“Think one of the symbols stands for child-killer or pervert?” Ray muttered.

Mason snorted. “I’ll put my money on bed wetter.”

“I’ll settle for one being his name.”

“That’ll work, too. Doubt he’d let that be photographed.”

“Crap.” Ray’s tone lost its teasing note, and Mason looked up sharply. Ray was focused on his monitor. “That Jules Thomas lead the senator gave you? The nutcase who threatened him?”

“Yes?”

“He’s been dead for ten years.”

Mason mulled that over. “Any mention of tattoos? Obviously, he wasn’t the guy who attacked Jamie Jacobs the other day, but he could still be our guy in the Polaroids. Like I just said, we could be looking at more than one guy.”

Ray shook his head. “I’ll get someone to contact next-of-kin and ask about tattoos. All I have here is a date of death.”

Mason mentally shifted Jules Thomas to the Unlikely but Not Eliminated column in his brain. “I still don’t have any news back on Cecilia Brody’s Korean patient. Jeong.”

“Aw, fuck! What if those are Korean symbols on the wrists? Why the hell didn’t we think of that before? That would lend a hell of a lot of weight to her lead!” Ray started digging through one of his files.

Mason blinked. What the hell? He’d been asleep at the wheel. How had he missed something so obvious?

Ray pulled out the Polaroids, handing half to Mason. “Any other evidence we’ve missed that can indicate our guy is Asian? Outside of the marks on the wrists? I see so much of that sort of thing tattooed everywhere these days that I didn’t even consider that the wearer could be Asian.”

Mason stared at the photos while mentally running through other evidence from the underground bunker. Had they missed something huge?

The photos had discolored with age. The colors were faded, the whites yellowed. He studied them carefully, trying to ignore the pain of the children in the pictures. Mercifully, the children were dead. No longer suffering at the hands of the monster.

He remembered Jamie’s words.

My brother’s nightmares…

No doubt Chris Jacobs was still suffering. Suffering emotionally and mentally from this killer’s hands. Mason and Ray had tried to locate Chris Jacobs. They’d hit dead ends. The man knew how to stay off the grid. Frankly, Mason was content to wait until Jamie contacted her brother. She’d convince him to come in for some questions. If not, Brody definitely would. Brody would tie Jacobs up and lash him to the roof of his Range Rover to get some answers on his brother’s death.

Was Daniel Brody dead? Why hadn’t his body been with the others?

In his gut, Mason believed the boy was dead. The odds were not in the child’s favor.

Mason studied one photo and ground his teeth. Their killer’s wrist and forearm with the tattoo was laid across the scrawny naked back of a young boy. The boy’s face was not in the picture, so it could have been any of the boys. The boy’s back was a mess of bruises, the colors deep purples, yellows, and browns. Small round red and pink marks indicated possible burns with a cigarette.

He tightened his grip on picture. Something was hovering just out of his subconscious, something important. Bruises, burns, colors…

He blinked and focused on the tattooed arm. Stark black and white. Even though the photo colors were discolored, the colors on the arm were distinct.

“Say, Ray…” He paused, searching for the words to describe what he was seeing. “Do any of your pictures show the unsub’s arm against the skin of the kids?”

Ray grimaced. “Yeah. Several.”

“Let me see them.”

Ray passed over a small stack. Mason scanned them, feeling a small victory start in his chest. “Look at the color of his arm compared to the kids’ skin. I don’t mean to sound racist, but that skin doesn’t look very Asian to me. Hell, it doesn’t look Caucasian to me, either. It’s fucking whiter than snow. It’s like see-through white.”

Ray held out his hands for Mason’s pictures.

“Hell, I’ll use the term Dr. Peres used to correct me yesterday. I don’t think this asshole’s ancestry falls anywhere near Asian.”

Ray nodded, flipping through the pictures. “Even with the distortion of the colors because of the age of the pictures, he is consistently one very, very white motherfucker.”

Mason grinned. Ray rarely swore. When he did, it was an event.

“Jamie Jacobs stated in her report she thought the guy colored his hair and wore colored contacts—”

“—and she said he wore long pants and shirt sleeves on a hot day.” Mason cut off Ray’s sentence. “I thought he was just covering up tats, but what if he was covering up something more distinctive. Like baby-butt, lily-white skin?”

“You’re thinking he’s an albino?” Ray asked. “People still have that?”

“I think so. It’s not a freaking disease that we immunized for. You’re born with it.”

“I know that,” grunted Ray. “I’m just saying you don’t see much of it. Now all I can think of is that Tom Hanks movie with the sicko priest who was an albino.”

Mason reached for his phone. “I’m gonna check with Jamie Jacobs. See if she thinks there’s a possibility that her attacker was albino.”

Mason felt good. Real good. His gut said they were headed in the right direction.