Bloodless (Aloysius Pendergast #20)(22)

Pendergast examined the marks closely with the magnifying scope. Coldmoon waved off an invitation to look himself.

Next, the M.E. launched into a long list of other medical details noted during the autopsy, including the contents of the stomach, the small amounts of alcohol and THC present in the tissues, and so forth. Much of the rest Coldmoon couldn’t follow, but none of it seemed particularly important.

“Let us move to the second victim,” said Pendergast.

This body, which Coldmoon had already seen in the courtyard behind the Owens-Thomas House, was much fresher looking. He hadn’t been floating in a warm river for half a day—thank God.

“Note,” said McDuffie, “that there’s only one puncture wound. This time, the killer went straight to the femoral artery. Again, the blood was totally drained. We recovered what looks like more saliva, or mucus, around the puncture wound—or perhaps some sort of organic lubricating agent. Again, we’re running DNA and chemical tests on it.”

Pendergast spent a long time examining this puncture wound.

“Note there is some bruising and scraping,” McDuffie said, “but nothing like the first victim. This one seems to have been killed much more efficiently—at least, judging by the few signs of a struggle.” He nodded to his assistant.

This body was flipped over as well. Right away, Coldmoon noted the same symmetrical bruises, equidistant from the spine.

“It looks like the body—both bodies—were gripped in some sort of vise or clamp. With such force, in fact, that the muscles underneath were contused and several ribs cracked.”

Pendergast examined the bruises with the magnifying scope, moving it this way and that. Silence filled the lab. At last he straightened up and looked at the M.E. with a glittering eye. “That is one of the most curious things I’ve ever seen on a cadaver.”

“We’re baffled, too. Both bodies, as you know, were moved. The first was moved from the square to the river, over a distance of more than three miles as the crow flies.”

“Would you say the injuries indicate more than one person was involved in the murder?”

“I would most definitely say so. In both the killing and the transporting. At least two, probably three or maybe more. The second victim,” McDuffie went on, “was also moved, even though at this point we can only speculate about the site of the actual homicide. It almost looks like these marks were made by some sort of machine—an earthmover, forklift, or construction vehicle of some type—that picked up the bodies and carried them. Baffling.”

Pendergast was silent a moment before speaking again. “I think, Dr. McDuffie, that we should keep this mutual bafflement to ourselves. Perhaps you’ve noticed the boisterous crowd of journalists and camerapeople outside?”

“I have.”

“The less information they are given, the better. I mention this because you will no doubt be cornered by them, as I was.”

McDuffie nodded, eyes widening at the thought of an unpleasant confrontation. “They won’t hear anything from me. I’ll let the commander do the talking.”

“Most excellent.” And as Pendergast’s eyes returned to the corpses, Coldmoon saw that they were filled with a particularly intense and silvery gleam.





15



MCDUFFIE HAD POINTED THEM to an alternate exit, which deposited them in a quiet back alley. Coldmoon took a deep breath of the humid air, glad to be free of the antiseptic stink of the lab.

“Are you, perchance, a churchgoing man?” Pendergast asked.

“Not in your sense of the word.”

“But perhaps you’ll make an exception in this case? I’d appreciate your company.”

Coldmoon sighed. “Speaking of ‘case,’ what does going to church have to do with anything—unless you’re trying to reform me?”

“Reform? That would be impossible. Perhaps you noticed the tattoo on the wrist of our good Dr. Cobb?”

“Yes. It looked like a combat patch. I never figured that old guy as a veteran.”

“It’s no combat patch. It was the coat of arms of an ancient and noble family. Specifically, the Báthory family of the Transylvania region of Hungary.”

“Transylvania? As in Dracula?”

Pendergast nodded. “Three horizontal teeth in a stylized pattern. The full coat of arms would be surrounded by a dragon biting its own tail.”

Coldmoon could see Pendergast was enjoying prolonging this discussion as fully as possible.

“It was awarded to a fourteenth-century warrior named Vitus, who killed a swamp-dwelling dragon that had been threatening the kingdom of Ecsed.”

“Bully for him. I hear those swamp-dwelling dragons are the worst.”

“One of his descendants, who lived around 1600, was Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed. She has the distinction of being in the Guinness World Records.”

“What for?”

“She was the world’s most prolific female serial killer. They claim she murdered upwards of six hundred fifty women, many of them virgins, so she could bathe in their blood to retain her beauty. She was known as the Blood Countess.”

“Good God.”

“So, in the pleasantly cool living room of the Owens-Thomas House, I asked myself: what is the staid historian Dr. Cobb doing with a tattoo like that?”