"Then your work is mostly measurement?"
"No, that's the donkey work. I take strips of plasticine and apply them between the markers, then build them up to tissue-depth levels. Then I smooth and fill in and work with the skull until I'm satisfied. The last process is the most important. That's why I can't look at photographs of the subject. I can't let even my subconscious be influenced."
"Well, you're safe for now. But I'm planning on going down to the newspaper office and getting a photo."
"Well, keep it 'til I've finished."
"When will that be?"
"As long as it takes. Five or six more days, maybe." She glanced at him. "Any news about Pierre?"
"A story on page five of the newspaper about the suicide of Pierre Letaux, who was apparently despondent about the death of his mother."
"You said the police wouldn't question it."
"I admit I didn't want to be right about this one."-He shrugged. "But sometimes the bad guys win."
"Not this time." She placed another marker. "Now go away and let me work."
"I'm on my way." He paused. "You know, we could call Melton and tell him we think Marie's and Pierre's deaths may not be quite what they seem."
"I thought of that. And then he'd assure me that I was mistaken and that the police reports were accurate."
"Could be."
"And I don't need to deal with Melton right now."
"I didn't think so. It might interfere with Victor, and you won't permit anything to do that. Is Rick feeding you?"
"When I let him." She lifted a brow. "It seems my poison tester hasn't been on the job."
"Rick wouldn't let anything happen to you. At least, not until you've finished Victor. I've never seen anyone more intent on making your work easy for you. And I'll cook for you myself tonight."
"That's comforting."
"It should be more than comforting. You should be breathless with anticipation."
"I don't have time."
"Okay, forget about dwelling on my fine cuisine." He turned to leave. "I'd like this job done quickly, too."
He couldn't be more anxious than she was, Eve thought as he left the room. Ever since she had seen Pierre's body the night before last, she had been driven to finish the reconstruction.
Maybe even before that. There were so few truly good people; Bently might have been one of those rare individuals.
She placed another marker. "We're getting there, Victor," she murmured. "Galen thinks you might have been some kind of martyr, but I've got to be very careful not to pay any attention. You might have been just a soldier or a tramp or some other victim. It doesn't matter. You deserve to be brought home, too...."
-------------------
"No identification, Lieutenant." Officer Krakow shrugged. "And we're not going to get anyone to recognize him. The forensic boys say he's been dead for at least four days, facedown in the water in that drainpipe."
"Four days?" Joe's gaze went down the hill to the forensic team gathered around the entrance of the drainage pipe.
"Could be longer. You know it's hard to pin down when a corpse has been out in the weather. We'll have to wait for the medical examiner."
"What kind of clothes is he wearing?"
"Oxford cloth shirt. No tie, but nicely tailored pants. He appears to be very white-collar. He definitely wasn't one of the homeless." Krakow gazed at Joe curiously. "This isn't your case, is it, sir? You looking for someone in particular?"
"Maybe. Thanks, Krakow." Joe started down the hill. He could see the sprawled body, and the size seemed right. Capel had been a big man with receding brown hair, but he couldn't see the hair from here. White-collar described George Capel, and he'd have to see about the time frame. Conditions were everything as far as decomposition was concerned. He'd seen a woman taken out of the trunk of a car after only seven hours; he would have sworn she had been dead for days.
It didn't have to be Capel. He hoped to God it wasn't. If that body was George Capel, it brought this whole mess to a new and dangerous level.
"Hi, Lieutenant." Sam Rowley glanced up as he approached. "Looks like we've got one for you."
Joe looked down at the corpse. The hair was light brown, but he couldn't tell if it was receding from that swollen, disfigured face.
"Homicide?"
"Appears to be a knife wound in the back. There are multiple wounds on the body, but it's hard to determine if they were inflicted before or after death. He's been out here awhile."
"I need to know who he is. Fingerprints?"
"May be tough to match with the hands so swollen. Probably have to go for the teeth."
