Cut to the Bone

by Ellison Cooper

  “The victim’s body was placed on the celestial map at Einstein’s feet,” Ezra continued. “It’s made from a circular slab of emerald pearl granite, and those metal studs represent the stars and planets in the exact position they would’ve been in at noon on the day the memorial was dedicated.”

  Sayer stared at the image. For a brief moment she wished that she could believe that’s where the girl was, somewhere among the stars.

  The next image showed a close-up of “as above, so below” written in blood along the stone bench.

  “This saying sounds familiar,” Sayer said. “I found a bunch of links that suggest some kind of occult connection?”

  Ezra nodded. “‘As above, so below’ sounds familiar because it’s everywhere. No one knows the exact origin of the phrase, but the first written evidence traces back to an old hermetic philosophy text from the seventh century called the Emerald Tablet.”

  “Hermetic?”

  “It’s an occult tradition associated with, you know, alchemy and astrology basically. This is from the opening lines of the Emerald Tablet.” Ezra squinted at his screen to read. “‘Tis true without lying, certain and most true. That which is below is like that which is above and that which is above is like that which is below to do the miracles of one only thing.’ So, that’s from a specific book, but the idea was common to everyone from the early Christians to the Masons. Anyone with a Christian background is probably familiar with the phrase, ‘on earth, as it is in heaven.’ Same thing.”

  “I get the basic concept, the microcosm can reflect the macrocosm, but does it have a more specific meaning?” Sayer asked.

  “Yeah, I was just reading all about it. Hermetic philosophers, who were the earliest alchemists, called this the principle of correspondence. That everything in the heavens corresponds with something on the earth. Sort of the idea that the spiritual and the material are interconnected and you can manipulate the heavens if you know the proper corresponding material on earth.”

  Sayer stared at the blood writing. “That reminds me of the Carl Sagan quote, that we’re all made of star stuff.”

  Ezra nodded. “Exactly. At the deepest level we are all interconnected, yada yada. So, maybe the killer is trying to symbolically connect this girl’s body to something in the heavens?”

  “And that might explain why our Jane Doe was put on a star map.” Sayer nodded. “Let’s follow that idea out and see where it goes but, until we know what the unsub is trying to say, it doesn’t give us much to go on. Ezra, see if you can find any other crimes that have a related theme. Next photo, please.”

  The photo switched to a close-up of one of the baboons.

  “The most unusual aspects of this murder display are the baboon figurines. We have anything on them?”

  “Not a damn thing yet,” Ezra said. “Each little statue is slightly different and they’re made out of a variety of materials including black basalt and clay. We’re still working on sourcing them.”

  “No one has any thoughts about the symbolism of nine baboons and an axe?” Sayer asked, feeling frustrated. She would be willing to bring in a specialist to help, but she didn’t even know what kind of specialist to call in—a hermetic philosopher? A physicist? A baboon expert?

  “All right.” She turned to face the room. “Obviously something here is important to our unsub. Our job is to figure out what that is. Why was our victim killed and displayed like this? Why did he choose this location? What’s the symbolism behind all the different pieces here?”

  Ezra’s computer pinged. “Oh, the Behavior Analysis folks just sent over their preliminary profile.”

  Sayer opened the preliminary profile on her phone and skimmed the report.

  “Hmm, not much. No obvious sex or domination motive. The ritualized elements suggest possible cult activity. The lack of sexual element, the lack of anger, and the clear preplanning of the body dump, coupled with the intensely ritualized aspect of the victim display, suggests the possibility of a serial killer who has likely killed before.

  “In other words,” Sayer said, looking up at the small task force, “this unsub is smart and dangerous and, between the blood writing and ritual display, he’s got all the hallmarks of a serial. Until we know differently, we have to assume that he will kill again.”

  After the meeting, Sayer and Ezra spun their wheels for a while. By 2:00 A.M. they had made no progress and Sayer realized that they wouldn’t have anything new before daybreak. She scheduled a task force meeting for 7:00 A.M. and sent everyone home for a few hours of sleep.

