Thenext minute took somewhere around an hour for Jessica and Byrne. They bothpaced, neither of them having anything to say. They heard more rustling, thenNicci put the phone back up to her ear.

    'Jess?'

    'Yeah,Nicci,' Jessica said. 'Is there a tattoo?'

    'Thereis,' Nicci said. 'It's a tattoo of a swan. A tiny blue swan. It's on the indexfinger of his left hand.'

    Someonewas on a rampage in the city of Philadelphia and every resource had to besummoned to stop him. The fact that the body of Kenneth Beckman had been founda half-block from an elementary school put two other agencies on alert.Personnel had already been dispatched to Washington Elementary.

    Overthe next few hours the apparatus of an investigation handling multiple murderswould gear up around them. Off-duty detectives would be called in, varioussections of the forensic lab would be put on alert.

    'Canyou take a picture of the tattoo and send it to me?' Jessica asked.

    'Sure,'Nicci said.

    A fewminutes later, Jessica received the image on her cellphone. She put it next tophotos of Kenneth and Sharon Beckman that had been taken. The tattoo was in thesame style. She got online to the World Ink site, put the word 'swan' in thesearch box, hit Enter. Soon a page came up with six different images ofstylized swan tattoos. The third tattoo was a perfect match.

    MichaelDrummond arrived at five-thirty. The ADA had news for them.

    'BeforeI left the office I heard from World Ink's legal department, which, for all Iknow, might have been a lawyer working out of his car,' Drummond said. Hepulled out a fax, handed a copy to Jessica.

    'Itturns out that you can buy these tattoos a la carte, with a minimum of sixtattoos in the order. They searched their database and discovered that, in thepast year, they had sold only one package that contained the first two tattooswe found on the victims - the lion and the rooster.'

    Drummondpulled out another fax.

    'Theymailed the package to a post-office box in Jersey City, New Jersey, whichturned out to be a remailer. From there it went to a USPS box in Allentown.'

    Thismeant that, for the moment, their most promising avenue of the investigationwas blocked. Getting information on who rented a PO Box presented a whole newset of challenges. Anytime you dealt with a federal agency the red tape wasmassive. On this they would have to bring in the postal inspectors.

    Drummondglanced at the notes in Jessica's notebook.

    'Sothere's been a third murder,' he said. It was a statement, not a question.

    Jessicapicked up her iPhone, showed Drummond the photo of the victim, as well as theclose-up of the tattoo. Drummond scanned the pictures, then looked at hiswatch. 'All right. I know where the judges will be drinking in about an hour.I'll catch them between their second and third martinis.' He gathered hispapers. 'Speaking of martinis, are you coming to my party, Jess?'

    Jessicahad forgotten all about it. She hoped it didn't show on her face. 'Of course.Looking forward to it.'

    'I'llget on the feds.' Drummond smiled, held up his phone. 'I'll call you later.'

    Ten minuteslater, with everything printed off, Jessica and Byrne stood in front of thematerial. There was no question that the tattoos purchased from World Ink werethe same tattoos found on the victims.

    Thebad news was that, according to the material they had just received fromDrummond, in the packet of tattoos mailed to their killer there were five othertattoos. Turtle, donkey, elephant, kangaroo, and fish.

    Eighttattoos in all. The thought was chilling.

    Wouldthere be eight murders?

Chapter 24

    Thehouse in Lexington Park was nearly empty, save for the hundred or so boxesstacked in the attic, upper hallway, living room and kitchen. The furniture wasgone. The dining-room chandelier, an heirloom passed down from Jessica's grandmother,had been carefully packed and spirited away, as had all her mother'scut-crystal goblets.

    Threedozen people crowded the first floor, eating wings and crab fries fromChickie's and Pete's. Among them were a who's who from the police department,crime lab and district attorney's office. Chits cashed, favors recalled,Jessica had been batting her eyelashes for weeks; Vincent had been twistingarms, sometimes literally, for months.

    Alsodownstairs were Jessica's father Peter Giovanni, most of her cousins, ColleenByrne and her friend Laurent, Byrne's father Paddy. Just about everyone whocould be roped in was in attendance.

    Byrnearrived a little late.

    Jessicaand Byrne stood at the top of the stairs, at the entrance to the attic. Beforethem was arrayed a roomful of boxes.

    'Wow,'Byrne said.

    'I'ma total pack rat, aren't IP'

    Byrnelooked around, shrugged. 'It's not that bad. I've seen worse. Remember the oldlady on Osage, the one with two hundred cats?'

    'Thanks.'

    Jessicanoticed some hair on Byrne's shoulder. She reached over, brushed it off.

    'Didyou get a haircut?'

    'Yeah,'he said. 'I popped in and got a trim.'

    'Youpopped in?'

    'Yeah.No good?'

    'No,it looks fine. It's just that I've never "popped in" for a haircut.It takes me four to six weeks to make the decision, then it's another month ofdoubt, steering committees, estimates, near misses, appointments cancelled atthe last second. It's a life-changing event for me.'

    'Well,it's pretty much a haircut for me.'

    'Youhave it so easy.'

    'Ohyeah,' Byrne said. 'My life's a Happy Meal.'

    Jessicalifted a few boxes that were, mercifully, light. At least she had taken tolabeling things in the past few years. This one read ST. PATRICK'S DAY ORNAMENTS. She did not remember ever buying or displaying St.Patrick's Day ornaments. It looked like she was going to keep them nonetheless,so she could not use them in the future. She put the box by the top of thestairs, turned back.

    'Let meask you something,' she said.

    'Shoot.'

    'Howmany times have you moved in the last ten years?'

    Byrnethought for a few moments. 'Four times,' he said. 'Why?'

    'Idon't know. I guess I was just wondering if you're still hanging onto a bunchof completely pointless, useless crap.'

    'No,'Byrne said. 'Everything I have is absolutely necessary. I'm a Spartan.'

    'Right.You should know that I once talked to Donna about this very thing.'

    'Uh-oh.'

    Inthe past few years Jessica and Byrne's ex-wife Donna had become good friends.

    'Ohyeah. And she said that when you guys were married, and you moved from theapartment into your house, the first thing you packed was your Roger Ramjetnightlight.'

    'Hey!That was a safety issue, okay?'

    'Uh-huh.Still have it?'

    'I donot,' Byrne said. 'I have a Steve Canyon nightlight now. Roger Ramjet is forkids.'

    'Tellyou what,' Jessica said. 'I will if you will.'

    Itwas a game they sometimes played - like Truth or Dare, but without the dare.Ninety-nine percent of the time is was light-hearted. Once in a while it wasserious. This was not one of those times. Still, there were rules.

    'Sure,'Byrne said. 'You're on.'

    'Okay.What is the most ludicrous piece of clothing you still own? I mean, somethingyou know you will never wear again, not in a million years, but you just can'tbring yourself to part with it?'

    'That'san easy one.'

    'Really?'

    'Ohyeah,' Byrne said. 'A pair of 33-inch waist green velvet pants. Realplum-smugglers.'