Markham was silent-his eyes fixed on a photographic detail of David’s waist.
“You’re thinking about where he’s going to display it, aren’t you?” said Cathy. “You’re thinking about what to do in case we don’t catch The Michelangelo Killer before he creates his David.”
“Actually, I’m thinking about where he’s going to get his material.”
“What do you mean?”
“We know from our investigation thus far that no young males with a physique resembling the statue of David have been reported missing-a physique one can assume the killer will have a hard time finding among the population of male prostitutes from which we now know he’s drawn.”
“Yes.”
“Well, as I mentioned earlier, there’s the unusual proportions-the relationship of the torso to the statue’s lower half. The Sculptor would not be able to accommodate for that the same way he did with his Pietà-that is, by using more than one body, piecing it together, and then hiding the joints underneath the figure’s clothing. No, like Bacchus, the statue is nude, and thus theoretically the killer would have to use only one person-would have to be very selective in choosing his material. And so, ironically, what on the surface would seem like the simplest of the three statues in actuality will be the most difficult for him to achieve.”
“Unless he is planning on correcting Michelangelo’s intended forced perspective. Meaning, the killer intends to adapt the proportional ratios to be viewed straight on.”
“Yes. But the physique, the musculature of David is so well known. That in and of itself will take a lot of searching. Much more difficult to come across another famous Rhode Islander on the Internet-the way he most surely saw the figure of his Bacchus in the photographs of Tommy Campbell. You saw them, didn’t you? The pictures of Campbell taken on that beach in Rio a couple of years ago with his model ex-girlfriend?”
“Yes,” said Cathy. “So you’re thinking The Sculptor may go looking for his David at a local beach? A swimming pool, perhaps-someplace where he would be able to get a good look at his material?”
“Perhaps for the body, yes-but for the other part, most likely no.”
“What other part?”
“As I said, one would think that, theoretically, The Sculptor would have to acquire a single body that resembled the statue of David. However, what about the statue’s penis?”
“What about it?”
“It’s uncircumcised.”
Cathy was silent. She understood.
“As you state in your book,” said Markham, “whereas the historical David, being a Jew, would have most certainly been circumcised, Michelangelo was consciously sculpting his David in line with the classical Greek aesthetic, which would have seen a circumcised penis as mutilated. Such a detail will thus be of supreme importance to The Sculptor-something he will have to account for. So you see, it’s clear that it is going to be exponentially more difficult for The Sculptor to acquire a body that both looks like David and also has an uncircumcised penis. Hence, I’m willing to bet that the killer will be searching for the latter separately, and thus plans on attaching it to his David afterward-perhaps beneath an epoxy-sculpted line of pubic hair.”
“So you’re suggesting then that we try to beat him to his material? That we focus on finding out not only where he’s going to find a body like David’s, but also a penis like his as well?”
“Yes. Either that, or we try to bring him to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“From what we know about this guy-his intelligence, the solitary sort that he is, and the fact that he now knows the public is on to him-where would be the safest place for him to go shopping for his David?”
“The Internet.”
“Yes-a place where he can browse and study his material like he most certainly did with the images of Tommy Campbell.”
“So you’re saying we might be able to lay a trap for him?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Cathy. It’s a long shot but-in addition to all the other leads we’ve been following, including the new Manzera connection-we can post an ad on Craigslist and some of the other Web sites known to be used by gay men. Put a picture up of a guy with a physique like David’s, and advertise our John Doe as a local uncircumcised male seeking companionship. I’ve looked into these sites myself when we were pursuing the male prostitute angle. Some of these men-many of whom are undoubtedly prostitutes themselves-are not shy about advertising the details of their privates, including whether or not they are circumcised. If we make our John Doe such an irresistible target-that is, create a profile for someone who looks like David and has the uncircumcised penis to boot-The Sculptor might not be able to resist killing two birds with one stone.”
“But how do you know The Sculptor hasn’t already acquired his penis?”
“Because, in order to get the proportions right he’ll have to find his David first. I made that mistake with the Bacchus, Cathy-when I thought The Sculptor would have experimented with the goat before acquiring the top half of his satyr. I’m not going to make that mistake again. Of course, it’s obvious The Michelangelo Killer won’t be able to find a seventeen-foot-tall man. However, if he finds someone with the right proportions, regardless of his height, he’ll have a better idea of what size penis to look for in order to retain the aesthetic proportions of the original. If we can save the killer all that trouble with an ad on the Internet, we might just be able to catch him.”
“But do you think The Sculptor would fall for something like that?”
“I don’t know, Cathy. But right now, it’s the only thing I can believe in.”
Chapter 46
The Sculptor followed the black Trailblazer as he had done for the past two days-at a distance, always just out of sight behind a buffer of six or seven cars. Unbeknown to Sam and Cathy, the blue Toyota Camry had been with them almost the entire time since they left the Manzeras in East Greenwich-had followed them the next morning all along the coast, had waited for them to come back from their stroll together in Newport, had accompanied them everywhere they went on their romantic Sunday sojourn. Yes, The Sculptor could tell Dr. Hildy and the FBI agent were an item by the way they touched each other-the way they held hands at the restaurant, the way the good doctor snuggled up to her male companion by the cement wall overlooking the ocean. This was good; this meant it would be easier for The Sculptor to catch them off guard. Indeed, had it been nighttime, had there not been so many people around that day in Newport, The Sculptor would have disposed of the happy couple right there on the cliff-walk.
But to do so in broad daylight would have been too risky.
Yes, The Sculptor would have to wait for fate to give him a better opportunity.
And so, early Monday morning, when The Sculptor saw the black Trailblazer emerge from the private underground parking garage in downtown Providence and then head for the FBI Resident Agency a few blocks away, The Sculptor knew that today was a day for business, not pleasure. The good doctor and her male companion were inside the FBI building for almost two hours. And when they emerged again, The Sculptor’s hand automatically went to his Sig Sauer.45, which lay next to him under his jacket on the passenger seat.
He had resigned himself to taking them today, but the timing must be just right-he had to tread ever so carefully along the fine line between fate and free will.