As much as the thought of operating on oneself distressed her, what she saw around the wound shocked her even more.
Circling the point of the wound, a black, threadlike ooze radiated outward beneath the skin as if it had invaded the veins, replacing blood with darkness. The inky tentacles reached out through the body, spreading death from the point where the dermis had been breached. It drifted upward over the stomach and the sternum, over the ribs and lungs, circling the region of the heart as if it was drawn there. The tone of the flesh had been obliterated by the black-stained webs that rendered the surrounding unblemished skin a pasty white.
“This man had no chance,” Jimmy said. “His self-operation was nothing but a vain attempt at survival. His fate was sealed the moment the bullet pierced his flesh. I believe it was a neurotoxin from an Asian sea snake used for its slow-acting, agonizing effect; the pain must have been excruciating.
“According to the front desk, he arrived at seven o’clock. He never called down for dinner, for anything.”
“What is a priest doing staying in a room like this?” Mia asked.
“No idea… yet.”
“OK, so this is on odd murder, I see that, but you still haven’t told me why you called me here,” Mia said.
“You need to take this case.”
“Why?”
Jimmy pointed to the long desk against the wall, the elegant dark wood covered with a host of personal effects.
Mia knew the how and the what as it concerned this man’s death, but it was the who and the why that drove her for the moment. She walked over to the desk, picked up and opened a dark red passport. The image was an exact match for the dead man in the bed, issued by the Cotis government. His occupation was listed as priest/diplomat. The pages were heavily stamped over the last month: Shanghai, Sydney, Tokyo, South Africa, Italy, India, London, and Sri Lanka.
She thumbed through the effects from his pockets, which Jimmy had laid on the desk blotter. Four hundred dollars in cash, two credit cards, a gold pocket watch, and the keycard for the room. There was an open-ended plane ticket to Mumbai, a taxi receipt, and a stick of gum. From his suit-jacket pocket, there was a small quill pen and two bottles of ink, one a deep brown, the other as black as the poison that ran through his body.
On a separate table, as if placed in reverence, was a set of wooden prayer beads on a simple necklace, organic, as if they had grown in nature themselves. Beside them was a gold jewel-encrusted dagger, looking more like a piece of artwork than something of deadly purpose. There were two identical red books, each the size of a paperback novel.
Mia picked up and examined one of them; the cover was red leather, weathered from years of use. Opening the pages, she found an unfamiliar language but noted its similarity to the etching on the bullet. Thumbing through the dog-eared pages, she imagined it to be a prayer book, the text laid out in a rhythmic cadence. Each and every page was water-stained as if the book had been dipped in the ocean. She suspected the book was of sentimental value to the owner, as it appeared worn and well used. She picked up the second and found it identical in every sense, including the water-stained pages.
She finally turned and looked at Jimmy. “This isn’t why I’m here,” she said, as if she could read his mind.
“No, it’s not,” Jimmy said, avoiding her unspoken question. “Anything you see in his personal effects that gives you pause?”
She reexamined the prayer books, picking each one up in turn, flipping through the pages, fanning them as if a secret might fly out. She finally nodded. “Two things.” She held up the second book, opening it to the back. “A page is torn out of the back. Judging by its condition”-she ran her finger along the frayed edge of what remained of the paper near the spine of the book-“it was recent.”
“And the second thing?”
“The pages are water-stained, yet the leather cover is not.”
Jimmy smiled as he nodded his head. He disappeared and returned with a wet washcloth. He took the book from her hand, laid it down, opened it to the middle, and rubbed the page. At once the foreign language of the prayer vanished, revealing a handwritten text beneath.
“I think it’s a diary,” Jimmy said softly.
“What’s it say?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a hell of a place to keep secrets.”
Jimmy picked up the quill from the table. He opened the black ink bottle, dipped the quill in, and wrote on a piece of paper. They both watched as the lettering dried and disappeared.
Mia took the cloth, and with a single wipe of the page, the word reappeared.
“It’s like a kid’s magic trick.”
“Yeah, we’ve gotten so complex with our encryptions and passwords that we’ve forgotten the best place to hide is usually in plain sight.”
“Makes you wonder what was on the torn-out page.”
They both paused a moment, digesting the room.
“There’s a whole team on their way,” Jimmy finally said. “I need you to take this stuff before they get here. Keep it to yourself. The things hidden on the pages of those two books, I believe, are far more explosive than anyone realizes. I’ve reached out for a translator. I’m flying him in, but he won’t be here until the weekend. I need you to hide this away till then. I’ll get this case classified.”
“You’re sounding paranoid,” Mia said.
“Have you ever known me to be paranoid?”
Mia shook her head; Jimmy was anything but. He was probably the most logical, methodical man she had ever worked with.
“I need to show you something,” Jimmy said.
He took the washcloth from her and picked up the second book. Turning to the last page, he quickly wiped it to reveal a list of names, written in English, all in sharp contrast to the surrounding foreign characters. The list was short, five names. Fear ran through Mia as she realized that she knew them.
“I want you to take all of this now.” Jimmy picked up a two-foot-by-ten-inch evidence case and swept all of the priest’s personal effects into it. “You hide it away, far from any FBI, until we can figure out what to do.”
Mia nodded in agreement. If she had her way, she’d bury the box for all eternity.
“How’s Jack doing?” Jimmy asked, the question seeming odd in the middle of a murder scene.
“He’s good, thanks.”
“When did you see him last?”
“What?” Mia asked, confusion filling her voice. “Late last night. He got home late. I left before he was even awake.”
“Did you talk to him today?”
“What’s going on, Jimmy? You’re scaring me.”
“Just answer me. When did you speak to him last?”
“Dammit, Jimmy. Ten minutes ago.”
“And he’s OK?”
Mia glared at him, pissed.
“Is he working any crazy cases lately?”
Mia glared at Jimmy.
“Listen, Mia, I found something. It’s real disturbing. And as much as I’d like to spare you the shock, you need to see it.”
“Drop the preface, and show me. I hate when people do that. Everyone has to build the drama.”
Jimmy pulled out two eight-by-eleven sheets of paper, each with an intricate, lifelike drawing on it, and handed them to her.
As shocked as Mia was by the body on the bed and the names in the book, these images shook her to her core, lifelike in every respect. Her knees nearly buckled as she realized who they were of and what they represented. Without a further glance, she stuffed them into the black metal case and slammed the lid closed.
A S J ACK SAT in the deli listening intently to Jimmy’s every word, he leaned forward. “What were the images of?”
“I can’t say,” Jimmy said.
“Why?”
“Because I promised your wife I would tell no one of their existence, especially you.”
“Bullshit!” Jack’s arm shot out and grabbed Jimmy by the shirt. “You tell me, and you tell me now, what were they of, and why did they scare her so much?”
“Jack, they are too difficult to explain. When you get the box, you will see them for yourself, and then you will understand why I can’t speak of them and why they frightened Mia.”