And now it’s daylight again. Another morning. So this must be Tuesday.
Huston looked down at his stockinged feet. He put a hand over each foot. The socks were no longer wet, his feet no longer icy to the touch. Somewhere, he had lost most of a day. That day was in the drainage ditch somewhere, had maybe leaked away from him in the trickle of water beneath his feet. Where did it go? he wondered, and he watched the water awhile—he watched himself trickling away with it.
Then he brought himself back.
This is Tuesday, he told himself. Craft of Fiction. But there would be no class today. He wasn’t there. No class unless Denton took over his classes. Who else could they ask? Not Conescu, for Chrissakes. A janitor would be better than Conescu.
Never mind, the other part of him said. Find Annabel. You have to talk to Annabel.
But Annabel is only for Thursdays. I know where to find her on a Thursday. And today is only Tuesday.
Then you have to wait, he told himself. You have to stay alive and wait.
Two more ugly, impossible days. He doubled over again; he hugged his knees. He wept and trembled and muttered aloud, “Two more fuck fuck fucking fucking days.”
Twelve
Under the fluorescent light bar in the middle of the evidence room, DeMarco examined the knife in its clear plastic bag. The tapered blade was eight inches long, the full tang triple-riveted in a handle made of a shiny, black composite material. He said, “It’s an attractive piece of craftsmanship.”
Morgan told him, “It’s called a chef’s knife.”
“And it’s the one?”
“Lab says it matches the wounds on all four victims.”
DeMarco squinted at the inscription on the blade, but he could not make it out. “Fucking fluorescent lights,” he said.
“Wüsthof. Made in Solingen, Germany.”
“And we’re sure it’s Huston’s?”
“There’s one empty slot in the knife block. This one fits.”
“All the others are Wüsthofs?”
“All twenty-five.”
“Twenty-six in the set? Somebody has a serious knife fetish.”
“It’s a professional quality set. Retails for around a thousand.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“We found the receipt in a drawer with all the warranty stuff. Charged to Claire’s Visa last December 12. So apparently the set belonged to her.”
“Unless she bought it for him as a Christmas gift.”
Morgan pointed to the scalloped edge. “These indentations are supposed to keep food from sticking. The style is called Santoku.”
“And I suppose you know what that means.”
“The three virtues. Slicing, dicing, and mincing.”
“Christ,” DeMarco said.
“There were descriptions with the warranty papers.”
“Anything in the descriptions about why he did it?”
DeMarco turned the knife back and forth in the light. In the two indentations closest to the bolster were tiny rust-like stains. The rest of the blade was clean. DeMarco said, “I’m betting this isn’t rust here.”
“It’s the baby’s.”
“Nobody else’s?”
“None that can be identified.”
“I’m surprised there’s any left at all. It was in the water how long?”
“Approximately thirty-eight hours.”
“Long enough to wash any prints off the handle.”
“Unfortunately.”
“So we can’t place it in the hands of any particular individual.”
“But we do know it’s the murder weapon.”
“Yippee,” DeMarco said. He handed the bag back to Trooper Morgan. “Anything else?”
“Lab reports on the bed linens. I left a copy on your desk.”
“Summarize them for me.”
“The blood smear on the cover in the master bedroom is Claire’s blood only.”
“So he slit her throat, then wiped the blade clean.”
“Not completely clean. The smear on the boy’s cover is mostly his blood but with a bit of Claire’s mixed in.”
“And on the girl’s?”
“He took a little more time here. Actually wrapped a corner of the sheet around the blade to clean it instead of just wiping the blade across the sheet. And the blood this time is mostly the girl’s, trace amounts of the boy’s.”
“None of Claire’s or the baby’s?”
“A trace amount that might be Claire’s. The lab can’t say conclusively.”
“None of the baby’s?”
“None.”
“But only the baby’s is on the blade currently?”
“Correct.”
“So…first he killed Claire. Then the boy. Then the girl. He slit each of their throats, wiped the blade clean each time afterward, did an especially good job after the girl. Maybe even washed the blade clean. Can that be right?”
“It’s how it looks.”
“Why would he clean the blade so thoroughly before stabbing the baby? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“The rest does?”
“Also, the baby was stabbed.”
“Yes, sir. Twice.”
“Why?”
“Apparently to make sure he hit the heart.”
“Why didn’t he slit its throat too? Why did he change his method of killing for the baby?”
“I guess only he knows that.”
“I guess you’re right. You got anything else?”
“The vaginal swabs on the girl came back negative.”
“Thank God for that.”