“What did he do—did they do—to earn this level of vengeance? I’m looking at rape, but this brutality? It’s beyond even that.”
“Kids maybe.” Steadier, Peabody took a testing sip from her fizzy. “Maybe they went for kids.”
“Pedophilia . . . Yeah, that could work up this sort of rage. There’s not even a whiff of that around either, and the first, at least, had regular sex with adults. But we’ll look. Because anyone who considered this justice believes the crime is horrific.”
“If it was,” Morris commented, “both men kept it well hidden. They lived public lives, where the media slides every act under the microscope. Hiding the horrific takes a great deal of skill and work, particularly if more than one person is involved. Secrets rarely hold.”
“Agreed. Now that we know we’re looking for secrets, and possibly the horrific, it should be easier to find. He’s going to run about the same,” Eve said, glancing at Wymann. “His injuries, COD, the works. But if you come up with any surprises, let me know.”
“I will, of course, but that reminds me. I thought little of it at the time, but the senator has a small tattoo.”
“Lots do.”
“Including myself. His was barely visible, again, due to the bruising. Groin area.”
“He has a tat there?” Eve said as Peabody went, “Ouch!”
“Just to the left of the root, we’ll say, of the penis.” He offered Eve microgoggles, took a pair for himself.
“Check the new guy,” she told Morris as she put on the goggles, bent down, searched. “Yeah, yeah, I see it now. Barely. It . . . it looks Celtic, right? Like one of those Celtic symbols. Mira’s not Irish or Scots, though. Is it?”
“Arabic, perhaps, or American Indian. But . . . yes, your second victim has the same. Same tat, same area.”
“Can you tell me when? How long ago they got the ink?”
“I’ll work on that. I’ll excise the dermis, test it myself, and send it to the lab.”
“What the hell does it mean? Peabody, get a picture of it. Let’s run it, see if it has a specific meaning.”
“You’re already there, ah, with the goggles.”
Eve only rolled her eyes, dragged out her ’link. She called up the camera function, took three shots. “It’s going to need to be enhanced, cleaned up.”
“I can do that,” Peabody began, but Eve was already tagging her expert.
“Hey.”
“And a hey back to you,” Roarke said.
“Quick one, just in case you know. What’s this symbolize or mean? Wait a sec.”
She fumbled a little, but managed to send him the image.
“Can you see the tat? There’s a lot of bruising and discoloration, but—”
“I see it, yes. And it happens I do know its meaning, as my mates and I nearly had the same done one memorably drunken evening. It’s a Celtic symbol for brotherhood.”
“‘Brotherhood.’ Yeah, that fits. Why didn’t you get the ink if you were drunk enough to think about it?”
Amusement sparked in his eyes. “Not quite drunk enough to forget identifying marks aren’t wise for some of us in certain areas of business. I’ve a meeting in a moment, unless you need more.”
“No, that’s great. Thanks. Buy that solar system.”
She clicked off, looked back at both victims. “Brotherhood,” she repeated.
—
Back in the car, she headed for Central. “Tag Harvo at the lab. See if the Queen of Hair and Fiber found anything on the rope fibers. Odds are low, but we’ll check. And whatever other hair or fibers the sweepers managed to get to her.”
As Peabody contacted the lab, Eve tried Mira’s personal ’link.
“Eve.”
“Sorry it’s so early.”
“Not at all. We’re up. I thought I’d come in early today in any case.”
“I need some time.”
“As much as you need, whenever you need it. I can come to you.”
“That would save me some steps. I need to tell you Jonas B. Wymann’s been murdered.”
“I . . . we know him. He was a close friend of Edward’s.”
“He died the same way.”
“Oh, dear God. Are you at Central?”
“Heading there now.”
“I’ll be on my way in ten minutes.”
“Can you put Mr. Mira on?”
“Oh, yes, just a moment.”
Eve heard murmuring, shuffling. Then Dennis Mira’s gentle face came on her screen. “This is very distressing,” he said. “Jonas Wymann. He was a brilliant economist.”
“Yes, I heard that. Mr. Mira, do you know when your cousin got his tattoo?”
“Edward?” Those dreamy green eyes went blank. “Edward had a tattoo? That doesn’t seem in character at all, does it?”
“You weren’t aware he had one?”
“No. I can assure you he didn’t have one when he went off to college. We spent the last weekend before he did at the beach, and there was some midnight skinny-dipping involved. I would have noticed no matter where it might have been. I do tend to forget things here and there, but I’m sure I’d remember that.”
“Okay, that’s helpful. One more thing: your last name? No Celtic connections?”
“Celtic? No. There’s a bit on my mother’s side, if that helps.”
“That’s all I needed.” She imagined Mira had been at the bruising scrape on his temple with a healing wand regularly, as it barely showed now. “You’re feeling okay?”
“Absolutely fine. And how are you?”
“Good. I’m good. If you’d tell Dr. Mira I’ll be waiting for her. Thanks.”
“You be careful now. Someone very, very angry doesn’t want you to find them.”
“You got that right. I’ll be in touch.”
“He’s about the sweetest man on the planet,” Peabody commented.
“And insightful. ‘Angry,’ he said. Not sick, twisted, dangerous, violent. Angry,” she repeated with a slow nod. “And he’s right because it’s anger leading the charge. What have you got?”
“Rope’s as common as they come, like you’d figure. And no hair other than the vic’s on the body. No fiber.”
“They had to get him back in the house. Wrapped or rolled him in plastic.” She nodded again, visualizing it. “At least two of them, so they could carry him inside. After what they did to him he’d be too weak to fight even if he’d been conscious. Wait until the middle of the night, haul him in there, unroll him, and string him up.”
She pulled into Central’s garage, beelined for her space. Then sat a moment, thinking.
“It’s a hell of a lot of trouble. A body dump’s easier, but it’s not enough here. Taking an injured, probably unconscious man back into an upscale neighborhood, even middle of the night, says the murder site’s as important as the murder. Home. A safe place. A safe, upscale place. It has to mean something.”
“Maybe the killer or killers are familiar with the safe, upscale place. If we go back to sex, maybe that’s somewhere it happened. If it deals with rape—”
“It’s going to.”
“Okay, maybe that’s where the rapes took place.”
“Maybe. Just maybe. Get in touch with the housekeeper again while I’m with Mira,” Eve ordered when they got out, walked to the elevator. “You gotta figure somebody who cleans your house, washes your sheets, like that, has a pretty good idea what you do in it and in them.”
She got a sudden flash of Summerset—horrifying—and willed it away. Far away.
“Any signs of sexual activity in the Spring Street house other than the boner drugs since the grandfather died. And have McNab drill the house and sex droids at Wymann’s, same deal.”
“I know rape’s about violence, power, control more than sex,” Peabody began.
“It’s about all of that. All of it. If sex wasn’t a factor, sex wouldn’t come into it.”
“Still, both the vics could get, and did get, plenty of sex. They were both powerful in their field, in their lives. Prosperous, attractive older men who could have paid high-class LCs if they needed to. Why force anyone?”
Eve thought of Richard Troy—no way to avoid it. He’d raped his own child, again and again, because he’d been a predator, a brutal man, and one with a purpose. But when all that was put aside?