So definitely not a professional hit.
But a hit that could have been carried out by a professional who, in this one instance, was not behaving like a pro.
And it was a good, highly skilled hit, in the sense that the entry and execution, although elaborate and prolonged, had been successful. The killer had gotten into the town house, disabled the security.
Spent his party time with the victims.
And gotten clean away without leaving a trace. A pro at entry, at stealth, at not being caught. Perhaps, in addition, someone with access to an electronic cloaking device, a magnetic field radiator capable of burning out the sensors of digital cameras.
Dalton had heard some vague rumors about gear like that; it was all high-level gear. Government gear.
Not necessarily our government.
The Brits could have gear like that. So might the Mossad, and some of the Pakistani counterintelligence outfits.
Also the Germans.
Another good question: Was this guy military. Or a spook?
If so, whose spook was he?
And we come back around to the chaos of the killing itself.
No reliable, well-trained spook would kill like that, at least not for any reason you could attribute to a recognizable intelligence goal. Neither Joanne Naumann nor the girls were very plausible targets.
If the idea was to destabilize London Station, to disrupt Burke and Single, then it made more sense to take out Naumann himself.
Or Mandy.
Or you, Micah.
If it wasn’t a tactical hit, then it was… what?
Done for the sheer pleasure?
Certainly that element was here.
But why these targets? What made the killer pick these three women, out of a city of seven million people?
No, it wasn’t random; they were chosen.
But chosen for what?
Only one reason was workable, in the sense that only one reason gave Dalton an operational handle on the killings.
Their connection to Porter Naumann.
So we have a possible spook killer who’s in this for the joy of it, but he’s not picking his targets at random.
There’s an overarching strategy here: somebody’s being punished. Was that somebody Porter Naumann?
Why him? And how did the killer know who Porter Naumann was in the first place?
No idea.
And what did this killer have against Naumann?
Again, no idea.
The longer Dalton looked at the three brutalized corpses, the more convinced he became that all of this had something to do with Sweetwater. For reasons known only to him, Sweetwater came to London, found the house in Belgravia, made an entry, killed the women.
Then he went to Venice.
He must have gone to Venice next, if he was acting alone — which Dalton had no reason to believe — because that was where Naumann was, and where he died.
But why go to Venice?
To show Naumann what he had done?
That would fit the pattern of a sadistic killer.
Fit the idea of the killings as punishment. Which means the killer knew that Naumann was in Venice. How did he know that?
He looked at Joanne’s body. She would have known. And she would have told her tormentor. By the end, she would have told him everything she knew about Porter Naumann.
Mandy was at the door again, her eyes fixed on Dalton’s face.
“The Removals van will be here in ten minutes.”
“Mandy, did Forensics get any of Porter’s DNA off the bodies?”
She shook her head, keeping her attention fixed on him.
“No. There was no mitochondrial DNA of any kind on them. Forensics figured they’d been hosed down with the showerhead.”
“What about the drains?”
“Forensics pulled them; they’d been cleaned recently. There were traces of chlorine, a few hairs that were identified as Joanne’s.”
“Nothing else? No sign of Porter at all?”
“Not in the scene. His DNA and prints are all over the house, along with Joanne’s and the girls’. But none at the scene.”
“Mandy, do you know if Porter had a spike?”
“One of those GPS thingies, the little silver ones they stick under your skin?”
“Yes.”
“No. He thought the idea of having a spike implanted was a security risk. Even if the locator output was encrypted, the very fact that you had one in your body was a tip-off to any foreign agency that you were definitely not just some kind of banker. Why?”
“I’m trying to eliminate Porter as a suspect—”
“I thought he wasn’t!”
“He’s not. But if I could prove he wasn’t in London—”
“Prove it! To whom?”
“Mandy, he went dark on the third. We didn’t find his body until the seventh.”
“And you found it in fucking Cortona, Micah. If you’re looking for suspects, how about me?”
“You?”
“Why not. I loved Porter. If his wife is dead…”
“Fine. And did you do this?”
“Would I admit it? If I had?”
“Yes. I think so. Have you ever killed anyone, Mandy?”
“Not yet, Micah. But if you keep on trying to lay this on Porter’s grave, I could find some murder in my heart. It wasn’t Porter, Micah!”
“I know, I know.”
“You want to prove he wasn’t here. What about his cell? His Treo? His laptop — if he used a Bluetooth it would show a location.”
“Nothing. When Porter goes dark he doesn’t screw around.”
“Micah, you know Porter didn’t do… this. Don’t waste your time. Go find out who did. Find out who did, and then you kill him and anyone who helped, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
There was a strained silence. After a while Mandy looked at the bodies hanging from the shower railing.
“What do you want to do with…” She made a half-formed gesture in the direction of the bodies, the blood, the entire scene.
“This can’t get out, Mandy.”
“I’ve been giving it some thought. May I make a suggestion?”
“Please.”
“We close up the house and put it about that Joanne and the girls are traveling.”
“Won’t their friends wonder? What about all this wireless stuff? Text messaging? Cell phones? E-mails? Chat rooms? If the girls just drop off the grid, won’t their friends start to worry about them?”
Mandy gave him a look, raised her eyebrow. “Do ticks miss the dog? No. They move on and find another host. Mila and Brooke didn’t have ‘friends.’ They had minions. Unindicted coconspirators. And Joanne’s London crowd was always on the move. It would be months before any of them started to wonder where Joanne had gone off to. Then only in an idle, feckless way.”
“What about her relatives?”
“Micah, all we can do is delay this. It’ll have to come out eventually. How much time do you think you’ll need?”
“God. How much can you give me?”
“Three weeks, maybe four. I still think this is the way to go.”
She was right.
“Okay. It’s a good idea. Try to make it four, if you possibly can. And Porter died ‘in the line of,’ so there wouldn’t be a ceremony anyway. Another nameless star on the wall. We’ll do it your way.”
There was a soft call from the stairwell, Barney’s voice.
“Sir, Removals is here.”
“Are you up to this, Mandy?”
“Aren’t you going to stay?”