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TWENTY-ONE
AFTER BEING IN the hospital for two days, she was more than ready to leave.
Uncomfortable, she tried to move, which wasn’t easy with her arm in a sling.
Lachlan came in with a file. “Hey, what are you doing?”
He came rushing over to prop her back against the pillows.
“Moving,” she said, wriggling in the sheets. “I want to get out of this bed.”
“They might discharge you in a day or two.”
“You think I don’t know you and grandpapa are pressuring them to keep me here?”
“You’re important to us,” he said, kissing her head. “Why shouldn’t we use our pull to make sure you’re looked after?”
“Yeah, but it’s not a medical request. You’re just being protective,” she said, nodding at the file as he sat. “What is that?”
It didn’t look thick. Was that the sum total of their investigation?
“It can wait a minute.”
“Just tell me,” she said. “You want me to ID someone?”
He rolled his lips into his mouth. “Yeah,” he said on a sort of inhale.
“Okay, so show me.”
“You don’t want to rush yourself.”
“You’ve been telling me to take my time for two days.” The nausea wasn’t as bad, though she did still get bouts of dizziness. “Between you and Steeple telling me to take it easy, I’ll never move or work again. Just show me.”
“I don’t want you to be shocked,” he said, opening the file just enough to peek into it.
“Shocked? Why would I…? You mean you don’t want me to get upset?”
“No, it’s…” He hesitated then sighed. “The subject’s deceased.”
“Dece—he’s dead?” she asked.
He nodded, folding back the cover of the file to hand it over.
Blond guy. Swollen. Bruised. Cut. Bleeding. Well, not anymore, but there was blood on his face.
“He has the tattoo,” he said, reaching over to slide another picture out from beneath, putting it on top. “Is it him?” She nodded, numb, as he took the file from her hands to close it and put it aside. “He was killed last night. Showed up in the early hours.”
“Showed up where?”
“Why would you ask that?”
His curiosity got her attention. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“At Silvio Manzani’s. Strung up by his ankles in a tree, on proud display outside his front door.” A beat passed. “It wasn’t pretty, Sersh. Whoever killed him was seriously pissed. Seriously pissed.”
“What do you mean?” Grabbing the file, she wanted to see what made her brother so solemn. “How did—” She stopped at the next photograph. “Oh my God.”
Lachlan took the file before she could see the other pictures. “They emasculated him, disemboweled him, antemortem, Ser. I don’t know what the perps wanted him to give up, but he wasn’t a willing victim. Every one of his fingers was broken. Not that it mattered, ‘cause they cut off his hands and scattered them on the driveway with his toes and teeth like ice-cream sprinkles.” Her mouth wouldn’t close. It was amazing, disgusting, yet not repulsive. “They tortured him. Cut out his tongue. There were over two hundred individual injuries on the body. Then they somehow got him into that tree and cut open his stomach, spilling his guts all over, while he was still alive.” Though probably not conscious. “No one saw anything. No one heard anything. Silvio’s people are locked down.”
