Bloodless (Aloysius Pendergast #20)(21)

Hands clasped behind his back, Pendergast peered down at the first cadaver, leaning in so close that he almost looked like he was going to kiss it. He walked around it with additional intense scrutiny. Then he did the same thing with the second. McDuffie watched, as did his gowned assistant. At least, Coldmoon thought, the autopsies had been completed and the Y incisions sewn back up. They looked frightful, of course, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

Pendergast straightened up. “Agent Coldmoon, do you find it interesting that one victim is so much more damaged than the other?”

Now Coldmoon was forced to take closer notice of the bodies. One was in decent shape, under the circumstances, but the other—the one that had been found in the river—was bloated and torn up, with half a dozen stab or puncture wounds, cuts, scratches, a piece of his scalp ripped off, the right index finger missing.

“Strange,” he murmured.

“Not strange at all,” said Pendergast.

Coldmoon looked at him. “What do you mean?” God, not another lecture.

“This is the classic pattern. With the first victim, the killer is finding his way. He is exploring: seeking his center, so to speak. And because it is all so new, he is nervous and tentative. By the second victim, he is surer of himself, and so the killing is done with greater confidence and less, shall we say, untidiness.”

“You think we have a serial killer in the making?” Coldmoon asked.

“Not with certainty, no.”

“Then who is it?”

“Perhaps someone simply doing his job—and getting better at it.”

Pendergast wheeled a digital magnifying scope over to the first victim and focused on one of the puncture wounds. He fiddled with the dials, took a few screenshots. He moved it to another area of lacerations, then another. Again he looked up.

“Agent Coldmoon, would you care to take a look?”

“I was just waiting for a turn.” Coldmoon came over and glanced into the eyepiece. It showed an odd, pucker-like wound, washed clean by the river. There were other similar wounds, some bigger than others, and several had ripped the flesh. All had been dissected during the course of the autopsy, then stapled back up.

“Dr. McDuffie,” said Pendergast, turning abruptly to the M.E., who jumped at the sudden movement. “Tell us what you found in your dissection of these wounds, if you please.”

“Yes, of course. As you can see, we did a transect of each wound to map it and take samples for further lab work. What you see with the initial victim are a number of stab wounds made with a trocar-like implement. Some are deep, others shallow. I can give you a map of them if you’d care to see it. The wounds are clustered on the inside anterior upper portion of the thigh. My assumption—really, the only one that makes sense under the circumstances—is that the killer was probing for the femoral artery, but in a rather haphazard way. The final stab wound intersected the artery, and that is how the blood was drained.”

“How much blood?”

“All of it. Literally every drop. The heart would have stopped pumping after about three to four liters had been removed. But the final one to two liters are gone as well, which indicates there was active suction through the hollow part of the trocar—a significant amount of suction.”

“Like an embalmer?” Coldmoon asked.

“I’m glad you asked about that. Embalming sometimes uses the femoral vein—not the artery—but the blood is pushed out most frequently by pumping fluid into the aorta. They call it perfusing the body. And then embalming fluid pushes out the water the same way. This, on the other hand, required active suction.”

“Could it be the work of someone with embalming experience?” Coldmoon asked.

“That thought crossed my mind. The same equipment might be modified to suck out the blood instead of pushing in fluids—in this case, by means of a trocar, not an incision and catheter.”

“And the other wounds?” Pendergast asked.

“They’re indicative of a struggle. Those deep lacerations look like they were done with a crude object, possibly a broken knife. The scalp injury is harder to categorize. It looks like something hard and thin was scraped across it with great force, peeling it up almost like you might pare an apple.”

Coldmoon swallowed with some difficulty. He’d had slices of apple on his oatmeal at breakfast.

“Finally, note the missing index finger of the right hand. It was crudely severed from the body—I would say bitten off. As you probably know, it was recently recovered in the square in front of the hotel where he worked.”

Pendergast nodded. “May I see it?”

“I’m sorry, it was sent off to the DNA lab. Dried saliva was found on it.”

“Saliva?” Pendergast repeated. “Excellent. When will the results come in?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

Another nod.

When it gets back, I’ll give you the finger, Coldmoon thought to himself, still fighting the queasiness.

“I’d like to show you something else,” McDuffie said. He nodded to the assistant, who came forward. Together, they gently flipped the body over.

“Note—in addition to the cracked ribs—these deep bruises, symmetrical on both sides of the spine, which contused and tore the paraspinal muscles, particularly the rhomboid major. Most unusual.”