Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

“Roofied him—that’s the lure—then knocked him out in order to get him where he/she/they wanted him. The roofie? The killer would consider that justice. It was one of his favored tools in what’s looking like serial rape.”

“Ah, so a bad end for a bad man. From the ligature marks on his wrists—you see here?”

“Yeah, clear enough.”

“He was hung by the wrists, arms above the head, as you deduced on-site. His weight caused the restraints to dig into his flesh, and also put considerable strain on his rotator cuffs, arms, shoulders. There are, as you also noted, no defensive wounds. He would have been incapable of attempting to defend himself. The facial injuries, some from a weighted sap, some from an electric prod. Much the same with the torso, the back, the legs. Some wounds, the prod straight on, like a jab, others a lash, like a whip. All would have been excruciating. The prod had to be on high voltage to cause burns this severe.”

As a matter of routine, Morris picked up two pairs of microgoggles. “The torture, given the extent of the wounds, went on for between three and four hours. He would have lost consciousness off and on. There were traces of Alert on and in his nostrils.”

“No fun torturing an unconscious man.”

“No indeed. He was still alive when his genitals were—quite efficiently—severed with a sharp blade.”

“Medical training? A scalpel?”

“Medical training’s possible, or someone who spent some time practicing. A sure hand, in any case. But the blade used wouldn’t have been a scalpel. You’re more likely to be looking for a knife with a slight rise in the center of the blade. See here.”

He put on the goggles, leaned over the body, so Eve did the same.

“Not a hesitation mark,” he pointed out, “not a stop and start again, but the slight deviation in the blade, cutting across the root of the penis.” He swiped a hand to demonstrate.

“Hold it up, lop it off.”

“In plain words, yes. A killing blade, but also, I think, ornamental. Perhaps ceremonial.”

“Ceremonial would fit. Same method on his balls. Not going to leave him anything.”

“Punishment for the rapist. You’re thinking one of his victims or someone attached to one.”

“It leans that way. So far. Did you read the poem?”

“I did. Lady Justice. Well, hell has no fury, after all.”

“If there is a hell, he’s burning in it now, so he probably figures there’s plenty of fury.”

She took off the goggles, laid them aside. “Opinion. Could a woman have done this, alone?”

He sipped Pepsi contemplatively. “He’s not a big man, tall but slim. A woman strong and determined enough, I’d say yes, it’s possible.”

“Hanging him up by the wrists. Could’ve used a pulley system.”

“Yes, and a dolly and ramps to move him in and out of a vehicle. Quite a lot of physical labor, but … hell’s fury.”

“Yeah.” But she pointed to the mutilated genitals. “Seems to me hell’s fury isn’t usually so precise. Thanks for the tube.”

“Anytime at all. Enjoy the sunshine while you can.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” she said as she left.

Morris looked down at the body. “Well, Nigel, what do you say we close you up now?”

5

When Eve walked into her bullpen, Jenkinson’s tie du jour scorched her corneas. His way to celebrate almost spring, apparently, equaled a forest of Peabody’s daffodils—these infused with sulfuric acid—over a field of Venusian green grass.

She winced, turned away to save herself.

“Peabody, my office.”