"…the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" The bailiff, a fat, red-faced man, finished his recitation in a monotone.
"I do," Dr. Azarian replied in a clear, firm voice, removing her hand from the Bible held by the bailiff and turning toward the witness box. Lee watched as she sat, her eyes on the prosecutor, waiting for his first question. Her manner was self-assured and yet entirely lacking in arrogance. He found it hard not to look at her.
The prosecutor approached her, smiling. "Would you please state your profession, Dr. Azarian?"
"I'm a forensic anthropologist." A tiny dimple danced on the end of her chin when she spoke.
"And what exactly does a forensic anthropologist do?
"I aid in the identification of victims' bodies and the causes of death through examination of their skeletons."
"So you're a bone specialist?"
"Yes."
The prosecutor plucked a photograph from the exhibit table and held it aloft.
"Exhibit A, Your Honor. If I may, I'd like to show it to the witness and then to the jury."
The judge nodded, his eyes heavy under the weight of his prodigious eyebrows. The prosecutor presented the photo to Dr. Azarian.
"Do you recognize this?"
"Yes. It's a photograph of the victim's skull."
The prosecutor passed the photo on to the jurors, whose reactions were varied. Some stared at it with fascination, others with detachment, and a few were visibly upset by it. The prosecutor retrieved the photo from the jury foreman and turned to his witness.
"Did you also have an opportunity to study the skull itself?"
"I did."
"And what conclusion did you reach as to cause of death?"
"Blunt force trauma to the head."
"And could the damage you observed have been caused by a fall?"
"No. The wounds are inconsistent with a fall. For one thing, they occur on both sides of the skull. For another, the shape and size of the indentations indicate the victim was struck by a heavy object-most probably a horseshoe."
"Like this one?"
There was a murmur from the courtroom as the prosecutor lifted a large horseshoe from the exhibit table.
"Yes. The curve of the indentations in the skull, as well as the peculiar mark made by the knob here"-she pointed to the raised edge at the crest of the U-shaped curve-"are unique."
"You might even say unmistakable?"
"Yes."
"Objection!" The defense counsel yelped, leaping to his feet. "Leading the witness!"
"Very well, Mr. Passiano-your objection is sustained," the judge replied, but his voice implied what everyone in the courtroom knew: the damage had been done. Kathy Azarian was not just a good witness, she was the prosecution's star witness, and Lee knew that anyone putting money on the defendant now was making a fool's bet. He smiled to himself and slipped out the back door of the courtroom.
When he reached the corridor, his cell phone rang. He found a quiet corner by the restrooms before answering it. He hated talking on his phone in public, and thought people who did were "coarse," as his mother would say.
"Campbell here."
"Lee?" It was Chuck Morton, and he sounded nervous.
"Yes. Chuck? What's happened?"
"Now, Lee, don't get excited, please-"
"What? What is it?"
"Now, don't call your mother until we know more-"
"It's about Laura, isn't it? What's happened?" Lee heard his own voice rising in pitch and volume, and felt himself starting to hyperventilate.
"Lee, please calm down. It may be nothing at all."
Spots danced in front of his eyes. He forced himself to take a deep breath before he spoke again. "What have you found?"
"A couple of kids came across some bones in Inwood Park."
Inwood Park was an unlikely place for a body drop, especially if Laura was abducted near her apartment in Greenwich Village, he thought.
"What makes you think it's her?"
"The medical examiner's office thinks it may be about the right age and, uh, gender, but we-uh, they-want to do a reverse DNA analysis."
Lee forced himself to breathe again, doing his best to sound professional.
"No clothing or other identifying-"
Chuck interrupted him. "No, nothing. But if we can get DNA samples from you and your mother-"
"Yeah, I know how it works. I'll be right there."
"Wait-I'm not in my office. I'm at the ME's office."
"Okay. Be right there."
He turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, but his hand was trembling and sweaty, and the phone slid from his hand, clattering to the floor. It skidded across the smooth tiled floor and came to rest at the feet of Dr. Katherine Azarian.
"You dropped your phone," she said, picking it up.
"Uh, thanks," Lee mumbled, taking it from her.
"No problem," she said, and continued on toward the ladies' room. She carried a cream-colored lamb's wool overcoat in one hand and a leather briefcase in the other.
"Uh-wait!" he cried.
"Excuse me?" She turned back to face him, her expression wary.
"Please-please just wait a second. I'm with the NYPD-" Lee fumbled for his ID, trying desperately to keep her from leaving.
"I knew that," she said. "You don't have to show me your ID." She smiled, revealing teeth that were unreasonably white. They gleamed like polished porcelain, and Lee found himself staring at them, unable to look away.
"How did you-"
"Oh, please," she said. "I've been around them long enough to be able to spot one at a hundred paces."
"Oh, okay," Lee said. "I just saw you testify in court, and-"
"Oh? Are you on that case?"
"No, no. I just had some time to kill-but that's not important. I want to ask you something." In this light, her eyes were the color of roasted almonds, and rimmed with thick, dark lashes. "Would you-would you possibly be willing to help identify a body?"
She cocked her head to one side and shifted her backpack to the other shoulder. "Well, that's what I do. Do you mean right now?"
