Cut to the Bone

by Ellison Cooper

  “The Amduat is part of the third collection of texts called the underworld books. If early Egyptian funerary texts were general guidebooks, the underworld books are the in-depth maps of the afterlife. They’re way more detailed. The original title of the Amduat is ‘Treatise of the Hidden Chamber,’ but we call it the Amduat because that translates to ‘what is in the Netherworld.’ Versions of the Amduat are found on the tomb walls of pharaohs like Tuthmosis III and his son, Amenhotep II. Even famous King Tut included part of the Amduat in his tomb. It was used in tombs all the way up through the Ptolemaic period and was still being quoted in Roman-era Egypt.”

  “So why isn’t that book all over the internet like the Book of the Dead?” Ezra asked.

  “I could talk for days about how pop culture presents Egyptian heritage like it’s some kind of colonial treasure hunt. But the short version is the Amduat just doesn’t sound as cool as the Book of the Dead, I imagine.” Al flipped open the book. “I have a full translation, but it’s a rare monograph that isn’t widely available. I think I probably paid a few thousand dollars for this.”

  “A lesson on Egyptian funerary texts is fascinating and all, but why do you think our murders are related to this specific book?” Sayer asked.

  “This is where it gets interesting. See, the ancient Egyptians believed that the sun god, Re, traveled across the sky in his boat every day.” Al got up and swept his arm in an arc. “But, at dusk, he was swallowed by Nut, the goddess of the sky, and he had to make a nocturnal journey through the underworld in order to be reborn every morning. The ancient Egyptians believed that, when someone dies, their soul has to make that same journey through the underworld. According to the Amduat, that underworld consisted of twelve monster-filled chambers, one for each hour of the night. A dead soul had to make it across each of these chambers in order to reach a gate leading to the next chamber. And each of those gates was guarded by a goddess.”

  She nodded as she began to understand. “Twelve chambers, twelve gates, twelve goddesses…”

  “And twelve missing girls.” Al nodded vigorously. “The first chamber”—Al flipped to a page showing nine baboons, their arms raised toward the sun—“is called the Jubilation of the Baboons.”

  “Baboons,” Sayer repeated. She leaned in close and read the text below the picture. “‘Jubilation to Re at the gates of the earth, and praise to you who makes the blessed breathe, when you enter the gates of the Netherworld. We open for you the doors as Baboons.’”

  “The baboons welcome the dead to the afterlife,” Al said. “That was my first clue. But then I remembered who the first goddess is. She’s called the skull splitter and she uses an axe-like weapon to fight against the demons that might try to prevent Re from making it to his rebirth in the morning.”

  “Which explains the baboons and the axe with Rowena’s body.” The faint thrill of the hunt buzzed in Sayer’s chest. This felt like the first real lead in a case otherwise full of missteps and dead ends.

  “And even more convincing”—Al flipped to the next page full of five-point stars—“another aspect of the first goddess is the Starry One.”

  “Which is why Rowena was left on the star map,” Sayer said, unable to contain her own excitement. Finally something in this damn case made sense.

  “I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I was right until I heard just now that the second girl was found on the Mall,” Al explained. “The second chamber of the afterlife is a region called Wernes, a long fertile field.”

  “The Mall is basically just a grassy field,” Ezra said.

  “And she was found at the foot of the Washington Monument?” Al asked.

  “Yes,” Sayer confirmed.

  “Well, there you go. The Washington Monument is, after all, just an obelisk. Obelisks were symbols of power for Egyptian pharaohs. Obelisk is actually the Greek word, Egyptians called them tekhenu, which means sky-piercer. They’re associated directly with the star Venus, which was strongly associated with fertility and secret knowledge. So it’s the perfect symbol of the second chamber associated with fertility and secrets.”

  “And the second goddess?” Sayer asked.

  “She’s called the Wise One, but she is also two-faced, a possible betrayer,” Al said.

  “Which is why she had a line down the middle of her face.” Sayer got up to pace. “This is it! The unsub is trying to re-create the twelve chambers of this book!”