  FBI COMMAND CENTER, QUANTICO, VA

  Once everyone left, Ezra clicked on his music and turned it up until the thumping bass vibrated the speakers in the small command center. He was usually stuck down at his desk in the open pit where all the analysts worked. But, since he was working on the task force, he had unfettered access to this room, which also just happened to have the best sound system at Quantico. Sometimes Ezra needed loud music to think and he hated using headphones so this was heaven.

  With the entire place to himself, he cranked the volume of some new Icelandic avant-garde band.

  As he swiveled the chair, Ezra’s prosthetics clacked against the table. Annoyed that they kept bonking the table legs, he decided to take them off. It was always a little bit of a relief to remove the hard prosthetic sockets and silicone socks capping his legs. Without the prosthetics in the way, he could use the desk chair to quickly slide along the edge of the conference table between stacks of files and three open laptops.

  The first laptop was just finishing up the database crawl trying to match the print they’d found on Jane Doe.

  “Negatory,” he said to himself over the wailing violins.

  The next computer was scanning databases for any match to their unsub’s DNA. If he could identify their unknown subject, he could close the case tonight.

  “Also negatory,” Ezra said while the swelling drums of the song shook his chair as he slid to the last computer. He had written a program to crawl social media and public facial recognition databases with Jane Doe’s photo.

  A green box flashed on the screen. He’d found a match.

  The driving music suddenly dropped to a sparse rhythm that echoed around the room. Something about the haunting music filled Ezra with a sense of dread.

  He clicked on the flashing screen and he stared at the photo that popped up. The link led him to another photo, and another.

  “Oh my God,” he said softly as the ambient beat faded away.

  By the time he got to the last photo, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely dial Sayer’s number.

  SAYER ALTAIR’S APARTMENT, ALEXANDRIA, VA

  On the ride home, Sayer let her mind wander to the family of the dead police officer. His poor son would forevermore associate this time of year with the death of his father.

  She usually took Route 1 from Quantico to Alexandria, but the roads were slick with ice so she decided to stay on the highway. Except for one other car, I-95 was empty. Which was why she noticed when that same car exited behind her.

  And then followed her at a distance on the next three turns.

  Inner alarm ringing, she slowed down.

  The car slowed as well.

  Sayer decided to roll past her block and turn right down the following street.

  But then the car turned left and was gone.

  Laughing at her own hypervigilance, Sayer pulled up in front of her town house. The front of the old colonial building still looked like it had when it was built in the eighteenth century. Though divided into two apartments now, one on each floor, she loved that it retained the charm of the original.

  She pulled off her helmet to rub her forehead, trying to release the bands of tension burning along her temples. The road was dead quiet, no sign of the mysterious car. Heading around back, Tino’s downstairs window was dark, but a faint blue glow illuminated her upstairs window. Maybe Adi was still awake?

  The light po
wdering of snow crunched underfoot as she made her way along the small garden path behind the old town house. She paused at the spicy, chocolaty scent lingering in the air outside Tino’s door. They must’ve eaten Tino’s famous chicken mole and the smell was still heavy in the cold air.

  Her stomach grumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten since lunch.

  Mouth watering, she climbed the stairs to her apartment and was surprised to find her grandmother, Sophia McDuff, at the kitchen table hunched intently over a laptop. Even wearing an oversized pair of Sayer’s flannel pajamas and fuzzy purple socks, she managed to look like an elegant librarian with silver hair pulled back in a low bun and tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

  Vesper slept contentedly at her feet.

  “Nana?” Sayer realized that Nana wore headphones and she gently tapped her shoulder.

  Vesper jumped up at the sound of her voice and Sayer crouched down to give the three-legged dog a good back scratch.

