The Web by Jonathan Kellerman Page B

of
the head and the back and the legs, not the genitalia or the
breasts. Then there’s the multiple organ theft—coring out
the femur to remove the marrow. It sounds ghoulish—almost
ritualistic.”
    He smiled sourly. “The kind of thing some primitive
native
would do?”
    “I was thinking more of a satanic rite. .   .   .
Were any satanic symbols left behind?”
    “None that we found.”
    “Does
the killing bear the mark of some sort of
ritual?”
    He rubbed his bald head, took a thick, black fountain
pen out of his pocket, uncapped it and inspected the nub.
    “What do you know about cannibalism, Alex?”
    “Mercifully little.”
    “Conducting the autopsy brought to mind things I’d heard
about when I was stationed in Melanesia back in the fifties.”
    He put the pen back, uncrossed his legs, and rubbed a bony
knee.
    “The sad truth is, from an historical perspective,
eating human flesh isn’t a cultural aberration. On the
contrary, it’s culturally entrenched. And I don’t mean just
the so-called primitive continents. Old Teuton had its
menschenfresser
s; there’s a grotto in Chavaux in France,
on the banks of the Meuse, where archaeologists found heaps of
hollowed-out human leg and arm bones—your early Gallic
gourmets. The ancient Romans and Greeks and Egyptians consumed
each other with glee, and certain Caledonian tribes wandered the
Scottish countryside for centuries turning shepherds into
two-legged supper.”
    He started to sit back, then grimaced violently.
    “Are you all right?” I said.
    “Fine, fine.” He touched his neck. “A crick—slept
the wrong way. .   .   . Where was I—ah, yes,
patterns of anthropophagy. The most common motive, believe it or
not, is
nutrition—
the quest for protein in
marginal societies. However, when alternative sources are provided,
sometimes the preference endures: “tender as dead man’ was once
high praise among the old tribes of Fiji. Cannibalism can also be
a military tactic or part of a spiritual quest: ingesting one’s
own ancestors in order to incorporate their benevolent spirits.
Or a combination of the two: eating the enemy’s brain grants
wisdom; his heart, courage; and so on. But despite all this
diversity, there are fairly consistent procedural
patterns—
decapitation, removal of vital organs,
shattering the long bones for marrow. As the Bible says, “The blood
is the soul.”’
    He tapped the file in his lap. Looked at me
expectantly.
    “You think this woman was killed to be eaten?” I said.
    “What I’m saying is her wounds were consistent with
classic cannibalistic practices. But there are also
in
consistencies: her heart, typically considered a
delicacy, was left intact. Skulls are frequently taken as trophies
and preserved, yet hers was left behind. I suppose both could be
explained in terms of time pressure—the killer may have
been forced to leave the beach before finishing the job. Or
perhaps—and I think this is the best guess—he was
just a psychopathic deviant
mimicking
some ancient
rite.”
    “Or someone who’d watched the wrong movie,” I said.
    He nodded. “The world we live in   .   .   .”
    Finishing the job.
    I pictured the gentle waves of the lagoon, the arc of a
long blade cutting the moonlight. “What he did to her took
quite a bit of time. What’s your estimate?”
    “At least an hour. The human femur’s a sturdy thing.
Can you imagine sitting there working at sawing it free?”
He shook his head. “Repulsive.”
    “Why’d you suggest to Laurent that he not publicize the
details?”
    “Both as a means of concealing facts only the killer
would know and in order to maintain public safety. Tempers
were already running high, rumors spreading. Can you imagine
what the notion of a cannibal sailor would have done?”
    “So the villagers still don’t know.”
    “No one knows, other than you, Dennis, and myself.”
    “And the murderer.”
    He winced. “I know I can trust you to keep it