"How soon?"
"The lab's pretty backlogged. Two weeks, maybe."
"I need to know now, Sam."
Sam shook his head. "Talk to the lab techs. You know I can't help you."
"I will." Joe turned and strode back up the hill.
A knife wound in the back. Multiple other wounds.
The muscles of his stomach twisted as he got back in the car. Don't panic yet. Get down to headquarters and pull strings to get that ID right away.
Christ, he hoped it wasn't Capel.
-------------------
"How far along are you?" Galen asked as he poured Eve's coffee that evening. "Have you gotten past the voodoo stage?"
"Tomorrow. I have to go very slowly to have an absolutely true foundation." Eve lifted the cup to her lips. "That was a very good meal, Galen."
"It was a magnificent meal. You're too tired to appreciate me."
"No, I'm not." She studied him soberly. What an unusual man he was. Complex, smooth on the surface with depths that were definitely dark and enigmatic. Yet she'd never felt safer with any man except Joe. "You've been very kind to me, Galen."
"Just doing my job."
"No. Ever since I woke up in the hospital, you've given me whatever I needed."
"That's my business. I'm a provider." He leaned back in his chair. "And you've been easy. I haven't had to maul or dispatch anyone lately."
He was joking. Or was he? Maybe not. Those murky depths again ... "I hope you won't have to do it in the future either." Her hand tightened on the cup. "Death is ugly."
"Yes, it is. And no one should know better than you."
"Not even you?"
He smiled. "Let's say my experience is active and yours is passive."
"Why did you take this bodyguard job, Galen? I got the impression that you played on a much bigger stage."
"I like Louisiana. I even have a house near New Orleans."
"You took the job because you liked the area? I don't think so."
"Okay, Logan is my friend and he asked me to do it as a favor. I move around too much to have many friends, so I try to keep the ones I have." He paused.
"And I guess I kind of liked the idea of being cast as a knight to protect a lady. Usually my jobs are much less noble. I'd only met you once, but I wasn't fond of the idea of you jumping into trouble."
She had certainly been in trouble the first time she met him in Arizona two years ago, Eve thought ruefully. Besides taking care of Sarah's wounded wolf, Maggie, she had been trying to sort out her own problems with Jane. "Well, you were very good with Maggie. Sarah was impressed."
"We had a lot in common." He took a sip of coffee. "Quinn must have been really worried about this trip or he wouldn't have called Logan. I got the impression they're not the greatest mates in the world."
She stiffened. "I don't want to talk about Joe." She finished her coffee and stood up. "And in a few days there won't be anything for any of us to worry about. Let's get these dishes done. I want to go upstairs and make my call to Jane before I go to bed. Do you want to wash or dry?"
"I'll do them. I need to expend some excess energy. You go on and call your little girl. I checked out the upstairs when you were taking your shower. It's secure. But don't go out on the balcony."
"You think someone's going to shoot me?"
He shook his head.
"It would be too obvious. Everything has been made to look like an accident or suicide so far. But it won't hurt to be careful. Sometimes new elements pop up in these situations."
"You talk as if this is just run-of-the-mill to you. I'm finding it a good deal more stressful."
He started to stack the dishes. "It's certainly interesting."
She looked at him and shook her head. Just when she thought she had made progress getting beyond that smooth exterior, he pulled it firmly back in place. "Good night, Galen."
"Good night. Pleasant dreams."
Don't go out on the balcony or you might get shot.
Don't eat anything Galen didn't cook or you might be poisoned.
Not the stuff of which pleasant dreams were made.
-------------------
Jane looked up from the salad she was tossing when Joe walked in that evening. "Eve called a little while ago."
"How is she?"
"Fine. Tired. She's working on the skull. She calls him Victor. Will you get out the steaks, Joe?"
Joe came into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "How soon will she be done?"
"Doesn't know." Jane took out the indoor grill and plugged it in. "You know Eve's never sure. It's going well, though."
