"This is so goddamn creepy," Jamilla whispered. "This poor guy had the blood sucked out of him. It almost looks like a sex crime."

"I think it is," Kyle said. "I think they seduced him first."

Just then the cell phone in the pocket of my jacket went off. The timing couldn't have been worse.

I looked at Kyle before I answered the call. "It could be him," I said. "The Mastermind."

I put the receiver to my ear.

"How do you like L.A., Alex?" the Mastermind asked in his usual mechanical drone. "The dead pretty much look the same everywhere, don't they?"

I nodded at Kyle. He understood who was on the line. The Mastermind.

He motioned for me to give him the phone, and I handed it over. I watched his face as he listened, then frowned deeply. Kyle finally took the phone away from his ear.

"He broke off the connection," he said. "It was like he knew you weren't on the line anymore. How did he know, Alex? How does the bastard know so much? What the hell does he want from you?"

I stared at the slowly revolving corpse, and I didn't have any answers. None at all. I felt drained myself.

It was already Friday and we were in the middle of a nasty, sordid mess that wasn't going to be over soon. In the afternoon I had to make a tough phone call home to Washington. Nana Mama answered after a couple of rings, and I immediately wished that one of the kids had picked up instead.

"It's Alex. How are you?"

She said, "You're not coming home for Damon's concert tomorrow, are you, Alex? Or did you forget all about the concert already? Oh, Alex, Alex. Why have you forsaken us? This isn't right."

I love Nana tremendously, but sometimes she goes too far to make her point. "Why don't you put Damon on the phone?" I said. "I'll talk to him about it."

"He's not going to be a boy for very much longer. Pretty soon he'll be just like you, won't listen to a word anybody says. Then you'll see what it's like. I guarantee you won't like it," she said.

"I feel bad enough already, guilty enough. You don't have to make it worse, old woman."

"Of course I do. That's my job, and I take it as seriously as you obviously take yours," she said.

"Nana, people are dying out here. Someone died a horrible death in Washington to get me involved in this mess. It keeps happening. There's a connection I have to find, or at least try to."

"Yes, people are dying, Alex. I understand that. And other people are growing up without their father around as much as they need him to be — especially since they don't have a mother. Are you aware of that? I can't be mother and father to these children."

I shut my eyes. "I hear what you're saying. I don't even disagree with you, believe it or not. Now, would you please put Damon on?" I asked again. "As soon as I get off the phone, I'll go out and see if I can find a mother for my children. Actually, I'm working with a very nice female detective. You'd like her."

"Damon's not here. He said if you called and weren't coming home to tell you thanks a lot."

I shook my head and finally smiled in spite of myself. "You got his inflection down perfectly. Where is he?"

"He's playing basketball with his friends. He's very good at that too. I think he'll be an outstanding two guard. Have you even noticed?"

"He has soft hands and a quick first step. Of course I've noticed. You know which friends he's out with?"

"Of course I do. Do you?" Nana shot back. She was relentless when she was on the attack. "He's with Louis and Jamal. He picks good friends."

"I have to go now, Nana. Please give Damon and Jannie my love. Give little Alex a big hug."

"Alex, you give them love and hugs yourself," she said. Then she hung up on me. She had never done that before. Well, she hadn't done it very often.

I sat there, pinned to my chair, thinking over what had just been said, wondering whether or not I was guilty as charged. I knew that I spent more time with the kids than a lot of fathers, but as Nana had so skillfully argued, they were growing up fast, and without a mother. I had to do an even better job, and there were no goddamn excuses.

I called home a few more times. There was no answer, and I figured I was being punished. I finally caught up with Damon around six that night. He had just gotten home from a rehearsal for his concert with the Boys' Choir. I heard his voice come on the line, and I sang a little Tupac rap ditty he likes.

He thought that was funny, so I knew everything was okay. He had forgiven me. He's a good boy, the best I could have hoped for. I suddenly remembered my wife, Maria, and was sad that she wasn't here to see how well Damon was turning out. You would really like Damon, Maria. I'm sorry you're missing it.

"I got your message. I'm sorry, Damon. I wish I were going to hear you tomorrow. You know I do. Can't be helped, buddy."

Damon sighed dramatically. "If wishes had wings," he said. It was one of his grandmother's pet sayings. I had been hearing it for years, ever since I was around his age.

"Beat me, whip me, beat me," I told him.

"Naw. It's all right, Daddy," Damon said, and sighed again. "I know you have to work and that it's probably important stuff. It's just hard for us sometimes. You know how it is."

"I love you, and I should be there, and I won't miss the next concert," I said to him.

"I'll hold you to that," Damon said.

"I'll hold myself to it," I told him.

I was still at the precinct house in Brentwood at around seven-thirty that night. I was tired and finally looked up from a thick sheaf of police reports on the sadistic murders that had taken place in nine West Coast cities, plus the one in D.C. that we knew about. The case was scaring the hell out of me, and certainly not because I believed in vampires.

I didbelieve in the weird and horrible things people could sometimes do to one another: savage bites, sadistic hangings, draining blood out of bodies, attack tigers. For once, I couldn't begin to imagine what the killers might be like. I couldn't profile them. Neither could the FBI's behavioral science unit. Kyle Craig had admitted as much to me. That was one reason he was out here himself. Kyle was stumped too. There was no precedent for this string of murders.

Jamilla appeared at my desk around quarter to eight. She had been working down the hall. She had a very pretty face, but tonight she just looked tired. There is a simple fact of life about police work. Adrenaline gets flowing during bad cases. It makes everybody's feelings more intense. Attractions grow and can cause unanticipated problems. I had been there before, and maybe so had Jamilla. She acted like it. Maybe that was why we were a little tentative around each other.

She leaned over my desk, and I could smell a light cologne. "I have to go back to San Francisco, Alex. I'm heading out to the airport now. I left beaucoup notes for you and Kyle on some of the files I was able to get through. I'll tell you what, though: It doesn't seem, to me, that all the murders were committed by the same killers. That's my contribution for today."

"Why do you say that?" I asked. Actually, I'd had the same feeling. Nothing to substantiate it, though. Just a gut reaction to the evidence we had gathered so far.

Jamilla rubbed the bridge of her nose, then she wrinkled it some. Her mannerisms were funny and made me smile. "The patterns keep changing. Especially if you look at the most recent murders versus the ones from a year or two ago. In the earlier murders the killers were methodical, very careful. The last couple of murders are slapdash, Alex. More violent too."

"I don't disagree. I'll look at all the files carefully. So will Kyle and his folks at Quantico. Anything else bothering you?" I asked.