“Still… a second killer? Who’s been totally overlooked?” Ben shook his head. “It’s hard to swallow. What’s your evidence?”

Christina opened her file folder and spread it across the desktop. “Evidence might be too strong a word. More like conjecture based on the facts.”

“Such as?”

“Look at this photo of Erin ’s sister, taken at the crime scene.” She slid it across the desk. “Notice the skirt.”

Ben glanced down. “Hardly the place to be admiring someone’s fashion sense.”

“Don’t be a stooge. Look at it.” She pointed. “The skirt is lying smooth. Over her knees.”

“Okay. So?”

“Think about how she died, Ben. She was beaten and stabbed repeatedly. There was evidence of sexual assault. What are the odds that her skirt would be lying down smooth over her legs?”

Ben stared at the picture. “I admit it’s unlikely. But it’s hardly proof of a second perp. The killer probably pulled her skirt down.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. To cover up the assault, maybe.”

“Look at this crime scene, Ben. Does this look like the work of someone who was concerned about appearances?”

“Okay, what else?”

“The baby.”

“The baby was killed.”

“Right. But not like the others. The body was found facedown, in his crib in the nursery. Tucked under a blanket.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Why isn’t the baby in the living room with the others? Part of this grand grotesque tableau.”

“There’s no way of knowing. This maniac wasn’t acting rationally.”

“He wasn’t acting with much gentility, either. But for some reason, he took the trouble to go clear across the house and tuck the baby into its crib. After it was dead.”

“Maybe the baby was always in the crib. Maybe he killed the baby right there.”

“Nope. No blood in the crib.” She paused, letting the wheels in Ben’s brain turn for a few moments.

“So you’re saying…”

“I think the infant was killed in the living room with the rest of the family. Remember, Erin said her mother brought the baby into the house when they got home, with the other children. I think a second person picked that baby up and carried him to his crib. After he’d been killed.”

Ben pushed back in his chair. “Christina, you know I’ve always admired your insight. Always trusted your instincts. But this time, I think you’re grasping at straws. And I don’t think your theory, even if it were true, explains anything.”

“You’re wrong. It explains the greatest mystery of the whole case.”

“Which is?”

She flipped through the file and yanked out another black-and-white photo. “Why Erin was left in the cellar.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s obvious the killer was some kind of sadistic sex pervert. It’s obvious he separated and restrained Erin because he had some vile special plan for her. But he never went down to get her. And he never killed her. He left a critical witness alive.”

“He probably assumed she would starve to death in the cellar.”

“If he wanted her dead, why not kill her? He killed all the others!”

Ben batted a finger against his lips. “So you’re saying the second man intervened?”

“Exactly.”

“Why? Because they were running out of time? They weren’t. The murders weren’t discovered for days.”

“Look at all the evidence, Ben. There’s a clear pattern.”

“Pattern of what?”

Christina leaned across his desk. “I think the second man-unlike the first-had a conscience.”

Mike was relieved when Dr. Palmetto escorted the two of them back to his office. He needed a chair, preferably a well-padded chair, for this conversation.

“So you’re saying Erin isn’t dead?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Doctor. ’Cause I’ve seen the corpse.”

Baxter glared at him.

“I’m not talking about her corporeal shell. I’m talking about her inner essence. What makes Erin Erin. Her body may have ceased to function, but I can assure you that Erin is still alive and well.”

Mike felt his feet itching, a sure sign that he was becoming impatient. “Are you some kind of… born-again Christian or something?”

“Actually, I’m a Buddhist. We’re only born once.”

“A Buddhist. And Buddhists believe…”

“… that the soul is eternal.”

“Cool. But you understand that Erin… er, her corporeal shell is no more.”

“Of course.”

“So let’s talk about that.” He glanced at his partner. “Baxter? Why don’t you start?” She was the one who wanted to do this interview. Damned if he was going to spend the day quizzing some flaky Buddhist spare-parts doc.

Baxter straightened in her chair. “We wondered if you might have any insight regarding Erin ’s… unfortunate passing.”

Palmetto appeared nonplussed. “It was suicide, wasn’t it?”

“That’s a possibility.” She gave Mike the eye. “Although not the only one.”

“Seems likely, though,” Palmetto said. “Given her background.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you already know about the tragedy in her past. I’m sure you’re also familiar with the survivor-guilt syndrome. Why me? Why me and not them? It’s all too common.”

“And do you think Erin suffered from this?”

“I know she did. It plagued her. Part of the reason she came to work here was that, having had so much of death, she wanted to be involved with life. She wanted to be a part of our ongoing lifesaving efforts.”

“She ever talk about committing suicide?”

“Not in so many words. But there were hints. Strong hints, actually.”

“Doctor,” Mike said, “had she attempted suicide before? To your knowledge.”

Palmetto thought carefully before answering. “I believe she did. There was an incident…” He paused. “Perhaps I’ve said too much.”

“There’s no such thing,” Baxter insisted. “We’re all just trying to learn the truth.”

“Yes. Well, I heard about a time from her friend Sheila. Sheila Knight. She was often here, picking Erin up for lunch and so forth. In a private moment, Sheila told me that she had once found Erin at home alone, having consumed a bottle of vodka and far too many sleeping pills. She was able to rouse Erin -in the shower-but it worried her. She asked me to please keep an eye on Erin and to… well.”

“Make sure she didn’t have access to any pills?”

Palmetto nodded.

“Did you see Erin on the day she… passed?”

“I did. And I talked to her, for some time. She seemed troubled.”

That would mesh with what Ben told him, Mike thought. “What was her problem?”

“I don’t know exactly. But she was very depressed. I wondered at times if she might not be bipolar. When she was down, she was all the way down.”

“So when you heard that she had died, a probable suicide-”

“I wasn’t surprised. Saddened, yes. But surprised, no.” He pointed to a large banker’s box in the corner. “I had everything on and in her desk carefully stored. I thought you might want to look at it.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You were right.” Mike scanned the framed documents and diplomas hovering about. “What exactly is it you do here, Doctor?”

“We provide organs for those who need them. For transplants. We’re the top legitimate source in the Southwest.”

“And where do you get the organs?”

“Wherever we can. From those who are about to die, mostly. Those who have been generous enough to donate their organs.”

“That must be rewarding work.”

“It is. As Erin herself once said, it is literally snatching life from the jaws of death.”

Mike pondered a moment. “You said you were the top legitimate source for organs. There’s a pretty sizable black market, isn’t there?”

Palmetto’s eyes darkened. “I’m afraid so.”

“Don’t like competition?”

“Not the illegal kind. Those people don’t obey the law. Often the organs are stored improperly or transported poorly. Ruined.”

“Still, if I needed a kidney and couldn’t get one through you-”