  Nana slid the headphones down around her neck, releasing a thump of faint music. “Oh good, I was beginning to think you were pulling an all-nighter.” Nana gave Sayer a warm hug that smelled faintly of Chanel No. 5. “Adi is sound asleep. Tino left you a note and some food.”

  Sayer found Tino’s note on the counter.

  I know you probably haven’t eaten in hours. Just microwave the plate I left in your fridge for two minutes. Do not go to bed without eating this or I will be horribly offended and know that you hate me and my cooking.

  She was too tired to laugh, but she did manage a smile.

  “You’d better eat the food Tino left for you or he might disown us and never cook again.” Nana joined her in the kitchen.

  “The horror!” Sayer said with mock fear. “So, what are you doing up this late? And why are you here wearing my pajamas?” Sayer pulled the plate piled high with chicken mole and fried plantains from the fridge and put it into the microwave.

  “I joined Tino and Adi’s celebration and had two glasses of wine so I decided I shouldn’t drive home. Plus, I’m heading out of town last minute and wanted to see you before I leave tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind that I commandeered a pair of your pj’s and these wonderful socks.” She did a little shuffling Charleston in the kitchen.

  “A last-minute trip?” Sayer said as she popped open a cold beer.

  Nana leaned against the counter. “Yes, I’ve got a new job.”

  “You’ve got a job?” Sayer split the hot mole onto two plates and slid one to Nana.

  Nana shrugged noncommittally and shuffled back to the table with her plate. She took a bite and closed her eyes. “God, Tino can cook!” She savored the flavor for a long moment before continuing, “Being retired is boring as hell. I suppose I forgot to mention I was looking for a job.”

  “Only you could forget to mention something like that, Nana.”

  The two women ate in companionable silence for a bit. Sayer wanted to press for more information, but knew Nana would share when she was ready.

  “I noticed you’ve got the files about Jake out. You still reading through all that every night?” Nana pointed to the dog-eared stack of files piled on the edge of the table.

  Jake had been working on a highly classified undercover operation when he was killed almost four years ago, but Sayer knew that something must’ve gone wrong on the op because the FBI was hiding something about his death. How could he have drowned on duty? And why were they being so cagey about the details? Every night before bed, Sayer went through the highly redacted files, trying to see something she’d missed. She just wanted to figure out what really happened.

  “You know I do.” Sayer was not in the mood to be lectured about Jake. No one could quite understand why she couldn’t let go of her need to investigate his death. “I just wish I could make sense of what happened to him.”

  “You miss him,” Nana said gently.

  “Every day.”

  “So, I know you hate the whole tough love thing…”

  “Nana, not right now please. I just started a new case that I need to focus on.”

  “You do realize that your mourning isn’t just about Jake, right?”

  “Nana…” Sayer said with warning in her voice.

  Nana just waved her hand. “Oh whatever. You know I’m too old to wait to talk about important shit like this.”

  “Nana,” Sayer repeated, but she couldn’t prevent the half smile that cracked her lips. Every time Nana cursed, it still shocked her a little bit. Nana had spent her entire life as a very proper lady of old Washington during the era when women were meant to bake cookies and support their husbands. As wife to a powerful senator, she had spent her days putting on fancy dinner parties and working as a librarian, and probably, if Sayer knew her Nana, brokering backroom deals negotiated by the wives of politicians. But now that her husband had passed away, her only daughter gone as well, and her grandchildren grown with lives of their own, Nana was done being prim.

  “Oh whatever,” Nana said again, mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Plus, for all I know, I’ll die before I get home. I’m an old lady after all.”

  “Nana!”

  “You just going to repeat my name all night?” Nana smiled. “Now just listen to me. Your obsessive rereading of the same file every night isn’t really about Jake.”

  “Of course it is. I’m trying to figure out what happened to him. And where are you going?”

  “Don’t change the subject. Of course you’re trying to figure out what happened to Jake. But do you really think at this point that you’re going to find something new in that stack of papers you’ve looked at a few thousand times? It’s become some kind of ritual, warding off the need to actually move on. He’s been dead for years now. How many dates have you been on since then?”