  “And I’d say that he’s cast those twelve girls as the goddesses guarding the gates,” Al said gruffly.

  Sayer’s phone buzzed with a text from the medical examiner. Tentative COD is drowning. TOD around 8:00. No other trauma.

  Another piece clicked into place. “Did you say that each chamber of the Amduat represented an hour of the night?”

  “That’s right,” Al said.

  “We know Rowena was killed sometime around seven. And Becky was killed at eight.”

  “On the hour!” Ezra said loudly.

  “Which means that a third girl will very likely be killed around nine tomorrow tonight.” Sayer stopped pacing, temporarily held in place by the thought.

  “I saved the best for last. I mean, not the best…” Al frowned at his own excitement. “That chant I listened to on that tape, it’s basically the introduction to the Amduat.”

  Sayer resumed pacing. “Okay, I’m convinced he’s using the Amduat, but the important question is, why? What kind of delusion would be feeding this?” She rubbed her worry beads, trying to form a coherent explanation.

  “That I don’t know.” Al looked down at the book. “The Amduat is basically a metaphysical map that provided knowledge about the afterlife, so maybe he thinks he’s traversing the underworld? Here, look at the last little section of the book.” He flipped open to the last page and pushed it to Sayer.

  Sayer read, “‘Whoever knows these mysteries is a well-provided spirit. Always, this person can enter and leave the netherworld. Always speaking to the living ones. Proven to be true a million times.’” She looked up. “So maybe he wants to attain immortality.”

  “I have a question,” Ezra said. “Everyone in this book looks kind of happy.”

  “Yes, this is a great honor in their minds. The dead making this journey are called the Blessed Dead because they’re beginning the final leg of their journey to immortality,” Al said. “It’s quite possible that this guy believes that he’s actually doing those girls a favor by helping them become goddesses of the night.”

  “That would explain the lack of torture or sadism. The goal isn’t to scare or hurt these girls, it’s to turn them into goddesses.” Sayer tried to fit this information together with everything else. “So, to re-create the Amduat, the unsub needed twelve girls, which explains the kidnapping. A bus full of girls was the perfect opportunity and everyone else was extraneous, so he just shot them at the abduction site. It explains the body dump locations and the way the girls were treated before and after death. It also explains the posing and the symbolism of the body displays. Hey, what about the smudges of blood on their lips? Does that mean anything to you?”

  Al nodded slowly. “I bet he’s performing the opening of the mouth ceremony.”

  “The what?” Sayer asked.

  “The opening of the mouth is the last thing a priest would do when preparing a dead body. It was a ritualized smudge of sacred oil or even blood across their lips to symbolically return the senses of the dead. Literally opening the sealed mouth so the dead could speak in the afterlife. That would actually explain why he stole a pesesh-kef from the museum.”

  “A pesesh-kef?” Sayer asked, trying to remember what it looked like from the list of stolen artifacts.

  “It was listed as a ritual wand. They’re like carved tools that were probably used to hold up the bottom jaw during the mummification process. But they were also used to perform the opening of the mouth ritual.”

  “So everything fits.” Sayer let that thought tumble around in her mind.

 
“But does any of this actually help?” Al asked.

  “It helps because it gives us a possible head start. Al, what’s the third chamber and third goddess? Maybe we can use that information to figure out where he’ll be next.”

  Al cracked a vulpine grin. Despite the late hour, his eyes looked bright with excitement. “Excellent idea. The third chamber is called the Water of Osiris, basically a watery representation of fertility based on the flooding of the Nile. The third goddess is She Who Cuts Souls. The chamber is associated with the star called the Lion by the Egyptians, what we know as the constellation Leo of the zodiac.”