"Did she mention Galen?"
"Only that he'd called Victor a gladiator and she was having the devil of a time keeping that out of her mind. Oh, and she said that he was a terrific cook." She chuckled. "Good thing one of them is. Eve's not so hot."
"No, she's not." He handed her the steaks. "Sounds very cozy."
"Yeah." Jane looked at him and her smile faded. "Joe? Is something wrong?"
"No, of course not." He turned away. "I've got to go wash up. I'll be right back."
When he closed the bathroom door, he splashed water on his face and then reached for the towel. Oh, no, nothing was wrong. His grasp tightened on the soft cloth until his knuckles turned white. Only that he was jealous as hell and wanted to kill Sean Galen.
Shit, he'd want to murder everyone Eve looked at on the street or smiled at in a restaurant. Very sane. Very reasonable.
But who said he was ever reasonable when it came to Eve? She'd been the center of his life since he'd met her all those years ago, and he'd had only this short time of her belonging to him. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
Joe drew a deep breath. Get control. He had to go out and not let Jane see what a crazy, obsessive son of a bitch he was. She'd been an angel since Eve had left. No, not an angel. She was too earthy and real to be termed angelic. She'd always had that same tough, loving nature that reminded him of Eve.
Eve. Everything came back to her. And she was in Baton Rouge with Galen, who was helping her, making those damn dinners, talking to her, sharing ... He had sent Galen to be with her and he'd do it again, but that didn't make it any easier.
"Joe, the steaks are done," Jane called.
"Coming." He hung up the towel and opened the door. He forced a smile. "I'm starved. I forgot to eat lunch today."
"You've been working too hard." She carried the steaks over to the table, almost tripping over the puppy. "Toby, get out of my way. You cannot have these steaks."
"I bet he'll get the leftovers."
"Maybe. I shouldn't do it. Sarah said he should have a balanced diet and table scraps aren't really good for him." She shook her head. "But he's such a chow hound. I never saw any dog who loved food like Toby."
"What else did Eve say?"
"Nothing much. She mostly asked about what I was doing and how Toby was. I told her he was fine." She sat down. "I told her you were fine, too."
"But she didn't ask, did she?"
"No, but I figured she probably wanted to know."
"Optimist."
"She's working, and she already seems more cheerful than when she left. Work always helps her."
"I know."
"So you just have to hang on and be patient. Now eat your steak."
He smiled faintly. "Yes, ma'am. Anything else?"
"Yes, don't work so hard." She frowned sternly at Toby who'd rested his head on her knee. "Don't beg. It's impolite."
"You're not going to last until supper's over."
"I will. He's got to learn—"
Joe's phone rang.
Jane sighed. "I was afraid you wouldn't get through the meal."
"I won't answer it. I'll let the voice mail pick it up."
"But then you'd get indigestion worrying. Get it over with."
Joe flipped on his phone. "Quinn."
"It's Carol. The teeth ID came through. It's George Andrew Capel, age forty-two."
Joe's hand tightened on the phone. "Christ. Anything on the autopsy report?"
"I don't know. Let me check. Yeah, here it is. They just tossed it in the in-box. Death caused by knife wound that entered the heart from the back. The other wounds were minor. None of them capable of doing serious damage but would have been extremely painful. Looks like our killer likes to toy with his victims."
"Maybe. Thanks, Carol." He hung up.
"Joe?" Jane whispered.
He was scaring her. "It's okay. It's just that something's come up and I have to deal with it."
"Eve?"
"No. How could it be Eve? You just talked to her. That was Carol at the precinct. It was police business."
"You're never this upset about police business."
She was too sharp, and he was too panicky right now to hide his fear. He got to his feet. "I've got to make a couple of private calls. You go ahead and eat dinner. I'll be back soon."
She frowned, still troubled. "Okay. But your steak will get cold."
