By now numbed by the extreme nature of most of his investigations, he looked at the line of beheaded infantile bodies with a dead calm, his poker face not really being one but an actual reflection of the emptiness within. What he dreaded most, what he feared with the last milligram of his inner consciousness, was about to show itself, and he braced himself for it, searching for that ubiquitous note he knew he would find.
And it was right there, not on paper this time but scrawled in what looked like blood (he did not want to contemplate if it was the blood of the victims) in the centre of the large quilt on which the headless babies had been placed in a neat row.
"Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked by the wise men, was exceedingly angry, and sent forth, and slew all the children"