Today, he wished it were closer. He ran a hand across his face.
“I saw something I’ve never seen before.” He looked to the ceiling. Then at his clipboard. “It’s how he did it that’s shaken me.”
He touched his notes lightly with his fingers.
“From the condition, from what I could see, he started with the right leg. I suspected he used a hacksaw. Not a surgical bone saw, because the cut would have been finer. Nevertheless, it was a clean amputation. Quite good. But he did it while she was alive, then attempted to cauterize it while he moved to the left leg. He repeated it with the arms. Cutting, then cauterizing.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to reduce blood loss so that she’d be alive and conscious of what he was doing. He had removed her limbs and wanted her to witness and experience the fact he was reducing her to a mere torso.”
“So she would’ve been conscious through all of this trauma?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She would’ve passed out, or gone in and out of consciousness from shock, but I believe she would’ve been aware.”
Kintry looked off.
“I think he removed her head as slowly as possible, so she again would be aware.”
Kintry closed his eyes.
“He tortured her first. I found a series of the letter X seared into her skin here and here.” Kintry touched his pen to a generic body sketch among his notes.
“Seared? Like branded?”
“Yes, and there was something else that was chilling. Here, over her heart, were the letters VOV.”
“VOV? What does that mean?”
“I’m just speculating, but it could be someone’s initials, a message, or a signature.”
“A signature?”
“At the outset, it appears the style of the script is late sixteenth to mid-seventeenth century. Xs were sometimes symbols of the church at war, an all-out defense of God.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“What you have here is evocative of torture techniques used by executioners during the Inquisition, against heretics, sorcerers, enemies of the faith. It looks like he used a pear, a Spanish or Venetian pear.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a metal device that emerged in the 1500s. It’s thrust into an orifice like the mouth, rectum or vagina, then enlarged with a screw mechanism. It rips away all tissue.”
Kintry tried to comprehend what he was facing.
“I’ve got to do research on his techniques and signature, which might yield a lead for you,” Pitman said. “It’s obvious the killer here wants his victim to suffer as much pain and torment as possible. And by the way he displayed her, he wants people to be aware of his work. He’s a proud artist.”
Kintry nodded.
“Brad, I don’t think this is the first time he’s done this and I don’t think it will be the last.”
“Why?”
“The cutting technique.”
“What about it?”
“He’s practiced.”
21
----
T he caller’s name was Erika.
She’d refused to give Jason any more details over the phone, except a time and place to meet.
He debated on whether he should do this. If Erika had credible information, why didn’t she call the police? Maybe she was involved. Or had a criminal record. Or was a whack job. But his rookie instincts urged him to follow this through. He had nothing to lose.
He had ninety minutes to decide.
After showering, Jason sat at his kitchen table peeling an orange while reading the Mirror ’s front page.
His story was there. Along with one by Astrid Grant on a little boy who’d survived a ten-story fall by landing on a mattress in a Dumpster. Ben Randolph had an investigative take on some city tax rip-off, and Gretchen Saunders, who’d written for the Washington Post, had a feature on Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Plenty was happening beyond Karen Harding’s story, and the other interns were scoring major play. Jason needed to keep breaking news.
Some ninety minutes later, he was sitting on a park bench holding a copy of the Mirror, as Erika had instructed. Like
“I saw something I’ve never seen before.” He looked to the ceiling. Then at his clipboard. “It’s how he did it that’s shaken me.”
He touched his notes lightly with his fingers.
“From the condition, from what I could see, he started with the right leg. I suspected he used a hacksaw. Not a surgical bone saw, because the cut would have been finer. Nevertheless, it was a clean amputation. Quite good. But he did it while she was alive, then attempted to cauterize it while he moved to the left leg. He repeated it with the arms. Cutting, then cauterizing.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to reduce blood loss so that she’d be alive and conscious of what he was doing. He had removed her limbs and wanted her to witness and experience the fact he was reducing her to a mere torso.”
“So she would’ve been conscious through all of this trauma?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She would’ve passed out, or gone in and out of consciousness from shock, but I believe she would’ve been aware.”
Kintry looked off.
“I think he removed her head as slowly as possible, so she again would be aware.”
Kintry closed his eyes.
“He tortured her first. I found a series of the letter X seared into her skin here and here.” Kintry touched his pen to a generic body sketch among his notes.
“Seared? Like branded?”
“Yes, and there was something else that was chilling. Here, over her heart, were the letters VOV.”
“VOV? What does that mean?”
“I’m just speculating, but it could be someone’s initials, a message, or a signature.”
“A signature?”
“At the outset, it appears the style of the script is late sixteenth to mid-seventeenth century. Xs were sometimes symbols of the church at war, an all-out defense of God.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“What you have here is evocative of torture techniques used by executioners during the Inquisition, against heretics, sorcerers, enemies of the faith. It looks like he used a pear, a Spanish or Venetian pear.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a metal device that emerged in the 1500s. It’s thrust into an orifice like the mouth, rectum or vagina, then enlarged with a screw mechanism. It rips away all tissue.”
Kintry tried to comprehend what he was facing.
“I’ve got to do research on his techniques and signature, which might yield a lead for you,” Pitman said. “It’s obvious the killer here wants his victim to suffer as much pain and torment as possible. And by the way he displayed her, he wants people to be aware of his work. He’s a proud artist.”
Kintry nodded.
“Brad, I don’t think this is the first time he’s done this and I don’t think it will be the last.”
“Why?”
“The cutting technique.”
“What about it?”
“He’s practiced.”
21
----
T he caller’s name was Erika.
She’d refused to give Jason any more details over the phone, except a time and place to meet.
He debated on whether he should do this. If Erika had credible information, why didn’t she call the police? Maybe she was involved. Or had a criminal record. Or was a whack job. But his rookie instincts urged him to follow this through. He had nothing to lose.
He had ninety minutes to decide.
After showering, Jason sat at his kitchen table peeling an orange while reading the Mirror ’s front page.
His story was there. Along with one by Astrid Grant on a little boy who’d survived a ten-story fall by landing on a mattress in a Dumpster. Ben Randolph had an investigative take on some city tax rip-off, and Gretchen Saunders, who’d written for the Washington Post, had a feature on Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Plenty was happening beyond Karen Harding’s story, and the other interns were scoring major play. Jason needed to keep breaking news.
Some ninety minutes later, he was sitting on a park bench holding a copy of the Mirror, as Erika had instructed. Like
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