Marcus scanned the room again.“So this guy—whoever he is—likes theatrics.That’s always fun.”
Kate didn’t smile.“Cox’s acolytes tend to be rigid, obedient, almost reverent.He cultivates discipline.Precision.But this…” She gestured to the kneeling corpse, the sketches, the crude reverence.“This is someone with imagination.And ego.”
“And ego is dangerous,” Marcus said.
“Very.”
Behind them, a voice cleared.A weathered-looking guy in a suit and badge stepped inside, shoving wind-mussed hair off his forehead.
"Agents," he said, with a nod."Detective Brian Sullivan.Homicide Team.Sorry—been trying to get hold of CCTV from the maintenance company but guess what?Their after-hours number just rings out."
“Lucky us,” Marcus muttered.“Any chance of interviewing the person who found the body?”
“She’s in a bad way.Weak heart.Maybe tomorrow,” Sullivan said, gruffly, as he flipped open his notebook.“I don’t know much about the victim.Jennifer Hayes—early forties, senior VP at Halberd Dynamics.Grew up in Weston.Father was some kind of titan in the financial sector.She was following in his footsteps, apparently.”
Kate’s gaze flicked back to the altar of photographs.“Where’s the father now?”
“In a home,” Sullivan said.“The Cedars.Fancy place over in West Roxbury.Costs more per month than my mortgage.”
He lifted Hayes’ phone, sealed in an evidence pouch.“We found this on her nightstand.Lots of missed calls from a number that matches The Cedars’ main line.Dozens in the last few weeks.All ignored.”
Marcus leaned in.“And the last call?”
“She picked up.Or someone did.”Sullivan shrugged.“We’ll know more once tech cracks the phone.But the earlier voicemails—there’s no way in without a warrant.”
Marcus straightened.“I can swing by The Cedars right now.”
“At this time?”Kate queried.
“Old folks keep funny hours.So do the people who care for them.Someone might know something.”
Kate nodded.“Good idea.I’ll go back to base and try to make sense of the
artworks.I'm guessing they were prepared in advance.The oil, at least, would have taken hours to complete."
Marcus touched her shoulder lightly.“Don’t leave without me.”
“I’m not going anywhere except room 9G.”
He headed for the door.
Sullivan cleared his throat again.“Can I… give you a ride back to your motel, Agent Valentine?It’s on my way, and you look like you haven’t slept since last Thanksgiving.”
Kate almost refused.Habit.Control.But her brain was still spinning around the sketches, the symbolism, the unsettling theatricality of it all.
“Sure,” she said.“Thanks.”
The cruiser smelled faintly of old coffee and pine-scented air freshener.Sullivan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on the window frame.
“So,” he said after a minute, “hell of a scene back there.”
Kate nodded, staring out at the glistening sidewalks.“Yeah.”
“You seen artwork like that before?Drawings, paintings?”
“No,” she said truthfully.“They don’t fit the pattern.”
“Meaning?”
