“With your footprints in it,” Tom said. “You’ve got to stay out of there, Conor. You could get hit with a tampering charge.”
Conor stared his brother hard in the eyes. “You could go in,” he said. “With Joe.”
“What’s my reason? How would I have jurisdiction?” Tom asked.
“The marina connection,” Conor said. “The dockage receipt with Suzanne’s name on it. A Coast Guard investigator would want to chase that down, wouldn’t he?Psycheis a crime scene too.”
“He’s right,” Joe said.
“Okay, say I go in with Joe,” Tom said. “What would I be looking for?”
“An imprint in the blood,” Conor said. He pulled out his phone and showed his brother the photo he had taken in the bedroom at the mansion, of the indentation left in the sticky substance beneath the bottle.
“What is it?” Tom asked, taking Conor’s phone and looking at the screen.
“A rose,” Conor said. “I took this at the mansion on Bellevigne Island. I saw the same mark in the blood here.”
“The murderer took the time to draw a flower?” Tom asked, looking skeptical.
“At first, I thought it looked drawn, but now I think it was made by a stamp or a seal—you know, like a notary embosser. Some kind of tool.”
Tom had been down atPsychewhile Joe and Conor had gone through the mansion, so Conor let him scroll through the rest of the shots he had taken of the bedroom, including the one of the large black-and-white still from the Cocteau film. Then Tom went back to the photo of the mark left under the bottle containing the drug.
“I think it’s an impression left by a signet ring,” Tom said. “A rose insignia, maybe.”
“Like a family crest?” Joe asked.
“I think it’s connected to the fairy tale,” Conor said. “And I think the killer used it to sign his kill.”Or kills,plural, he thought, picturing the blood on the handcuffs, on the sheets.
“The crime scene techs will have clear photos,” Joe said.
“I want to see the real thing,” Conor said.
Joe stared at him. “I told you, you can’t go in. I’ll get the key, and I’ll call Tom when I have it. I’ll go too.”
Conor was all for that. Dermot greeted them at the turnaround, and the three of them hurried up the wide stairs. Tom and Joe went into the lobby. Conor stood on the verandah and stared down at the beach where the Fourth of July festivities were underway. He thought of the wedding weekend schedule—how the whole party was supposed to be down at the Beach Ball for fireworks.
Something told him that Kate would be feeling about as in the mood for fireworks as he was, so he went into the lobby and took the elevator up to the Tower Suite. He knocked first, then used his key.
She met him at the door, as if she had been waiting all day. Her dark brown hair was uncombed and fell across her green eyes. Conorstepped forward to hug her, but he stopped himself. They weren’t that way anymore. She didn’t belong in his arms.
Except she did. She was the one to step toward him. She leaned into his body. His heart pounded. Everything felt right, the way it always had. They held each other. Her head was against his chest. He felt her kiss his shoulder. Then she tilted her head back. She looked into his eyes.
“You were waiting for me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
His heart was racing. Would she ever wait for him again after what he had to tell her? He was about to ask her to sit down on the sofa with him, but she spoke first.
“I have stuff to tell you,” she said.
“How did you know when I’d be here?” he asked.
“I was standing on the widow’s walk,” she said. “Above the tower. I saw the Coast Guard boat come in, and I knew you were aboard.”
“How did you know that?” he asked. “It could have been a patrol boat. It could have been anything. How did you know?”
“I just knew,” she said. “I was watching for you.”
