Page 39 of Sharp Force (Kay Scarpetta #29)

Shining a flashlight, I notice a laceration on the inside of her lower lip.

The injury is what I expect when an assailant clamps his hand over the victim’s mouth, smashing the lips against teeth.

The edges of the wound are inflamed and bloody, consistent with her receiving the injury while still alive.

“He tried to silence her,” I tell Marino. “It appears he covered her mouth with his hand, and he might have done it first. That could be what woke her up.”

I begin swabbing under the fingernails, short and neatly squared, the cotton tips turning red. I place them into a paper envelope that Marino labels, tucking it into the scene case. Taking off my bloody gloves, I swap them for fresh ones.

“Before I start swabbing for DNA, I’d like to take a look at what’s fluorescing.” I return to the doorway.

Marino selects a handheld crime scene light from the case of them. We put on orange-tinted goggles, and he turns off the overhead chandelier, the room swallowed by blackness. The sticky sound of our walking on the paper mats seems unnaturally loud, the crime light’s lens glowing purple.

I begin painting the body with ultraviolet light an inch at a time, starting with the head. Blood shows as a black void in UV. But when I shine the light on the lower face, a dusting of something blazes red.

“Well, now we know the source for sure,” I tell Marino in the dark. “The killer. He must have had whatever this residue is on his gloves and transferred it when he clamped his hand over her mouth.”

I swab the fluorescing residue, and it glows as if red hot on the cotton tip. I place the swab inside a paper envelope Marino holds open. Next, I direct the light at the oat-colored upholstered chair in a corner. A vaguely rectangular shape lights up the same iridescent red.

This residue also fluoresces on the carpet in the hallway. The bright red shapes look like partial footprints with no tread, consistent with someone wearing shoe covers the same way we are.

Lights back on, and I’m startled by Benton waiting near the stairs, a small black Pelican case in hand. He’s suited up the same way we are, covered head to toe in white Tyvek.

“Clark Givens is waiting outside with the laser scanner,” he lets us know. “And Fabian’s in the van. He gave me your medical kit, and I put it in the car.” Benton says this to me.

“We’re almost ready to move her,” I reply. “Maybe another thirty minutes.”

Opening the Pelican case, I lift out a Raman spectrometer not much bigger than my cell phone. I attach the fiber optic connector. The three of us put on the orange-tinted plastic goggles, and Marino cuts the overhead light again.

He directs the UV light as I point the Raman’s laser beam at the area on the chair glowing fiery red. Seconds later, a spectrogram and chemical formulas appear in the illuminated display.

C55H74MgN4O5 + CaCO3

“I don’t know what that is.” Benton’s voice sounds.

“No clue.” Marino types on his phone glowing in the dark.

“I recognize calcite but not the other,” I tell them.

“Chlorophyll,” Marino says. “According to my friend Google, because I’m not talking to Janet. Let’s see how she likes that, right? A dose of her own medicine.”

He turns on the bedroom light again.

“Chlorophyll? As in the green stuff in plants?” Benton asks me this.

“What would seem to be a powder form of it,” I reply. “Plus calcite, the mineral name of calcium carbonate. The residue is a mixture.”

“We sure it’s a powder? Could this stuff have been in a liquid form and spilled?” Marino scowls at the esoteric science of it all.

He’ll be the first to tell you that during high school he and chemistry were mortal enemies. That and math. Also, physics. And he once said he’d rather poke himself in the eye than read about computer science.

“I wouldn’t think the compound was in a liquid form,” I tell him. “It makes more sense that a very fine powder could have been transferred by the killer without him being aware.”

We step out into the hallway, and I check the fluorescing residue on the carpet. The reading is the same.

C55H74MgN4O5 + CaCO3

“We’ll verify in the labs,” I reply. “But somehow a powdered form of chlorophyll and calcite ended up on the hall runner and a bedroom chair. Also on Georgine Duvall’s face.

Implying it was on the killer’s gloves. Likely also on his feet or whatever he covered them with. PPE, since we suspect he’s wearing it.”

“And he must have set something on the bedroom chair, perhaps his murder kit,” Benton adds. “But why would the killer be carrying a residue like this on his person and belongings?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “But it would appear he’s exposed to it for some reason at home, maybe at his workplace or wherever else he frequents.”

