The Mephisto Club

even more interesting,” he murmured.
    He looks at a severed hand on a dinner plate, and that’s the word that comes to mind?
    “Who set the table?” He looked up at her. “Who laid out the dishes, the silverware, the wineglasses?”
    “We believe the perp did.”
    “Why?”
    “Who the hell knows why?”
    “I mean, why do you assume
he
was the one who did it?”
    “Because there was a smear of blood under one of the plates, where he handled it.”
    “Fingerprints?”
    “Unfortunately, no. He wore gloves.”
    “Evidence of advance planning. Forethought.” Zucker directed his gaze, once again, at the photo. “This is a setting for four. Is that significant?”
    “Your guess is as good as ours. There were eight plates in the cabinet, so he could have put down more. But he chose to use only four.”
    Lieutenant Marquette asked, “What do you think we’re dealing with here, Dr. Zucker?”
    The psychologist didn’t answer. He paged slowly through the photos, pausing at the image of the severed arm in the bathtub. Then he flipped to the photo of the kitchen, and he stopped. There was a very long silence as he stared at the melted candles, at the circle drawn on the floor. At what sat at the center of that circle.
    “It looked like some kind of a weird ritual setup to us,” said Frost. “The chalk circle, the burned candles.”
    “This certainly appears ritualistic.” Zucker looked up, and the glitter in his eyes made a chill wash up the back of Jane’s neck. “Did the perp draw this circle?”
    Jane hesitated, startled by his question. “You mean—as opposed to the victim?”
    “I’m not making any assumptions here. I hope you don’t either. What makes you so certain the victim didn’t draw this circle? That she didn’t start off as a willing participant in the ritual?”
    Jane felt like laughing.
Yeah, I’d volunteer to get my head cut off, too.
She said, “It had to be the killer who drew that circle and lit those candles. Because we found no pieces of chalk in the house. After he used it to draw on that kitchen floor, he took it with him.”
    Zucker leaned back in his chair, thinking. “So this killer dismembers, but doesn’t conceal the body parts. He doesn’t disfigure the face. He leaves little in the way of forensic evidence, indicating an awareness of law enforcement. Yet he hands us—so to speak—the biggest clue of all: the body part of another victim.” He paused. “Was there semen left behind?”
    “None was detected in the victim’s body.”
    “And the crime scene?”
    “CSU went all over that house with UV. The CrimeScope picked up hairs too numerous to count, but no semen.”
    “Again, characteristic of cognitive behavior. He leaves no evidence of sexual activity. If he is indeed a sexual killer, then he’s controlled enough to wait until it’s safe to enjoy his release.”
    “And if he’s not a sexual killer?” asked Marquette.
    “Then I’m not entirely sure what all of this represents,” said Zucker. “But the dismemberment, the display of body parts. The candles, the chalk circle.” He looked around the table. “I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing. Satanic rituals.”
    “It was Christmas Eve,” added Marquette. “The holiest of nights.”
    “And our killer isn’t there to honor the Prince of Peace,” said Zucker. “No, he’s trying to summon the Prince of Darkness.”
    “There’s one other photo you should look at,” said Jane, pointing to the stack of images that Zucker hadn’t yet seen. “There was some writing, left on the wall. Drawn in the victim’s blood.”
    Zucker found the photo. “Three upside-down crosses,” he said. “These could well have satanic meanings. But what are these symbols beneath the crosses?”
    “It’s a word.”
    “I don’t see it.”
    “It’s a reverse image. You can read it if you hold it up to a mirror.”
    Zucker’s eyebrow lifted. “You do know, don’t you, the significance of mirror writing?”
    “No. What’s the significance?”
    “When the Devil makes a deal to buy your soul, the pact is drawn up and signed in mirror writing.” He frowned at the word. “So what does it say?”
    “
Peccavi.
It’s Latin. It means: ‘I have sinned.’”
    “A confession?” suggested Marquette.
    “Or a boast,” said Zucker. “Announcing to Satan, ‘I’ve done your bidding, Master.’” He gazed at all the photos laid out on the table. “I would love to get this killer into an