Beside him, Kate’s pen paused mid-stroke.
“And yet,” Marcus said quietly, “today we walk into her office and find their photo front and center.”
Torres closed his eyes briefly.“I never saw that photograph before.That’s what makes me sick.Whoever did this… did they made her look at it?Did they want to make it the last thing she saw?”
There was a microscopic crack in his voice on the last word.
Marcus gave him a moment, then slid a box of tissues across the table.Torres ignored them at first, then took one and pressed it hard against his eyes.
“We’ll need contact details for Maya,” Marcus said, his tone as gentle as he could make it while still being police.“You comfortable getting those for us now?”
“Yeah.Sure.”Torres sniffed, fumbled for his mobile with fingers that had finally let go of the water glass.“I can text you her number.”
“That’d be great.”
“This sister,” Kate said suddenly.
Both men glanced at her.The pen still hovered over the pad; the crow’s wing had acquired depth, cross-hatching, the suggestion of a sprig clamped in the beak.
“Had they fallen out?”she asked.“Sarah and Maya.”
Torres blinked, surprised to hear her voice.“No.Not that I know of.They’re not like those sisters that share clothes, y’know?But they see each other.Holidays.Occasional brunches.Maya came to the office once to give a talk about common childhood illnesses.”
“Any big disagreements over the parents?”Kate pressed.
He shook his head.“If there were, she didn’t share.”
Kate nodded, as if checking off a box only she could see.Then her eyes dropped back to her phone.With her free hand she pinched and zoomed the photograph of the painting, isolating the sprig.It was more detailed than she’d first thought; certainly more than the two earlier paintings.The leaves were narrow, pointed, almost like willow.The berries… what berries were they?The killer’s line was confident; no hesitation, no corrections.
“Okay,” Marcus said.“I think that’s enough for now.We’ll get you a ride to a hotel or a friend’s place, wherever you’d rather be.Tomorrow we’ll bring you into the office for a full, recorded statement, once you’ve had a chance to breathe.That work for you?”
Torres’s laugh came out brittle.“Breathing sounds good.”
He slid his phone across to Marcus.“I’ll text you Maya’s number now.Just… don’t tell her over the phone.If you can help it.She deserves better than that.”
“We’ll do our best,” Marcus said.
When Sullivan came to collect Torres, the man hesitated in the doorway, looking back once at Kate.
“She didn’t do anything wrong,” he said quietly.“Whatever this is.”
Kate raised her eyes from the drawing.“We know,” she said.“And we’ll prove it.”
He nodded as if that were a contract, then followed Sullivan down the hall.
The house felt different the moment he was gone.Lighter, in a way.Emptier in others.The murmur of CSIs in the office seemed louder.Somewhere a camera flashed, followed by the faint beep of a measuring device.
Marcus shut the dining room door, more to buy them a moment of privacy than because anyone was listening.He dropped into the chair Torres had vacated and blew out a breath.
“Well,” he said.“That was… not the profile I was expecting.”
Kate didn’t answer.
“I think we need to focus on the photographs.Where’s he getting them from?They’re all quite posed, serious… They’re notfamilyimages.Given that the deceased parent in each case was someone prominent, I’m thinking they could be stock footage, archive press stuff?A bit of that stuff is open-source but some has got to be paid download.And that means someone with a credit card, accessing particular images…”
He stopped, watched her for a beat.
The crow had taken over half the page now.The body rendered in quick, sure lines, wing tucked, head turned.She’d drawn the sprig twice, once as it appeared, once dissected into its components: stem, individual leaves, the stippled berries.Arrows connected them to scribbled notes.Peace?Victory?Funeral foliage?
