Ricci tipped his chin toward the front entrance without taking his eyes off Erickson’s face.

“I can see from here that door got kicked in,” he said.

Erickson nodded.

“Wouldn’t have been hard for a strong man,” Ricci said. “It seems pretty lightweight.”

Erickson nodded again.

“Means there was probably a fifth perp,” Ricci said. “At least a fifth.”

“Right.”

“So maybe the blood stain was left by whoever came crashing through the door.”

“I told you we’re looking at the possibles.”

“You going to have more for us on them soon?”

Erickson took a moment to answer.

“We’ll see what develops,” he said. “Meanwhile, it would help if you could come up with the names of anybody who might have grudges against your employer, knowledge of his family . . . whatever you think is relevant.”

Ricci’s gaze remained fixed on the detective.

“Share and share alike,” he said. “I want to take another quick swing around the grounds before we leave. Got any problem with that?”

Again Erickson was quiet.

“I doubt you’ll find much that can add to what you know evidence-wise, but can’t see why not . . . with some stipulations,” he said. “The residence downhill is still being processed, and we’re considering whether to extend the crime scene to the woods. That puts them off limits.”

“Howell off-limits, too?” Ricci probed.

“Couldn’t stop you from talking to him if he were here, but he’s staying with family.”

Ricci grunted.

“Okay, what else?”

“I stay with you,” Erickson said. “Acceptable?”

Ricci nodded.

“Come on,” Erickson said. “We’ll start out back, work our way down to your car. So I can do you two fellas the final favor of seeing you off.”

The Sword ops showed no hint of amusement in their expressions.

A moment later they all went out into the rain.

“That e-mail, Pete. Did you get it yet?” Megan asked over his radio headset.

In the bird chopping west from the hospital at Lambaréné, Nimec could hear a distinct tremor in her voice.

“Hold on,” he said. “These goddamn gadgets . . . the co-pilot had to reset the display mode for me. Okay, it’s coming through now . . . I need a second to check it out.”

Nimec stared at the helicopter console’s multifunctional readout panel. The message on its GMSS comlink display left no question about what had left Megan so badly shaken and stretched his own control to the limit. He felt a sick, lancing anger.

Delivered to Megan’s computer from an anonymous proxy server, the e-mail now bouncing across uncounted miles of world to Nimec via satellite bore the subject line:

Aria D’entrata—For the Life of Julia Gordian

Nimec had opened it immediately and read the text:

She wears freedom on her shoulder. A combination of ideographs discreetly tattooed on the upper left side. When she goes for a jog with her dogs, alternate mornings, the body art can be seen on her sleeveless arm, as green as her eyes and lovely against her white skin.