  “How many dates have you been on since Granddad died?” Sayer snapped.

  “I’ve been on, let me see”—Nana counted on her fingers—“six, seven, eight. I went on eight dates last year.”

  “What?” Sayer blinked. “I’ve never heard about these dates.”

  “I miss Charles, but I’m not dead yet.” She winked at Sayer. “And stop trying to change the subject. You’re using the mystery about Jake’s death as a shield to protect you from having to be vulnerable again. You’ve never acknowledged that you’re also mourning the life you thought you and Jake would have together. You had a plan, two FBI agents, fighting crime, building careers,” Nana said gently. “You not only lost Jake, you also lost that entire imagined future. And here you are drinking a beer in your barren kitchen with your old grandmother lecturing you while wearing fuzzy socks.”

  Sayer laughed. “At this point I think you might just want to leave your own pair here.”

  “Now”—Nana gestured around the kitchen—“you’ve got this family cobbled together with an adopted teenager you saved from a serial killer, your grumpy downstairs neighbor, a three-legged dog, and your old grandma harping at you at three in the morning.”

  “A family that I’m perfectly happy with. Why would I want someone to complicate things? Can we talk about something else? Where is this mysterious place you’re going?”

  Nana finished her last bite of mole and primly placed her fork down. “I’m heading to Montana. You know I’ve been working with that community health group downtown? Well, the CDC has asked us to come assist with a measles outbreak they’ve got in some small town up there.”

  “You’re going into the middle of a measles outbreak in Montana?”

  Nana’s face fell into the no-nonsense look Sayer recognized from her youth. The look that said, do not even try to fuck with me about this. “It’s a short-term job, just helping the doctors and local health folks get a clinic set up to do community outreach.”

  “Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

  “Says the serial killer hunter…”

  “But I mean … that’s me…” Sayer stumbled over her words. “You’re in your seventies … yo
u’re a librarian…”

  “A librarian who knows how to organize and implement large, complex systems while keeping track of everything. My skills can help people. I’m tired of doing lunch with the ladies in Georgetown.”

  “You’re tired of luncheons so you’re going to work in the middle of a medical epidemic,” Sayer said flatly.

  “Yes. The person they hired backed out last minute for personal reasons; they had my resume. Plus, I had the measles when I was little so it’s perfectly safe. And it should only take a few days.” Nana’s face softened. “Listen, I know you want me to age quietly, but I’ve only got so many good years left and I want to live them doing something that matters to me.”

  She stressed the word “me” and Sayer understood. Nana had spent her life making sure everyone else was taken care of. She was ready to live her own life a little.

  “Did you know that I wanted to be a doctor when I was young?” Nana asked.

  “I think you might’ve said something to me once.” Sayer frowned.

  “Well, when I went to college, there were still jokes about going to get your Mrs. degree, you know, find a good marriageable man. When I told my advisor that I wanted to do premed, he literally laughed at me with that pitying oh-you-silly-little-girl tone. And so I did library science like a good girl. Which gave me a career I loved, but it wasn’t my heart’s desire.”

  “I get that. I really do.” Sayer couldn’t quite understand why she was reacting so strongly to the idea of her nana going away for a few days.

  “You can’t ask me to stay here and live out my last days bored to tears.” Nana reached across the table and took Sayer’s hand.

  Sayer stared down at their intertwined fingers while the two women sat together in silence. At seventy-four, Nana was still sharp-eyed, but her skin looked paper-thin, her wrists spindly. When Sayer’s parents died in a car accident, Nana had swooped in like a force of nature, drawing Sayer and her sister in with a fierce love. The loss of her parents left a scar on her heart, but Sayer grew up knowing that she was loved and safe thanks to this woman. She realized that Nana was like a backstop, always there whenever Sayer needed her. It was time for her to stop expecting Nana to always be the caregiver.