“I don’t get it,” Marino says. “Chlorophyll, calcite? Maybe it’s an error.”

“I doubt it. This thing’s pretty reliable.” Powering off the Raman spectrometer, I place it back inside the heavy-duty plastic case.

“It says here that powdered chlorophyll is a dietary supplement used by people with skin conditions and cancer.” Marino is looking at his phone, googling again, refusing to ask Janet. “It’s used for wound healing and all sorts of other things. And calcite is in antacids and vitamins. Also cement.”

“The powder could be some type of nutritional supplement,” I suggest. “Perhaps something the killer adds to his diet.”

“Maybe he’s having health problems,” Benton contemplates.

“Good,” Marino snorts. “Hopefully the asshole’s dying.”

“I wonder if Zain had this mixture of powdered chlorophyll and calcite on him before he was driven away in the ambulance?” Benton questions.

“I didn’t see anything like that in the kitchen,” I reply. “The only nutritional supplements I noticed were in the pantry. The usual multivitamins. Nothing that could account for this residue.”

“Nothing like that is in his bedroom either. I didn’t see any vitamins or supplements.” Benton lets us know he’s been scoping out the house.

I didn’t hear him when he was walking around. My husband is gifted at coming and going like a shadow.

“We’ll test his clothing, his shoes,” I explain. “I’ll bring a UV light with me when we go to the hospital. Zain’s wounds will have been cleaned but most likely he won’t have showered.”

“What I’m not seeing is a drone of any kind,” Marino says. “But he’s got remote controls on his desk upstairs that could be for one and also gaming.”

I’m reminded of the device the state trooper attached to the underside of our Tesla. Someone could have hacked in using a gaming or drone controller, sending us into head-on traffic or over a cliff.

“I understand you found a crashed drone.” Marino asks Benton about it. “Dana Diletti’s, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping the Slasher’s drone might have taken a nosedive.” Marino has his gloves off, typing a text on his phone.

“Unfortunately, not that we’ve found,” Benton says. “One of Dana Diletti’s drones is badly damaged, and the other went into the river and hasn’t been recovered.”

“What else have you been finding out?” I ask him.

“It would seem that Georgine or someone hides a key in a fake rock that was beneath boxwoods to the left of the front door,” he tells us. “The fake rock is empty. The key isn’t there. The question is when it disappeared.”

“That’s probably how the Slasher’s gotten into the other victims’ places,” Marino says.

“It’s exactly what I thought. Except if Zain did it, he didn’t need a key this time, now did he?

Maybe he removed the spare from the fake rock to make it appear the killer did it.

Maybe he staged everything we’re seeing. ”

“Not the residue we’re finding,” I reply. “I suspect the killer has no idea he left that. Especially since we’ve not found it in the other murders. But for some reason, he was exposed to whatever this is, and transferred it here.”

We pull up our Tyvek hoods, looking like ghosts as we return to the bedroom. Flipping up my face shield, I put on the LED magnifiers. I begin examining the bite marks on the breasts and swabbing them for DNA.

“There’s very little tissue response, no bruising or swelling.” I explain what I’m seeing.

“The same was true in the earlier cases.” Benton looks on as Marino takes photographs.

I turn over the body, blood spilling from multiple stabs and slashes. I check her back, and she has three bite marks on her buttocks, one of them savage enough that a chunk of flesh is barely attached.

“As you’re likely aware, the basement here is below ground.” Benton picks up the bloody pajama top from the bed, holding it up, looking at it. “The locked door opens into an area about the size of a closet. Inside it is another door that leads out to the riverfront. But there’s also a tunnel.”

“How did you unlock the door leading to it?” Marino asks. “When I searched the basement, the door was deadbolted. I couldn’t open it.”

“While I was wandering around the house, I tried her keys that were in the kitchen.” Benton is looking at the pajama bottoms. “One of them opens the door leading to the tunnel.”

He explains that tunnels connect the former outbuildings to the hospital. All thirteen of them that are now expensive residences.

“You’re telling us there’s a tunnel connecting this house to the hospital.” Marino lets that sink in.

