"You mentioned some curious aspects?" Pendergast asked Beckstein.
"I did. The first one you might find familiar." Beckstein took a pair of tongue depressors from a jar, tore off the sterile coverings, and used them to open the corpse's mouth. There, pinned to the tongue, was a tiny bundle of feathers and hair. It matched, almost exactly, the one found in Bill Smithback's mouth.
D'Agosta peered at it, disbelieving.
"And then there was something else. I'm going to need a little help turning over the cadaver. Lieutenant?"
With huge reluctance, D'Agosta helped Beckstein roll the corpse over. Scrawled between the shoulder blades in thick Magic Marker was a complex, stylized design of two snakes surrounded by stars, X's and arrows, and coffin — like boxes. A weird, spidery drawing of a plant filled the small of the back.
D'Agosta swallowed. He recognized these drawings.
" Vévé," murmured Pendergast, "similar to what we saw on the wall of Smithback's apartment. Strange…" He paused.
"What?" D'Agosta asked instantly.
Instead of answering directly, Pendergast slowly shook his head. "I wish Monsieur Bertin could see this," he murmured. Then he straightened up. "My dear Vincent, I do not think this gentleman was 'capped by a mugger,' as you put it. This was a deliberate, execution — style killing, for a very specific purpose."
D'Agosta stared at him for a moment. Then he turned his gaze back to the body on the table.
Chapter 53
Alexander Esteban settled himself into an inconspicuous place at the large Formica table in the shabby "boardroom" of Humans for Other Animals on West 14th Street. There was a bright fall morning outside, but little of it penetrated the room through the one grimy window that looked out on an airshaft. He folded his arms and watched the other board members take their places, accompanied by the scraping of chairs, murmured greetings, the clattering of BlackBerries and iPhones. The smell of Starbucks cinnamon dolce lattes and pumpkin spice Frappuccino crèmes filled the room as everyone set down their venti — size coffee cups.
The last to enter was Rich Plock, accompanied by three people Esteban didn't know. Plock took up a position at the far end of the room, clasped arms disguising the gravid — like swell of a paunch beneath the ill — fitting suit, his red face sweating behind aviator glasses. He immediately launched into a speech in his high, self — important voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the board, I am delighted to present to you three very distinguished guests. Miles Mondello, president of The Green Brigade; Lucinda Long — Pierson, chairwoman of Vegan Army; and Morris Wyland, director of Animal Amnesty."
The three stood there, looking to Esteban as if they were straight out of central casting. Rabid idealists, desperate for a cause, completely clueless.
"These three organizations are co — sponsoring tonight's demonstration, along with HOA. Let us welcome them to our meeting."
Applause.
"Please, everyone sit down. This special session of the HOA board is hereby convened."
A shuffling of papers, many sips of coffee, pencils and legal pads and laptops brought out. There was a call for a quorum. Esteban waited through it all.
"There is one and only one item on the agenda: the protest march this evening. In addition to the founding organizations, we have twenty — one other groups on board. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, you heard me: twenty — one more!" Plock beamed and looked around. "The reaction's been unbelievable. We're expecting maybe three thousand people — but I'm continuing to interface with other interested organizations and there may be more. Many more." He shuffled a stack of papers out of a folder and began passing them around. "Here are the details. The small diversionary group will convene at the baseball diamonds. Other groups — all listed on the sheet — will gather at the soccer field, the park alongside West Two Hundred Eighteenth Street, along the promenade by the mudflats, and several other nearby locations. As you know, I've secured a permit. We wouldn't be let near the Ville otherwise."
A murmur, nods.
"But of course the city authorities have no idea — noidea — just how big a group is going to be assembling uptown. I've made sure of that."
Some knowing chuckles.
"Because, ladies and gentlemen, this is an emergency! These sick, depraved people, squatters in our city, aren't just killing animals, but they're obviously behind the brutal murder of Martin Wartek. They're responsible for the murder of two reporters, Smithback and Kidd, and the kidnapping of Smithback's wife. What's the city doing? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!It's up to us to act. So we're going in tonight at six pm. We're going to end this thing. Now!"
Plock was sweating, his voice was high and his physical presence unimpressive, and yet he possessed the charisma of true belief, of passion and genuine courage. Esteban was impressed. "The detailed plan of the demonstration is on your sheets. Guard them carefully — it would be disastrous if one fell into the hands of the police. Go home, start calling, start e — mailing, start organizing! This is a tight schedule. We gather at six. We move at six thirty." He looked around. "Any questions?"
No one had questions. Esteban cleared his throat, raised his finger.
"Yes, Alexander?"
"I'm a little confused. You're planning to actually march on the Ville?"
"That's right. We're stopping this: here and now."
Esteban nodded thoughtfully. "It doesn't say what you plan to do when you get there."
"We're going to break into that compound and we're going to liberate those animals. And we're going to drive out those squatters. It's all covered in the plan."
"I see. It's of course true that they are killing — torturing — animals in cold blood. They've probably been doing it for years. But consider: they're likely to be armed. We already know they've murdered at least three people."
"If they choose violence, we'll respond in kind."
"You plan to go armed?"
Plock folded his arms. "I will say this: no one will be discouraged from acting in self — defense — with whatever means they may have brought with them."
"In other words," said Esteban, "you're recommending that people come armed."
"I'm not recommending anything, Alexander. I am merely stating a fact: violence is certainly a possibility — and everyone has the right of self — defense."
"I see. And the police? How will you handle them?"
"That's why we're gathering at different points and moving in from multiple directions, like an octopus. They'll be overwhelmed before they even know what's going on. Thousands of us, moving en masse through those woods — how are they going to stop us? They can't set up barricades or block our route. They don't have vehicular access except down a single road, and that'll be wall — to — wall with marchers."
Esteban shifted uncomfortably. "Now, don't get me wrong — I'm against the Ville, you've known that from the start. They're despicable, inhuman. I mean, look at this poor luckless Fearing. Brainwashed into murder, and then shot in the head — probably by the Ville — while trying to crawl back to the very sadists who made him a zombii in the first place. If they can do this kind of thing to Fearing, they can do it to anyone. But if you move in like this, in such an uncontrolled fashion, people might be hurt. Even killed. Have you considered that?"
"People have alreadybeen killed. Not to mention animals — hundreds, perhaps even thousands of them, their throats cut in the most horrific ways. No, sir: we're ending this. Tonight."