"I'll heat it up." He wouldn't be able to eat it anyway. Food was the last thing on his mind. The grave. The report sent to Eve. George Capel. Eve's job in Baton Rouge. All the pieces were falling together.
And the picture they were making was scaring him to death.
-------------------
"He's still pretty ugly, even without the sticks." Galen tilted his head as he studied the skull on the pedestal. "Maybe it's those empty eye sockets."
"Go away, Galen."
"Nope, it's eight o'clock and you've been here since six this morning. Time to close up shop. I'm going to walk you home and feed you. Rick would let you work all night."
"I'm not ready to go."
"Are you going to be able to finish him tonight?"
"No way. I've still got a good four days' work. Maybe more."
"Then you'll do better with some rest. Since there's no urgency."
"There is urgency."
"Not for you. Melton can wait."
He didn't understand. When she started work, the urgency came from within. It was as if the person she was reconstructing was urging her, whispering to her: Find me. Help me. Bring me home.
"What color?" Galen was still gazing at the eye sockets. "How do you know what color to use for the eyes?"
"I don't. I usually put in brown. It's the most common eye color. Why are those sockets bothering you?"
"I knew a bloke in Mozambique who'd had his eyes cut out by a nasty customer in the drug trade. He got along surprisingly well, but it always gave me the chills."
"I can see why."
"It made me mad. I hate mutilation. No one should do that to anyone."
Eve turned to look at him. "I've never seen you angry."
"You don't want to. I get pretty nasty."
"To that 'nasty customer in the drug trade'?"
Galen didn't answer directly. "No one should be allowed to do that," he repeated. He suddenly smiled. "Now you've done it. You've made me dwell on that unpleasantness and I'm all depressed. You have to come home so that I can fix you a fine meal and forget about it. It's therapy."
"It's manipulation." She draped a towel over the skull. "But I'll let you get away with it. Maybe I am a little tired."
"Right. Now wash your hands and we'll be off." Galen crossed over to the window and looked out at the bay
ou. "You should really see more of Baton Rouge. It's a great town."
"I had lunch with you the day of Marie's funeral. I saw Baton Rouge for hours and hours that day. And I didn't come here to sightsee."
"Someone needs to take you in hand. There's more to life than skulls with empty sockets."
"They're not empty when I fill them." Eve dried her hands on a towel. "And I'm not a total workaholic."
"You come close. Me, I believe in stopping to smell the roses." Galen opened the door for her. "Though I do know New Orleans better than Baton Rouge. So we'll walk home very slowly, and I'll tell you the history of the Big Easy and maybe a few bits of the history of my stays there. You can decide which is more entertaining."
Galen's stories were definitely more entertaining, and lasted the walk back to the plantation house. They were bawdy, funny, and full of colorful characters and incidents.
"His name was really Marco Polo?" Eve asked. "You've got to be kidding."
"No way. He said his mum named him that because he was destined to be a great explorer. Actually, he fit right in with some of the weirdos who inhabit the French Quarter. He wore thirteenth-century garb whenever he was at home, and he had a particular fondness for Chinese prostitutes. I don't think that was the kind of Oriental exploration his mum had in mind, but who am I—Shit!" He jerked her to one side and stepped in front of her. "Who the hell are you?"
"Quinn." Joe stepped out of the shadows next to the front door. "As Eve'll tell you, if you'll get away from her."
Eve stared at him in shock. "Joe?"
"You remember my name? I guess I should be grateful."
"You shouldn't have come. I don't want you here."
"You've made that clear. Tough. I'm here and I'm staying."
"Where's Jane?"
"She's fine. She's with your mother. Sandra's husband and little Mike are in Oregon on a fishing trip. The kid's real mother was jailed again for drugs and they thought he should get away for awhile. Your mother was glad to have the company."
Shock was being replaced by anger. "I told you when I left I didn't want you to come with me. Go back to Atlanta, Joe."
"Sorry." He turned to Galen. "What's been going on here?"
"None of your business," Eve said. "Go home."