Kate inhaled, exhaled, then tried again, a little softer.
"Aren't you due to speak to Garrett's business associate?His flight from Denver landed twenty minutes ago.Go meet him.He might give us something we can actually use."
Before Marcus could reply, Sullivan appeared behind him, leafing through a stack of notes.
Marcus and Sullivan exchanged a glance.
Just a glance of warning.Quick.Almost nothing.
Kate saw it all the same.
“What,” she said, voice dropping.“Was.That.”
Marcus held up both hands.“Nothing.”
“I know that look.It was the old— ” she deepened her voice an octave, in imitation of a dumb male voice.“‘Watch out for the little lady, she’s in a bad mood’ look.”
“Hey, no, Kate it was—”
Sullivan, no coward but not suicidal, took one immediate step backward.“I—uh—I’ve got uniforms waiting on the fourth floor.Evidence chain-of-custody thing.”He fled like a man who’d heard approaching artillery.
Marcus followed, equally fast, voice cracking into a retreating excuse.
Kate glared after them, furious heat climbing her neck.“Jerks,” she whispered.
Her phone rang.
At last.
She snatched it up so fast she nearly sent a coffee cup flying.
“Valentine.”
A soft, calm, academic voice replied, "Agent Valentine?This is Dr.Rowan Lasker from Yale—the heraldry inquiry.You sent me the image of the medieval knight?"
A woman, Kate thought.Thank God.She closed her eyes once, gathering her breath.
“Yes, Doctor.Thank you.I need your help with something very specific.”
She stared down at the paintings.
At the tiny black bird.
And felt the first threads of pattern tighten.
Kate pressed her phone tighter to her ear, blocking out as much of the precinct din as she could.Someone dropped a binder.Someone else swore at a coffee machine.But beneath it all, Dr.Rowan Lasker’s voice carried a steady, academic cadence—focused, unhurried, certain.For a moment, Kate missed the academic world.
“Well, Agent Valentine,” she said, “I’ve identified your knight.”
Kate straightened.“Already?That’s impressive.”
“Well,” Lasker replied with a smile audible even over the phone, “he’s a memorable figure.The heraldic elements are distinctive.The stag supine, the cormorants on the escutcheon—those are not common motifs.Your painting depicts Sir Miles de Coverleagh, later Baron Sephton, a thirteenth-century knight who fought in the Sixth Crusade.”
Kate scribbled the name on her notepad.“Coverleagh.Sephton.Crusades.Okay.And the cormorants—those are part of his coat of arms?”
“Yes.Awarded to him by King Henry III, actually.The cormorant is a symbol of exceptional bravery in battle.Not a standard charge—you’d only see it in cases of extreme royal favor.It was added to Coverleagh’s arms after he returned from the Holy Land.”
Kate frowned.“That sounds… heroic.I’m just curious as to why it would be accompanying a crime scene.”
