“Oh for—” Marcus rubbed a hand down his face.“Do these people not realize how obvious they sound?”
“He mentions ‘those who cast off their parents in pride’,” Kate said.“Calls them ‘idolaters of self.’There’s a whole paragraph about children who avoid their parents’ deathbeds.”
That landed between them like a dropped blade.
Marcus swallowed.“Hayes and Garrett did exactly that.Well, it’srumoredabout Garrett, but…”
Kate nodded.
“Jesus,” Marcus murmured.“Okay.Okay.He’s a solid lead.Very solid.Poppy say anything else?”
“That she’s still digging.”Kate reached for her coat.“And that we shouldn’t wait.”
Marcus looked at his watch.“Lunchtime.Let’s go.”
She grabbed her badge, clipped it to her belt.
Marcus stood, grabbed his coat, then something struck him.“You check the overnights?”
“I’ve been checking hourly since six a.m.Thus far, there has been no third victim.”
“You think he might stop at two?”
“I live in hope,” Kate said.“As well as doubt.”
Marcus followed her out, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like a warning neither of them wanted to hear.
*
The Bureau sedan cut through midday traffic, sunlight flashing off the windshield in hard, white jolts.Boston in mid-May was in that brief, deceptive window of warmth and clarity—trees full, shadows crisp, the air bright enough to hide darker things.The chilly harbour breeze funneled inland, rattling flags and sending small eddies of pollen skittering across the road.
Kate sat angled toward the passenger window, one hand to her temple as she pieced her thoughts aloud.
“So the heraldic expert—Dr.Lasker—finally called me back,” she said.“She was cool.”
Marcus snorted.“Says one former academic of another.”
Kate ignored him.“The painting references a mediaeval knight who went off to the Crusades and abandoned his mother in the process.”
Marcus blew out a low breath.“Continuing the theme, huh?”
“And they’ve each got a tiny crow on them.A micro-crow.The two paintings, not the drawing.”
“I didn’t see that.”
"No one did.It's about two millimeters in height, in the bottom left corner, where an artist would normally put a signature.Laser-printed onto the canvas, I’m thinking, perhaps from an original painting by our murderous artist.”
“Someone called Crow?”
“Could be.But according to Dr Lasker, crows mean something in painting and heraldic symbology.Loss, grief, bereavement.I’m think the killer might have direct experience of loss; it could even be the founding event.But there’s something in the crow’s beak.Like a twig or a plant.Lasker couldn’t identify it.I’ve got a feeling it could be important, but so far I’m drawing a blank.I don’t think even Poppy can help with my micro-crows.”
He hesitated, then said, “You’ll get there.Dehan wasn’t exactly full of surprises.”
Kate turned.“What did he tell you?”
Marcus shook his head, jaw tensing.“Garrett abandoned his father.Loudly.Proudly.The old man needed investment to save his contracting firm, and Garrett practically held a press conference saying he was done with him, contributing to the old man’s early demise.You’d think that kind of thing would be ruinous for business, but, hey, in the world of commercial real estate…”
“It’s almost a badge of honor,” Kate finished the thought for him.“So the killer sees them both as sinners in the same catechism.”
