Savvy nodded.
“Do you have a name for him yet?”
Savannah ran a protective hand over her large mound, a little boggled by the switch in subjects. “Um . . . no . . . My sister will name him.”
“You’re from the sheriff’s department,” Cassandra said, her voice taking on an urgent tone. Footsteps sounded on the stairs again, and Cassandra edged closer. “I told Aunt Catherine about him and about the bones. I knew about Justice, too. But now he’s coming. He came for Mary, and he’s coming for us, too.” She gazed hard at Savannah and added meaningfully, “All of us.”
“But Justice is dead,” Savannah said, feeling more than a little shivery at the girl’s intensity.
“Not Justice. There are many heads to the Hydra. You cut one off, and another grows in its place.”
“Who’s coming? What does he look like?”
Cassandra shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed. “I see only his beauty,” she whispered, then darted around the edge of the kitchen counter and into an alcove that led to a back room. “Be careful,” she warned.
By the time Catherine appeared, Cassandra was long gone, but Catherine’s gaze followed the girl’s departure as if she’d left a vapor trail behind. Her mouth tightened, but she said nothing as she set a tooled-leather box on the table. She laid her hands on either side of it, bracing herself, and then she drew up her chin and flipped back the box’s lid. From inside she withdrew a plastic bag and held it toward Savannah. Within the plastic lay a knife with a curved blade.
“My sister was killed with this.”
Savvy stared at the knife, and Catherine slid the bag across the table to her. “How do you know this?”
“Can you accept that I just know?”
“Not really. If she was killed with that knife, you’re talking homicide.”
“I think it could be suicide.”
Savvy’s gaze hardened on Catherine. She had the distinct feeling she was lying.
“Will you do a DNA test on it?” Catherine asked.
“It sounds like you want me to open an investigation into your sister’s death. If that’s the case—”
“Can we first start with the DNA test?”
“I would have to know more about—”
“I can pay for it. Keep it private,” Catherine said, cutting in. “It’s just that I needed someone to . . . turn to, Detective. Do you understand?”
“You want a DNA test with no questions asked.”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Rutledge, there’s clearly a lot you’re not saying. I’m going on maternity leave soon. I’m not even sure I could do this,” Savannah said. “You might need someone else. And then there’s the question of the body. We would have to do an exhumation.”
As if she hadn’t heard her, Catherine asked, “Will you please do me this favor?”
Savvy expelled a breath. “I can send the knife to the DNA lab, but if it’s for private purposes, it may take some time before they get to it. There are a lot of requests, most of them more urgent, as they’re tied to known crimes.”
“That’s fine. I just . . . If there’s anything on the knife—blood, fingerprints, tissue—I want to know whose it is.”
“That sounds a lot like you believe this knife was used in a homicide.”
“If I truly believed that, I would ask you to investigate her death.”
Not likely, Savannah thought.
“It may well be that the only DNA evidence will be my sister’s, and if that’s the case, then I’ll accept that it was suicide, or even an accident, and that will be enough.”