She answered.“What’s up Gabe?”
Gabe didn’t hear the lead in her voice—he never did.He was too excited.
"Kate.Oh my God.You're awake."
“Barely.”
“Doesn’t matter.I’ve got something.The crows?From the drawings?I’m telling you—they’reimportant.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose.“Gabe—”
“No, listen.I went down a folklore spiral for four straight hours, and guess what?In Central and Eastern European traditions, if a crow caws when a child is born, that child is destined to beugly.”
"…Okay?"Kate said patiently."And is that supposed to help me catch a murderer or help you win at pub trivia?"
“No, no—think about the paintings.The medieval knight, that weird Victorian glutton—both hideous.Deliberately hideous.But historically—this is the cool part—the real Sir Miles de Coverleagh?He was famous for beingbeautiful.‘Miles the Fair.’It’s in the archives.”
Kate blinked.“Right.And?”
“And so whoever’s drawing these is twisting those images.Corrupting beauty.Warping it.This issymbolic, Kate.Deeplysymbolic.”
She let out a slow breath, wondered if Gabe had been smoking something.“Gabe, I’m missing the part where this helps me.”
“I’m not finished,” he said, breathless with his own momentum.“Once I got onto ugliness as a theme, I did some more digging.Did you know there’s a patron saint of ugly people?”
“Oh for—Gabe—”
“St.Drogo.”
“That sounds made up.”
“It’s not,” he said, triumphant.“And guess what else?The hospital where your dad first worked in Chicago—the old one, before they rebuilt it, I looked it up—it used to be a church-run elder home called—wait for it—St.Drogo’s.”
Kate stared at the wall.For a moment, she wondered if she’d fallen asleep and this was the stress-dream version of a phone call.
“Gabe,” she said carefully, “have you taken something?”
“Ididhave a couple brownies over at Sally’s.Hoursago.”
Sally’s?Who in hell was Sally?
“But Kate, I’mtellingyou, this is connected.”
“It really isn’t,” Kate said, massaging her temple.“The killer is not choosing victims based on some medieval patron saint of facial misfortune.”
“Kate, I just think you might be being premature in assuming this element is missing.By which I mean the element of you.I mean, think about it.Commandment killings one to four,allreferencing your past, glancingly or comprehensively.And now, what?Bubkes?Can we afford to—”
Kate felt a flash of anger, cold, then hot.Screwed up her fingers.
“Gabe, these are different.Everything points to a freelancer, a kind of homage to Cox, but without his—"
“But the symbolism—”
“—is a coincidence.A very weird, very specific coincidence, which is your favorite kind.I appreciate the enthusiasm.Truly.But I’ve had a long day and I need sleep.”
A beat.A hurt-sounding breath.
“Oh.Sure.Yeah.I just think you should—”
