Violets Are Blue

of everything.
    The last thing either of them had expected was to die.
    A stack of fifty- and hundred-dollar markers from the Venetian and New York-New York were in plain view on the dresser. The killers had left the chips. Also two full vials of cocaine in the woman’s purse. A carton of Marlboro Lights.
    Was it to tell us they weren’t interested in money and drugs? In gambling? In cigarettes? What were they interested in — murder? Blood?
    Ticket stubs were inside the woman’s purse. Souvenirs? Passes to MGM Grand Adventures. Tickets for shows at Circus Circus, the Folies Bergere in the Tropicana, the magicians Siegfried and Roy. A half-full bottle of Lolita Lempicka perfume.
    The man had kept a few restaurant receipts: Le Cirque in the Bellagio, Napa, the Palm, Spago at Caesars.
    “There are no tickets or receipts for last night,” I said to Kyle. “We need to find out where they went. Could be where they met the killers. They must have gotten friendly with them. They let the killers in here.”

Chapter 35

    THE CELL phone in my pocket went off.
Shit! Damn it
! Why do I carry these infernal gadgets? Why does anybody in their right mind need to constantly be on call?
    I glanced at my watch as I took the phone in hand. It was already eleven o’clock. What a life. So far, we knew that Andrew Cotton and Dara Grey had gone to the Rum Jungle for drinks and then a magic show at the Mirage. They were seen talking to two people, but it had been dark in the theater. That was what we had so far, but it was still early.
    I had been at the Bellagio murder scene since early evening. The case was really getting under my skin. The murders were brutal, primal. I had read about similar murders in Paris and Berlin, “biting attacks,” but I had never seen anything like this with my own eyes.
    “Alex Cross,” I said into the phone. I turned toward the picture window revealing the lake and the desert in the distance. The view was soothing, an incredible contrast with what had happened in the suite.
    “It’s Jamilla, Alex. Did I wake you?”
    “No, not hardly. I wish you had. I’m at a murder scene. I’m in Las Vegas, staring out at the desert. You’re up pretty late yourself,” I said.
    It was good to hear her voice. She sounded sane and normal. She
was
sane and normal. I was the one in trouble.
    “Oh, I sometimes stay at the office late. That way I can get a day’s work done after everybody else goes home. Alex, I have some information to share on the biting attacks.”
    From the sound of her voice, I suspected this wasn’t going to make things any easier for me.
    “Go ahead, Jamilla. I’m listening.”
    “Okay,” she said. “I’ve been working with a couple of medical examiners from the other places where the bloodsuckers struck. I think we may have hit on something important in San Luis Obispo and then again in San Diego.”
    I was listening; Jam had my full attention.
    “In both of the cities, the medical examiners really got into the case, really tried to help. As you know, we exhumed in San Luis Obispo. Then Guy Millner, the M.E. in San Diego, did the same. I won’t bore you with all the details right now, though I can overnight them to your hotel.”
    “That would be great. Obviously, no faxes on any of this material.”
    “Here’s what we’ve found out. In both these murders, the teeth marks are different than in San Francisco or L.A. The marks were made by human teeth, Alex. But the killers were not the same ones. The evidence is pretty conclusive.
    “Alex, there are at least
four
killers out there working.
At least
four. We’ve identified four different sets of human teeth so far.”
    I was trying to make some sense of what I’d just heard. “These are bodies that were exhumed? Human teeth could leave bite marks on bone?”
    “Yes. The M.E.s agreed on that. The enamel on teeth is the hardest substance in the human body. Also, as you know, the killers might have been wearing enhancers.”
    “Fangs?”
    “Right. There was
gnawing
on the bones in San Diego. That’s another reason why there were clear marks.”
    “Gnawing?” I winced.
    “You’re the psychologist, not me. Gnawing entails strong, repetitive, intentional action. It could definitely account for teeth marks. The victim was in his fifties. That helped us some too. According to my sources, his bones had less density due to osteoporosis. Thus the clear marks. But why gnaw on the bones? You tell me.”
    I was thinking about