“Not only to the hospital but also the fitness center.” Benton returns the pajama bottoms to the bed. “I counted at least fifteen stab holes,” he says to me.

“More than that. Twenty-two on the pajama top alone,” I tell him.

“Christ,” Benton mutters.

He watches as I swab another bite wound for DNA. I’m not hopeful, the odor of bleach powerful.

“Are all thirteen of the houses connected to the fitness center, the original site of the cemetery that was dug up?” I ask Benton.

“No, only this one,” he explains. “And what that suggests is the tunnel originally led to some type of building on the cemetery.”

“Possibly a mortuary,” I suggest. “A lot of old cemeteries had buildings where bodies could be prepared for burial.”

I suggest that long ago if a patient died, the body might have started out here in the chapel for the service. Afterward, it could have been transported to the cemetery mortuary by way of the tunnel.

“That’s what the basement door is for,” Benton replies. “On the other side is the tunnel connecting this house with the hospital and the fitness center. Anybody staying here could visit both without ever stepping outside.”

“I wonder if that could explain the killer not realizing there were two people staying here?” I question. “Assuming that’s what happened.”

“Especially if Zain was borrowing Georgine’s car much of the time,” Benton suggests. “He might have thought he was surveilling Georgine coming and going in her Cadillac. When it was actually Zain driving it.”

“Adding to the confusion is that the two of them were about the same size,” Marino adds. “And Zain has long hair.”

“I don’t remember being told about the tunnel when we were shown this place five years ago,” I say to Benton. “But it was obvious we weren’t interested in buying.”

“The crime scene unit’s already searching the tunnel,” he says. “I walked through it with them, a lot of dusty old rooms that once were treatment areas. It leads directly to the administrative wing of the hospital.”

As I listen, I’m seeing something strange. Using plastic tweezers, I grip a white cylindrical object embedded deep in a bite wound on the left buttock. I extract what looks like a snapped-off animal incisor.

I hold it up to the light, and it’s polished smooth, about half an inch long and sharply pointed.

“What the hell?” Marino says in amazement. “It looks like a freakin’ vampire fang. Or a fang from a wild animal.”

“Definitely not real. Fake like special effects teeth actors wear,” I observe. “Something like acrylic, maybe three-D printed. Explaining the weird bite marks we’ve been finding.”

“He’s biting his victims with fake teeth?” Marino is incredulous and spooked at the same time.

“Part of his elaborate sexually violent fantasies,” Benton says. “A new one for the books.”

He looks on as I drop the bloody broken fake tooth into a small cardboard evidence box Marino holds open for me.

“This is someone with rituals that mean something intensely personal to him,” Benton continues. “He does the same thing every time. Only the violence is escalating. He’s getting more out of control.”

“Definitely the Slasher,” Marino says. “Whoever killed her also killed the other three.”

“I agree,” Benton says.

“Since the fake tooth was embedded deep in tissue, maybe the bleach didn’t get to it,” I tell them. “Maybe we’ll be lucky with DNA for once.”

“We need to find out what kind of crap Zain’s been buying off the internet,” Marino says.

“Already being looked into,” Benton says. “Every purchase he’s been making. And agents are searching his apartment in Williamsburg as we speak.”

“Are they finding anything interesting?” Marino looks at him. “Maybe a three-D printer? Maybe extra sets of fake teeth? Maybe bottles of lab-grade bleach?”

“Nothing like that,” Benton replies.

“If you’re about ready,” Marino says to me, “I’ll get her moved out and into the van. Clark Givens can help. Then he can do his thing with the laser scanner while Fabian drives the body to the office. Doug Schlaefer’s there waiting with bells on.”

“The linens go in with her. Same thing we’ve done before.” I step out of the bedroom. “When the body is in transit, let Doug know. He can get started right away charting her injuries. That’s going to take a while.”

I’m curious about her gastric contents, also what’s in her small intestine. I want a STAT alcohol level, I explain, as Marino sends a text with my instructions.

“If you’re done in here, I want to show you something,” Benton says to me. “Zain’s bedroom.”

“You go ahead, Doc,” Marino replies as if I need his permission. “I’m heading outside to deal with Fabian and Clark.”