of spikes, a disembowelment and, what, a stretching on a… rack? This is not normal, people.”
“A killer with a theme,” Nick mused. “Except for the body that’s on its way in. It didn’t appear to have anything funky like this.”
Katherine stepped back from the computer. “I thought I’d seen everything on this job, but I keep being proved wrong.” She squared her shoulders. “I do have two other things so far.” She handed Vito a glass jar containing small white crumbs. “I scraped it from the wire on the male victim’s hands. I found what looks like the same substance on the female victim’s wires.”
Vito held it up to the light, then passed the jar to Nick. “Best guess?”
Katherine frowned. “I sent a sample to the lab, but it looks like something in the silicone family. I’ll let you know when I get the results.”
“What’s the second thing you have for us?” Nick asked.
“All three of these victims were washed thoroughly. Blood should have been caked all over the three of them, but there was none. That tells me that originally the two posed victims had a lot more of whatever’s in that jar all over them.”
“We’ll try Missing Persons to match the Knight’s tat,” Vito said. “Thanks, Katherine.”
“Then let’s call Sophie,” Nick said when they were out in the hall. “I want to follow up on those torture devices. If that’s what he used, he had to get them somewhere and maybe she can give us an idea of where to start looking. We should have gotten her number from Katherine.”
It was a good idea, Vito had to admit. She’d been right about the posed hands. She obviously knew her stuff. And it might give him a chance to find out what he’d done to earn that flash of fury he’d seen in her eyes just before she’d ridden away. More than that, he just wanted to see her again. “She works at the Albright Museum. We can go when we’re done at Missing Persons.”
Dutton, Georgia, Monday, January 15, 10:10
A.M.
“Thanks for coming down,” Daniel said. “Especially on your day off.”
Luke’s eyes were glued to Daniel’s father’s computer screen. “Anything for a pal.”
“And the fact that there’s a lake down the road with prize bass didn’t hurt,” Daniel said dryly and Luke just grinned. “Did you find anything?”
Luke shrugged. “Depends. Before mid-November, there are no e-mails.”
“What do mean, none? You mean they never existed or they were erased?”
“Erased. Now, since November we’ve got e-mails. Acknowledgments for electronic bill pays, mostly. Aside from the usual spam, most of your dad’s legit e-mails have been replies to a guy named Carl Sargent.”
“Sargent runs the union at the paper mill that employs half the town. Dad met with him before he went away. Yesterday I found out Dad was going to run for Congress.”
Luke read the remaining e-mails. “Sargent keeps asking your father to make his candidacy public, and your father keeps putting him off. This one says he’s tied up. This one says he’ll schedule a press conference when he finishes some urgent business.”
“With my mother,” Daniel murmured. “She has cancer.”
Luke winced. “I’m sorry to hear that, Daniel.”
Once again he was gripped by the need to see her just once more. “Thanks. Do you see any kind of itinerary? Anything that would give me an idea of where they might be?”
“No.” Luke tapped at the keyboard and brought up the online banking screen. “When you find your father, tell him not to save his passwords in a Word file on his hard drive. It’s like leaving your front door key on a silver platter for the thieves.”
“Like I could tell him anything,” Daniel muttered. Luke’s mouth quirked in sympathy.
“My old man’s the same. Doesn’t look like your dad made any major cash withdrawals, not in the last ninety days. That’s all the records they keep online.”
“What I don’t understand is why he’s doing his e-mail and banking remotely. If he has access to a computer wherever he is, why not just do it from there?”
“Maybe he wanted to access documents on his hard drive from the road.” Luke continued to tap keys. “That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“His Internet history’s been wiped.”
“Completely wiped?”
“No. But it’s pretty sophisticated.” He typed for another minute. “This is a surprisingly good wipe. Most computer techs wouldn’t know how to get past this.” He looked up, his eyes serious. “Danny, somebody’s been in your dad’s system.”
A new wave of uneasiness rippled through him. “Maybe, maybe not. My dad’s a computer person from way back. He was also super-paranoid about security. I can see him being worried about leaving a trail.”
Luke frowned. “If he was so concerned with security, he wouldn’t have left his passwords on his hard drive. Besides, I thought your dad was a judge.”
“He was. Electronics is his hobby-ham radios, remote-controlled rockets, but especially computers. He’d take them apart, build his own upgrades. If anyone would know how to keep his system clean, it would be my father.”
Luke turned back to the screen. “Funny how some things get passed on and others don’t. You don’t have a computer bone in your body.”
“No, I don’t,” Daniel murmured. All that expertise had been diverted to another branch of the family tree. But it was unpleasant to remember, so he briskly closed the door on that dark corner of his memory. “So can you get through the wipe?”
Luke looked offended. “Of course. This is interesting. With all those travel brochures, I expected a few travel websites, but there’s nothing like that in his cache.”
“What sites did he go to?”
“The weather forecast for Philadelphia two weeks before Thanksgiving. And… a search for oncologists in the Philadelphia area. Was Philly one of the brochures?”
Daniel leaned in for a closer look at the screen. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Well, that’s where I’d start if I were you. Looks like they wanted to be prepared in case your mother needed a doctor.” He bent his mouth in sympathy. “I’ve got a meeting with a lake and a bass. You want to come?”
“No, but thanks. I think I’m going to look around here a little more. Check out this Philly angle. Thanks for your help, Luke.”
“Any time. Good luck, buddy.”
Philadelphia, Monday, January 15, 10:15
A.M.
“Oh dear God.” Marilyn Keyes lowered herself to the edge of a faded paisley sofa, every ounce of color drained from her face. “Oh, Warren.” Pressing one arm to her stomach, she raised a shaking hand to her mouth and rocked herself.
“Then this is your son, ma’am?” Vito asked gently. They’d gotten a hit from the Missing Persons file right away. Their knight was Warren Keyes, age twenty-one. He’d been reported missing by his parents and his fiancée, Sherry, eight days before.
“Yes.” She nodded, her breath shallow. “That’s Warren. That’s my son.”
Nick sat next to her. “Is there someone we can call for you, Mrs. Keyes?”
“My husband.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “There’s a book… in my purse.” She pointed to the dining room table and Nick went to make the call.
Vito took Nick’s place on the sofa. “Mrs. Keyes, I’m so sorry, but we need to ask you some questions. Do you need a glass of water or something?”
She drew a deep breath. “No. But thank you. Before you ask, Warren has had a drug problem in the past. But he’d been clean and sober for almost two years.”
Vito pulled his notebook from his pocket. It wasn’t the question he’d planned to ask, but he’d learned long ago when to go with the flow. “What kind of drugs, Mrs. Keyes?”