“A stone knife? You mean, like an Indian relic?”
“Yes, but freshly knapped and thus extremely sharp. Considerable skill was involved. The cuts were done premortem, as they bled and clotted. But the precision of the work indicates the man was already unconscious when it took place; otherwise, he would have been uncooperative in the procedure. But the initial, fatal wound was made, I would say, by a long, heavy knife that went clear through the gut, perhaps a bayonet.” He paused, glancing around. “The actual killing occurred farther up in the salt marshes and the body drifted here on the outgoing tide. Perhaps a study of the tidal currents might help establish a location and time of death. The body must have been in the water some time for the fish to consume the lips, eyes, nose, and tongue.” He looked up at Gavin. “The clam digger who found it, is he of an unusually avaricious nature?”
“Boyd?” said Gavin. “Oh, yeah, he’s famous for that. Tightfisted bastard. How did you know?”
“The fact that he continued digging clams around the body. Where does he sell his clams?”
“At the Inn. They’re famous for the fried clam basket.”
Pendergast gave a small shudder. “When one considers the clam is a filter feeder, a fried clam meal at the Inn over the next few days would not be far removed from cannibalism. Fortunately, there is no risk of me ever ingesting a fried clam, famous or not.” He made a final inspection of the body, removed a small digital camera, and took a series of photos of the carvings.
“It looks like we got ourselves a real psycho here,” said Mourdock.
Pendergast rose and pulled off his gloves. “Other than the cuts, this is a most uninformative crime scene, with the body having been stripped, transported here by water, and thoroughly washed by the tides. These cuts were done with care and skill, however, by someone who had experience carving flesh. There appears to be a purpose behind the symbols, and no doubt with the word TYBANE as well. Chief Mourdock, I’m afraid I have to disagree with your conclusion that this is the work of a psychopath. The person who did this was organized, purposeful, and deliberate.”
14
Constance Greene surveyed the room Pendergast had engaged on the first floor of the Inn. He’d had the bed moved out and a large pine table brought in, on which he had set up a clumsy, almost antique, reel-to-reel tape recorder, with an ungainly microphone, along with an old IBM Selectric typewriter and a Dictaphone machine.
She was amazed at how cooperative the chief had become—at least, when directly asked for assistance. That very morning, the chief had let Pendergast rifle the Exmouth PD storage room for outmoded equipment and take whatever he wanted.
“Ah, Constance. I see you are admiring my interrogation room.” Pendergast stood in the doorway, cradling an old IBM PC.
“Is that what this is? An interrogation room?”
He set down the computer. “Indeed. What do you think?”
“It looks more like a museum of ancient technology.”
He plugged in the PC, attached the keyboard, and booted it up. Next to it he placed an old but still-sealed box of floppy disks.
“Does that even work?”
“No.”
“And what, may I ask, is wrong with your MacBook?”
“Far too pretty to be intimidating.”
She glanced around again. “So this is all for show?”
“You will find, my dear Constance, that a wall of equipment, even old equipment, has a most salutary effect on a potential witness. The tape recorder does in fact work, but for convenience I have the microphone hooked up to a digital recorder hidden inside the reel-to-reel.”
He began arranging everything in severe order on the table. Constance did have to admit it all formed a rather daunting fa?ade, one that served to separate and isolate the interviewee from the interviewer.
“Please shut the door and have a seat.”
Constance closed the door, swept back her dress, and seated herself. “Who are you going to interview?”
He produced a list. She scanned it, laid it down. “There are a lot of names here.”
“We may not need to speak to them all. I am, as they say in these parts, fishing.”
“In other words, you think the killing of the historian is related to the walled-up skeleton.”
“Normally I put no faith in the ‘gut reaction.’ But in this situation, my gut reaction is so definite that I will make an exception: yes, they are most certainly connected.”
“How?”