  “All right. We need to figure out if there’s anywhere in D.C. that might represent water, Egyptian symbolism, and the stars, especially Leo.” Sayer gathered her thoughts. “Ezra, you get all of this to the task force and get a bunch of analysts on this. Dig deeper. Look for people who have this kind of knowledge who match our unsub. See if they can figure out possible locations for the next body dump.” Sayer remembered that former Assistant Director Holt was into D.C. architectural history and was working on a book. Maybe she would have some insight. “While you do that, I’ll check in with my own source.”

  She consulted her phone. “Whoa, it’s already one in the morning. I hate to cut things short when we’re onto such a great lead, but none of us got any sleep last night and I want us sharp tomorrow. Once we get this written up and sent out, we should all head home for a little sleep. Al, grab a hotel room nearby and we’ll cover the cost. I want you in the room with us in the morning. I’m hoping we have a busy day catching the asshole.”

  Finally feeling like they had something to go on, Sayer headed out to her motorcycle with an almost buoyant sensation in her chest. While the SWAT guys were jazzed by a raid, Sayer felt that same snap in her step when she was closing in on a killer.

  ROAD TO SAYER’S APARTMENT, ALEXANDRIA, VA

  The cold night air cut through Sayer’s riding gear as she drove home. She welcomed the sharp contrast to her warm office that felt full of oppressive emotions. Sorrow for so many dead, fear for the missing girls, and also the familiar electric sensation she always felt when she was on the hunt. Al’s information about the Amduat was the key. Now all she had to do was unlock its meaning. Why was the unsub doing this? What dark need was driving him? How could they stop him before he killed another girl at nine tomorrow night?

  Sayer tried to breathe deeply and let the rumble of her motorcycle drown out everything else. She glanced up at the bright stars and started a mindfulness exercise her therapist had suggested. Rather than obsessively replay the same questions over and over, she was supposed to take a moment away from her work and focus on things that made her feel alive.

  She pictured Vesper and Tino working together as a therapy team, trying to heal those harmed by trauma. She pictured Adi’s exuberance at being accepted to Stanford. Nana’s dedication to finding her own path. Ezra rebuilding a new life full of joy.

  She felt her shoulders relax slightly when the flash of headlight off her side mirror momentarily blinded her.

  Blinking against the burst of spots, she saw the car hanging back but matching her speed. She slowed slightly and it did as well.

  Recognition pushed her body back into high alert.

  She had no doubt that she was being followed.

  Again.

  Sayer took a deep breath but this time with calm focus.

  Why would someone follow her? They began right after she was assigned to this case. Could it be the hoaxers? The fake Agent Crenshaw that attacked Tino? Or maybe the fake bus witness? Whoever they were, she certainly didn’t want to lead them to her place.

  She gently accelerated, nothing sudden, but enough to force them to try and keep up.

  The car sped up as well.

  Sayer pictured her route home. She usually stayed on the back roads between Quantico and Alexandria, but tonight she took the highway because it had been salted. It would be impossible to lose them on the highway but she was almost to Old Town with its narrow grid of streets that she knew well. Between the late hour and the icy conditions, the area should be mostly empty.

  When she reached southern Alexandria, she casually leaned her Silver Hawk onto the exit ramp, still accelerating. Maybe she could lose them right away.

  But the car managed to exit only two blocks behind her. On the surface road, streetlights flashed along the roof of the car and she got her first clear look at it. The yellowish lights made it impossible to tell if the compact sports car was navy blue or black, but it looked like something old, maybe a vintage Porsche.

  Not government issue for sure.

  A small church was coming up on her right and Sayer made a last-second decision to swerve into the parking lot. She knew it came out into an alley behind the row houses extending in either direction.

  Her wheel skidded slightly as she made the sharp turn.

  The car sped up as it passed her. They clearly knew they couldn’t make the sharp turn behind her and were going to try and catch up as she left the alleyway.

  Heart pounding with adrenaline, she planted a foot and spun the bike in a 180 turn. Rather than head down the alley, she shot back toward the darkened church.