"Are you finished testifying?"
"Yes."
"Then right now-unless you have other plans."
She laughed. "They can wait. You seem very anxious to have your answer. Where is this body?"
"At the medical examiner's office."
"Okay-I have some time to kill, too, actually," she said, putting on her coat and gloves. Her hands were small and fine, delicate as the hands of a child, with perfectly manicured pink fingernails. He couldn't imagine those hands in a laboratory, handling the gruesome remains of murder victims. "When did this body turn up?" she said, buttoning her coat.
"I just found out about it."
"One of your cases?"
"Sort of. It-it may be my sister."
She stopped midway through putting on her second glove. "Oh my God. What happened to her?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out. She disappeared five years ago."
"I'm so sorry to hear it. I hope I can be of some help."
"Thanks."
"Okay, let's go," she said.
"What about-?" Lee said, glancing toward the bathroom.
"It can wait."
As they left the courtroom a brisk wind was blowing from the west, and Lee pulled his coat tighter around his neck. He looked at Katherine Azarian, who had flung a hand skyward in hopes of snagging one of the yellow cabs barreling up Center Street. Even flagging a cab, she looked confident, authoritative.
She glanced at her watch. "This is a lousy time to try for a cab. I think we should take the bus. It's not far."
"Okay."
"There's a stop for the M15 right around the corner at Chatham Square."
He followed her, bent forward against the wind, past the Tombs, with their stark vertical stone walls, the long grim columns rising like the Death Star from the streets below. They hurried past the statue of Lin Zexu, t
he Fujian hero who defied the British, standing tall on his pedestal in the center of the square. He looked cold, draped in his gray granite robes, gazing northeast toward the rising sun, his stone face shielded by a broad-brimmed hat. Across from the statue stood the Republic National Bank, with its flashy red-tipped pagoda, marking the entrance to the heart of Chinatown. Another time, he might have thought it charming, but right now, to Lee, the color red only evoked one thing: blood.
Chapter Seventeen
The medical examiner's office was housed in a stolid, bland structure typical of the 1960s genre of institutional buildings. Dull and functional, its rectangular glass windows were bordered by metal rims set in a featureless brick facade.
Just down the block from the Victorian opulence of Bellevue Hospital, with its dark red brick, heavy, ornate balustrades, and carved gargoyles hanging from ivy-covered eaves, the ME's building was like the prim Lutheran cousin who came to visit for the weekend and ended up staying.
They entered the lobby, with its scuffed yellow plastic chairs and cheap carpeting. Within these bland walls were the laboratories and autopsy rooms filled with corpses of people who had been drowned, poisoned, shot, stabbed, beaten, and hacked to death.
The desk attendant wasn't sure which direction to send them, so they headed for the main autopsy room. Standing in front of a glass window so clean it was invisible, they looked around for a medical examiner or lab technician, but the room was empty of all living beings, quiet as a tomb. The only occupants were half a dozen bodies on steel gurneys, in various stages of decay. Even the pressed white sheets covering them couldn't hide the ravages of death on the human body-here a livid arm protruded, there a brown stain seeped through the pristine covering.
Lee looked away. At least Laura, when they found her, would be nothing more than clean white bones, none of this messy and gruesome horror. He looked at Kathy, but her face was grim and unreadable. Maybe she didn't like seeing corpses any more than he did.
Chuck Morton came walking down the long hallway with his cell phone to his ear. He waved at Lee and said into the phone, "Look, I've got to go. I'll call you later." He put the phone in his breast pocket and approached them with a rueful expression. "Missing soccer again. Afraid I'm not much of a dad lately." Seeing Kathy, he held out his hand. "Chuck Morton, Captain, Bronx Major Case Unit."
She shook his hand. "Katherine Azarian, forensic pathologist. I'm just here to give my opinion, for what it's worth."
"Oh, yes, I've heard of you. You're out of Philadelphia, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm here testifying in the Lorenzo case."
"Right, right-the skeleton that turned up in Queens." He turned to Lee, his face apologetic.
"I'm sorry to call you here like this. It could be there's no connection, but I just thought-"
"It's all right," Lee answered. "I'm glad you called. Where is…" She? It? He couldn't bring himself to say either word, so his sentence trailed off into thin air.
"Elaine's just bringing the…uh, remains…from the main morgue." Chuck also seemed to have trouble finding the right words.
Lee swallowed, his Adam's apple tight and dry in his throat.
A short blond woman with a tight pixie face came down the hall wheeling a metal gurney. Under the white sheet was the clear outline of a skeleton. Lee forced himself to concentrate on his breathing as the woman wheeled the gurney into the autopsy room. The three of them followed her, and Lee wasn't prepared for the smell as the door opened. In spite of the strong odor of disinfectant, as well as formaldehyde and various other laboratory chemicals, the stench lingered underneath, clinging to his nostrils with a noxious insistence, causing a deep, instinctive repulsion.
It was the smell of death.
"This is Elaine Margolies," Chuck said, introducing the blond woman. "She's chief assistant medical examiner."
Elaine Margolies was all business. "A couple of boys came across this in some caves in the woods in Inwood Park, called it in. Cops took photos of the scene and then brought it in."
