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“Why is Lucinda Arceneaux the Empress and not Hilary or Bella?” I said.
“The Empress is the earth mother, the patroness of charity and kindness.”
“Why are you so certain about the Ace of Swords for Axel Devereaux?” I said.
“The Ace of Swords means raw power,” she said. “In reverse, it can mean loss and hatred and self-destruction. Devereaux had a baton shoved down his throat. The killer put a fool’s cap on him to ridicule him in death.”
“Why two cards for Molinari?” I said.
“Good question. My guess is Wexler thinks of him as both a sacrificial and a mediocre personality. Molinari was related to one of the guards in the jail?”
“Yes,” I said. But she already knew that. She was holding something back; I was afraid to find out what.
“The High Priestess is missing from the deck,” she said.
“What’s the High Priestess?” I said.
“She sits at the entrance to Solomon’s Temple. She holds the Book of Wisdom in her hand and is identified with purity and intellectualism.”
I felt my heart slowing, as though it no longer had the power to pump blood. “You think the High Priestess is Alafair?”
Bailey visibly tried not to swallow. “Who else would it be? Maybe he saved her out. There’s something else I want you to see.”
I coughed into my hand. “What?”
“This.” The letters B and S had been scratched into the table’s surface. “They’re fresh, maybe cut with a fork. They mean anything to you other than ‘bullshit’?”
I was having trouble breathing. “They’re a message to me from Alafair. I think they stand for ‘Baby Squanto.’?”
I went outside and across the gallery and out into the yard. The sky was an unnatural blue, shiny, hard to look at. Bailey followed me. “Everything we’re doing now is based on speculation,” she said.
“I think everything you said is correct,” I said. “Don’t try to put a good hat on it.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said. “The guy we’re dealing with is a ritualist. What looks crazy to us makes complete sense to him. He’s going to come back to the place he started. The challenge is to put yourself in the head of a lunatic.”
“Say that again?”
“Ritualists often seek symmetry. People with severe psychological disorders have trouble drawing a tree or making a circle. Our guy will try to come full circle.”
“With the cross out on the water?” I said.
“Or something like it.”
“Do you have any idea how many square miles of water you’re talking about?” I said.
“That’s about as good as it gets, Dave,” she replied. “I’m sorry to say all these things. Maybe I’m dead wrong.”
I looked back at the house. The sun was higher in the sky. The shadows had dropped down into the trees. The house looked cold and empty and drab in the bright light.
“It all seems too easy,” I said.
“What does?” she said.
“The baby carriage filled with trophies from his crimes. The boxed cards with X’s cut on them.”
“He’s a trophy killer,” she said.
Clete was talking to Sean by the gallery while Sean stared at his feet as though being berated. Clete walked toward me. “Can you give us a mi