  Whenever Nana stayed over on the weekend, she insisted Sayer attend service with her there, which was how Sayer knew about the garage behind the tall brick building. Breath shallow, Sayer jumped off the bike and pulled up the heavy wood door. Relieved that it was unlocked as usual, she rolled the motorcycle inside. As soon as the door crashed down behind her, she heard the purr of an engine turn back into the parking lot.

  They’d realized she wasn’t in the alley.

  Headlights shone through the dirt-coated windows of the garage door, sliding over Sayer’s face. She stood rigid, listening to the car rolling slowly alongside the garage. She thought she’d made it inside in time, but she wasn’t sure if they’d seen the door closing.

  The car stopped and idled just outside.

  She quietly unsnapped her holster and slid out her gun.

  Breathing slowly, Sayer aimed at the door.

  But then the engine revved once and continued onward into the alley. It turned left and faded into the otherwise quiet night.

  Sayer remained frozen, gun trained on the door for a few minutes before she was convinced they were actually gone.

  After scanning through the window, she pulled open the garage door and stepped out into the open.

  Nothing.

  She let out a heavy breath and holstered her gun. She rolled her bike out and headed back toward the highway, eyes watching every alleyway and side street as she went.

  After another fifteen minutes riding around with no sign of her pursuer, Sayer finally drove home.

  When she turned off her Silver Hawk, her whole body jangled with the soft buzz of exhaustion layered on top of adrenaline. As Sayer climbed up the slippery stairs to her apartment, she replayed everything that had just happened. Someone was following her, but why? They didn’t seem intent on harming her. They could’ve tried to run her off the road at any time. Was it just someone keeping tabs on her?

  Just inside her front door, she said, “Keeping tabs on me…” out loud as she remembered her conversation with Subject 037. He had literally said those exact words to her.

  Considering how late it was, Sayer was genuinely surprised when he picked up her call.

  “Sayer,” he said with his overly familiar tone. “You’re calling me in the middle of the night? I thought we were only supposed to communicate at prescheduled times. Or is this a different kind of call?”

  The suggestive innuendo spiked her already-frayed temper. “Are you following me?”

  “Following you … is someone following you?” His voice was light with amusement.

  “Not funny. I know you’re keeping tabs on me somehow and I’m wondering if you’re tailing me.”

  “Wait, you think I’m actually following you? Like some old spy movie? That’s adorable.
”

  Sayer leaned her fists onto the table to prevent herself from punching something. There were few things that made her angrier than men like him talking to her like this. Unsure if she could keep her voice calm, she simply didn’t respond.

  “You think I’m, what, getting in a car and driving around in the middle of the night?” 037 asked. “While I do have an asset keeping an eye out for your nana on the ground in Montana, I can assure you that I do not go out on frigid nights like this following FBI agents around.”

  “I meant that you have one of your people following me. Because someone has sure as hell followed me from work twice now. Wait, you have someone watching my grandmother?”

  Sayer could hear 037 breathing on the phone.

  When he finally spoke, all amusement was gone from his voice. “Yes, I thought it prudent to have someone keep an eye on Sophia since she’s in militia territory. About your tail, I assure you that isn’t one of my people. When I track you, I simply use your cell phone location or IP address, both of which tell me that you’re home right now. Thanks for coming to me when you needed help. Let me find out who it is and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Wait.” Sayer tried to catch him, but he clicked off.

  She leaned back in her chair not sure what to make of his response. Maybe it really wasn’t him. And maybe he could help her figure out who it really was.

  The thought turned her stomach. On her last case, she had ended up benefiting from Subject 037’s help even though she hadn’t wanted it. Sayer knew better than to entangle herself with a man like him, but perhaps he could untangle this mess somehow. Because, between the ancient Egyptian stuff, the murdered children, the missing girls, the fake bus witness, and the phony FBI agent, Sayer had no clue what the hell was going on.

  Body thrumming with tension, she looked over at the stack of Jake files. Maybe looking through the files about her fiancé’s death would calm her down?

  She let out a sharp laugh at the absurdity of the thought. “Sure, let’s look at files about the death of a loved one as a way to wind down during a murder investigation…”