The Sculptor

“I hope I’m wrong, Cathy, but I can’t get the pictures from your book out of my mind-the pictures of Michelangelo’s early sculptures; the reliefs and the smaller statues that he made before he broke onto the scene with his first life-size sculpture, his Bacchus. And even though serial killers usually have what’s called a ‘cooling off’ period, even though this Michelangelo Killer is a very calculated and patient man, five and a half years seems like a long time for him to merely jump from a murder like Banford’s to the type we see with Campbell and Wenick. Yes, it’s important that his victims looked like the figures in Michelangelo’s Bacchus, but if we take into account what happened to Banford-and, as I suspect, what also happened to Campbell-of equal, perhaps even more importance is the awakening of the figures themselves, not just the public’s interpretation of their deeper message. My only hope is that-since this guy is so patient, since he is so obsessed with detail that he was willing to risk murdering a public figure like Tommy Campbell for his Bacchus-he might not have wanted to risk being caught while experimenting on other victims.”

“Then Gabriel Banford might have been an experiment, too.”

“Either that, yes, or as I suspect, part of a larger plan yet unformed. We might never know if Banford was The Michelangelo Killer’s first murder, but from what Rachel Sullivan’s investigation into the criminal databases has told us thus far, it most likely was the first in which he used epinephrine-no records going back over the last ten years list a suspicious death due to an overdose of epinephrine.”

“But if The Michelangelo Killer did indeed develop his technique like an artist,” Cathy said, “if he has experimented with the use of adrenaline and the preservation of other bodies over the last few years in secret, there could be no way of telling how many people he killed before Campbell and Wenick, before the creation of his Bacchus.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Cathy. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Chapter 18

The FBI Field Office. Boston. Ten minutes past ten.

Bill Burrell sat at the conference table scowling into his coffee. He needed a smoke-needed it bad-but did not want to step outside and risk missing the linkup with Quantico. Markham and the art history professor were running a little late-an accident on the inbound artery, Sullivan had told him. A little luck, Burrell thought, as the Boston office was having an embarrassing bit of interference with their video feed that day-something about sunspots, his tech guy had said, or a faulty coaxial cable. Either way, Burrell was not in the mood to be understanding. No, the briefing from Rachel Sullivan that morning-the news about Gabriel Banford, about the adrenaline link-did not sit well with him. And the SAC knew instinctively that the upcoming teleconference with Quantico would be no better, for whereas Sam Markham was still holding out hope that the FBI had only three victims on their hands, Bulldog Burrell had a bad feeling that this son of a bitch Michelangelo Killer had more than just the blood of Banford, Wenick, and Campbell on his.

“Sorry, Bill,” said Markham, entering. “Had to stop by in-processing to get the paperwork started for Dr. Hildebrant. Cathy, you remember Special Agent in Charge Bill Burrell?”

There were others seated around the large conference table, but only Burrell and Rachel Sullivan rose to greet her.

“Yes, of course,” Cathy said. “A pleasure to see you again. And you, too, Special Agent Sullivan.”

“Call me Rachel.”

“And you can call me Bill,” said Burrell. “Please, be seated.”

An FBI agent to whom Cathy was introduced-and whose name she immediately forgot-vacated his seat for her at the far end of the table, and Cathy and Markham took their places across from Burrell and Sullivan-a large video screen on the wall before them. Cathy suddenly noticed another man on all fours-his rear poking out of a closet that seamlessly blended in with the rest of the walnut paneled walls.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” began Burrell, “but we’re having a bit of technical difficulties this morning. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or something?”

“No thank you. Sam-I mean, Special Agent Markham already offered.”

“Then he already briefed you on what to expect today?”

“Yes, he did.”