"I've seen the photos, and they're not very revealing," Chuck Morton commented.
Kathy Azarian wasn't listening. "May I have a look?" she asked Elaine.
Lee held his breath as Margolies lifted the sheet, revealing a nearly complete human skeleton, clean except for a few bits of dirt and leaves still clinging to it.
"Well, it's definitely female," she concluded after a brief glance.
"And in remarkably good condition, considering," Elaine Margolies agreed. "Not much evidence of any molestation by animals."
"Well, that makes sense-there isn't much in Inwood Park other than squirrels," Morton remarked, glancing at Lee to see how he was taking it.
Lee looked down at the bones. If this really was his sister, he could handle it, seeing her this way-better this way than one of the bloated, oozing corpses on the other gurneys.
But Kathy Azarian shook her head. "This isn't your sister."
Morton frowned. "How can you tell?"
"Development of the pelvic bone. This girl was no more than fifteen when she died. In more mature individuals," she continued, "there is considerably more development of the pelvic bone. Not only that," she said to Lee, "you told me that your sister had given birth?"
"Yes," Lee said. "She has-had-a daughter." He remembered now talking incessantly on the bus all the way up First Avenue, rattling on as if filling up the air between them would make the ride go faster. He could barely remember what he had said, but he knew he had mentioned Kylie at least once, and the fact that she was living with her father.
"This is not the body of a woman in her twenties," Kathy said, "much less one who has given birth. Absolutely not."
Chuck Morton rubbed a hand over his short buff of blond hair. Lee thought he looked relieved.
"Well," he said. "You're sure, huh?"
"Positive," she replied.
The tension drained from the room like water from a sieve. Lee knew at that moment that he wasn't that different from his mother after all: as long as no body surfaced, in the back of his head there was still a tiny seed of hope, ready to burst into bloom.
He looked at Chuck Morton. To his surprise, his old friend was sweating.
Chuck's cell phone rang-a jaunty Latin melody that was a jarring contrast to the solemn surroundings.
"Hello?" He listened and then said, "Okay, thanks for telling me."
He hung up, his face grim.
"I'm afraid there's some bad news."
"What is it?" said Lee.
"Father Michael Flaherty is dead. Hanged himself."
"Oh, God."
"There's a suicide note. He apologizes for his sexual behavior."
"But that's it? No mention of-?"
"No."
Neither of them said what they were both thinking: they were back to square one. And Lee had another uncomfortable thought: what if the bones on the table in front of him belonged to an even earlier victim of the Slasher?
Chapter Eighteen
The woods lay silent all around him, the tree branches hanging low over the winding stream, their leaves a lush canopy of gold and green, hiding him, protecting him from the inquisitive, prying eyes of people who might judge him.
He stood looking at the running brook, at the soft clear water burbling over the stones in its path. He was like the water, gliding over the rocks and pebbles in his path, smoothing them over time until they became rounded, the rough edges now as curved as the white limbs of the women he had rescued.
They had to be saved from the path they were choosing before it was too late. He was the only one who could save them-except the Master, of course. They both understood the importance of purity, and he had kept himself pure: unblemished, clean and clear as the water running so swiftly over the stones lining the brook. It was a heavy burden to bear-at times almost intolerable-but the importance of his work drove him onward.
He lay down upon the stones and let the purifying water flow over him. It was icy
cold, but he didn't mind. It helped to quench the fire raging in his soul. He closed his eyes and let the pictures float through his mind like the running water over his skin. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images of their faces were there, in his mind's eye, one face melting into another, their features weaving in an endless tapestry of memory and desire…
He had conquered desire, overcome his own lust for these women by an act of willpower, to follow a purer impulse. The Master understood the importance of saving a soul, by stopping the sinner before she could sin again.
And what if they had desired him, these women with their soft white skin and doelike eyes, eyes that widened and filled with terror as he bent over them, applying his hands to their necks, bearing down with just enough force to cut off their breath, then watching, waiting, as the last breath left their body, watching for that moment when the soul made its escape, set free from the prison of the body, to fly-fly up and away through the ether and into the waiting arms of the Lord. And then the ritual of cutting the Lord's words into their dead flesh, consecrating them even as they lay before him, their bodies still warm…
A smile moved across his face just as a tiny silver water snake slid by, brushing its shiny skin against his trouser leg. He was unaware of the snake, but perhaps he felt its presence, because he shivered as he thought of all the work he had yet ahead of him.
He thought about the girls, alluring and fresh… He catalogued their charms one by one: the soft shimmer of their hair, their gentle eyes and pliant bodies, the tender fullness of their young breasts.
He rose from where he lay, brushing stray twigs from his clothes, and shook himself as a dog might, flinging water in all directions. The droplets spun and twirled in the sunlight filtering through the trees, catching the light and turning into a thousand tiny prisms. Once again he was struck by the pristine beauty of the woods-the one place he could go without the defiling presence of human beings. He took a deep breath and walked back in the direction he had come from. The comforting jangling of the keys hanging from his belt made him smile, and his hand closed around the freshly sharpened knife tucked away in his pocket.
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