“Very funny,” said Lachlan. Then he looked at Tessa. “So, OK.
You wanna cover up your scar.”
“How many different ways do I have to say the same thing?”
He walked over to the sets of needles spread across the countertop beside the sink. “All right, whatever. So what do you want? Lotus?
Butterfly? Heart? Tribal-”
“I want a raven.” She didn’t just want a raven because of the poem by Poe, but mainly because of Patrick, because he called her his little Raven sometimes and it made her feel special and loved and accepted in a quiet, private way. Since they were trying to draw closer to each other, she thought it might be cool to get a raven. She wasn’t sure he’d be happy about her getting a tattoo, but she was sure a raven would mean a lot to him.
“You want a raven?” said Lachlan.
She called over to Riker and let sarcasm color her words. “Is he always this good at listening?” It was a way of flirting with him, and it felt good.
“He’s on his A-game today.”
She rolled her eyes lightly. “Oh. Great.”
“Would you two knock it off?” said Lachlan. “I gotta get a visual of what she wants.”
“OK. Here’s what I want.” She pulled out the picture she’d printed at the Internet cafe and handed it to him.
He studied it. “Looks like a crow.”
“It’s a raven, OK? And I want it on the front of my arm with its tail feathers curling around the back to cover the scar that the serial killer gave me after I stabbed him with a pair of scissors-kind of like those lying right over there on the counter. That’s what I want.
Can you do the tat or do I need to go somewhere else?”
“I can do it. I’ll do it. Just chill.” Lachlan’s eyes traveled back and forth from Tessa to the scissors. “But a tat that big, wrapped around your arm like that, it’s gonna take me, I don’t know, maybe four or five hours if you want it done right.”
“I’m cool with that. I want it done right.”
“You want it filled in, like this picture? Some bluish highlights, maybe a little sliver of sunlight reflecting off the feathers, gray talons?”
“Exactly.”
Lachlan shrugged, pulled out a razor and some shaving cream, and started shaving the light, feathery hair from the area surrounding Tessa’s scar. “So be straight with me,” he said, somewhat hesitantly.
“You stabbed a serial killer?”
“Yes, I did.”
“For what?”
“Asking me too many stupid questions.”
Riker’s laughter cut through the room and landed in her lap, and she returned it with a smile. After a few moments, Lachlan started sketching out the raven that was about to land on her arm. And, as Tessa began anticipating the first prick of the first needle, she promised herself that she wasn’t going to cringe, no matter how much it hurt. Not with Riker watching her.
46
5:21 p.m.
2 hours 39 minutes until Cassandra’s deadline I was striking out. The only image of Cassandra on the Sherrod Aquarium’s surveillance video was the one of her entering through the employee’s door at 5:03 a.m. No footage of her abductor.
Solomon swung by my workspace to tell me he’d found a match on the dart. “It’s a Sabre 11, military issue. He could have gotten it at any of a dozen places in town. No prints.”
“What about the drug?”
“Tox screening is backed up. It could take a couple days.”
“We need it now. Get on their backs, and if they won’t put a rush on it, sic Ralph on them.”
He nodded and was about to leave when he added, “Oh, and by the way. We still don’t have anything solid on Cassandra’s family.
We confirmed her mom’s death, found strangled in an alley, but can’t find any record of her dad. He might be dead too. No way to tell.”
That was par for the course. “Thanks.”
Solomon left and I returned to my research on Cassandra’s grant, but that didn’t seem to lead anywhere helpful either. All I found were a few references to something called Project Rukh and some PDF files with additional information about magnetoencephalography technology and mucopolysaccharides, the jellylike substance that acts as a semiconductor in the shark’s electrosensory organs.
But how was it related to the case? A way to improve an MEG’s efficiency for a new generation of machines? Maybe trying to figure out how sharks can sense and locate fish so you can find a way to do it synthetically?
Possibly. But how that might be connected to her abduction I couldn’t even begin to guess. To use Lien-hua’s analogy, I needed to step out of the car. Or maybe look out a different window.
Since the aquarium was owned by Drake Enterprises, I thought maybe I could find out more about the grant by following the money backward.
Their website featured a prominent picture of the CEO, Victor Drake, and I recognized him as the man who’d almost knocked me down when I was leaving the aquarium earlier in the day. Even though I hadn’t heard of his company before this week, he’d apparently managed to build one of the leading biotech firms in the country.
But how is that relevant? How is it connected?
Biotech?
Shark research?
Magnetoencephalography?
They all seemed to have something to do with the fires and with finding Cassandra, but what?
It seemed like every step I took toward gathering more clues led me farther away from the heart of the case. I looked at the clock: 5:34 P.M.
With each passing moment, the chances of finding Cassandra alive were shrinking and I was tense, so when the phone rang it jarred me. I grabbed it. “Pat here.”
“Dr. Bowers, it’s Aina Mendez. Agent Hawkins told us that Hunter might go after an inhabited building.”
“It’s possible.”
“Well, because of that, we brought the bomb squad to his apartment. They found traces of radioactive isotopes on Hunter’s clothing.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Cesium-137. It’s nasty stuff. Faint, but definitely present. It might have come from something as innocent as visiting a chemo lab at a hospital, or from someone working on a dirty bomb. The team is doing a more extensive sweep now, but I thought you should know.”
The case cycled through my head, facts tumbling over each other.
“Aina, have your team check the fire sites, see if they find any traces of the cesium there. Start with last night. I’m wondering if Hunter might have added something else that we didn’t think of to the paste he used as an accelerant. And hurry. We don’t have much time.”
“But we’ve already done that.”
“You have?”
“Si. San Diego is one of the world’s most important seaports and military hubs, so MAST regularly does sweeps through the city to look for radioactive isotopes, for any evidence of terrorist activity.
In the past we’ve identified traces of cesium-137, but mostly that’s from the medical research facilities here.”
“Cross-check the records.”
I knew I was getting tense, and I think she could hear it in my voice because it was a long moment before she said, “All right. I’ll let you know what we find.”
We ended the call. I looked at the clock.
5:37 p.m.
Lien-hua Jiang watched the video of Cassandra over and over again, each time pausing at different places. At last, she opened her notepad and wrote, “It isn’t the killing that excites him the most.
It’s the power, the high he gets from holding another person’s life in his hands. And he wants to make that feeling last as long as possible.”
She paused. Yes. Cassandra’s terror would go on for hours as she watched the water slowly rise around her-all the while knowing she couldn’t escape. And he would be enjoying every minute of her suffering. Lien-hua put her pen to paper again, “Once the victim is dead, the thrill is over, so killing once isn’t enough for him. He wants to experience it again and again. That’s why he’s taping her death.”