Sato eyed him. "What is it?"
Langdon's eyes shot back to the hand. Five tattoos. He now realized that what he was saying might not be entirely true.
"Professor?" Sato pressed.
Langdon inched toward the gruesome object. Peter will point the way.
"Earlier, it crossed my mind that maybe this guy had left an object clenched in Peter's palm--a map, or a letter, or a set of directions."
"He didn't," Anderson said. "As you can see, those three fingers are not clenched tightly."
"You're right," Langdon said. "But it occurs to me . . ." He crouched down now, trying to see up under the fingers to the hidden part of Peter's palm. "Maybe it's not written on paper."
"Tattooed?" Anderson said.
Langdon nodded.
"Do you see anything on the palm?" Sato asked.
Langdon crouched lower, trying to peer up under the loosely clenched fingers. "The angle is impossible. I can't--"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Sato said, moving toward him. "Just open the damned thing!"
Anderson stepped in front of her. "Ma'am! We should really wait for forensics before we touch--" "I want some answers," Sato said, pushing past him. She crouched down, edging Langdon away from the hand.
Langdon stood up and watched in disbelief as Sato pulled a pen from her pocket, sliding it carefully under the three clenched fingers. Then, one by one, she pried each finger upward until the hand stood fully open, with its palm visible.
She glanced up at Langdon, and a thin smile spread across her face. "Right again, Professor."
CHAPTER 22
Pacing the library, Katherine Solomon pulled back the sleeve of her lab coat and checked her watch. She was not a woman accustomed to waiting, but at the moment, she felt as if her whole world were on hold. She was waiting for Trish's search-spider results, she was waiting for word from her brother, and also, she was waiting for a callback from the man who was responsible for this entire troubling situation.
I wish he hadn't told me, she thought. Normally, Katherine was extremely careful about making new acquaintances, and although she had met this man for the first time only this afternoon, he had earned her trust in a matter of minutes. Completely.
His call had come this afternoon while Katherine was at home enjoying her usual Sunday- afternoon pleasure of catching up on the week's scientific journals.
"Ms. Solomon?" an unusually airy voice had said. "My name is Dr. Christopher Abaddon. I was hoping I might speak to you for a moment about your brother?"
"I'm sorry, who is this?" she had demanded. And how did you get my private cell-phone number?
"Dr. Christopher Abaddon?"
Katherine did not recognize the name.
The man cleared his throat, as if the situation had just become awkward. "I apologize, Ms. Solomon. I was under the impression your brother had told you about me. I'm his doctor. Your cell number was listed as his emergency contact."
Katherine's heart skipped. Emergency contact? "Is something wrong?"
"No . . . I don't think so," the man said. "Your brother missed an appointment this morning, and I can't reach him on any of his numbers. He never misses appointments without calling, and I'm just a little worried. I hesitated to phone you, but--"
"No, no, not at all, I appreciate the concern." Katherine was still trying to place the doctor's name. "I haven't spoken to my brother since yesterday morning, but he probably just forgot to turn on his cell." Katherine had recently given him a new iPhone, and he still hadn't taken the time to figure out how to use it.
"You say you're his doctor?" she asked. Does Peter have an illness he's keeping from me?
There was a weighty pause on the line. "I'm terribly sorry, but I've obviously just made a rather serious professional error by calling you. Your brother told me you were aware of his visits to me, but now I see that's not the case."
My brother lied to his doctor? Katherine's concern was now growing steadily. "Is he sick?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Solomon, doctor-patient confidentiality precludes me from discussing your brother's condition, and I've already said too much by admitting he is my patient. I'm going to hang up now, but if you hear from him today, please ask him to call me so I know he's okay."
"Wait!" Katherine said. "Please tell me what's wrong with Peter!"
Dr. Abaddon exhaled, sounding displeased with his mistake. "Ms. Solomon, I can hear you're upset, and I don't blame you. I'm sure your brother is fine. He was in my office just yesterday."
"Yesterday? And he's scheduled again today? This sounds urgent."
The man heaved a sigh. "I suggest we give him a little more time before we--"
"I'm coming by your office right now," Katherine said, heading for the door. "Where are you located?"
Silence.
"Dr. Christopher Abaddon?" Katherine said. "I can look up your address myself, or you can simply give it to me. Either way, I'm coming over."
The doctor paused. "If I meet with you, Ms. Solomon, would you please do me the courtesy of saying nothing to your brother until I've had a chance to explain my misstep?"
"That's fine."
"Thank you. My office is in Kalorama Heights." He gave her an address.
Twenty minutes later, Katherine Solomon was navigating the stately streets of Kalorama Heights. She had phoned all of her brother's numbers with no reply. She did not feel overly concerned about her brother's whereabouts, and yet, the news that he was secretly seeing a doctor . . . was troubling.
When Katherine finally located the address, she stared up at the building in confusion. This is a doctor's office?
The opulent mansion before her had a wrought-iron security fence, electronic cameras, and lush grounds. As she slowed to double-check the address, one of the security cameras rotated toward her, and the gate swung open. Tentatively, Katherine drove up the driveway and parked next to a six-car garage and a stretch limo.
What kind of doctor is this guy?
As she got out of her car, the front door of the mansion opened, and an elegant figure drifted out onto the landing. He was handsome, exceptionally tall, and younger than she had imagined. Even so, he projected the sophistication and polish of an older man. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and tie, and his thick blond hair was immaculately coiffed.
"Ms. Solomon, I'm Dr. Christopher Abaddon," he said, his voice a breathy whisper. When they shook hands, his skin felt smooth and well tended.
"Katherine Solomon," she said, trying not to stare at his skin, which was unusually smooth and bronzed. Is he wearing makeup?
Katherine felt a growing disquiet as she stepped into the home's beautifully appointed foyer. Classical music played softly in the background, and it smelled as if someone had burned incense. "This is lovely," she said, "although I expected more of . . . an office."
"I'm fortunate to work out of my home." The man led her into a living room, where there was a crackling fire. "Please make yourself comfortable. I'm just steeping some tea. I'll bring it out, and we can talk." He strode toward the kitchen and disappeared.
Katherine Solomon did not sit. Female intuition was a potent instinct that she had learned to trust, and something about this place was making her skin crawl. She saw nothing that looked anything like any doctor's office she had ever seen. The walls of this antique-adorned living room were covered with classical art, primarily paintings with strange mythical themes. She paused before a large canvas depicting the Three Graces, whose nude bodies were spectacularly rendered in vivid colors.