I frowned. "How the hell did they find out?"

She shook her head. "Who knows? I'm going to give a reporter I know at the Examinerthe okay to break the story first."

"Hold on a second," I said. "You sure about that?"

"I'm sure. I trust my friend as much as I trust anybody. He'll ground the story in reality at least. Now help me figure out if there's anything we want the killers to read in the newspapers. It's the least my friend can do for us."

When we got back to the Hall of Justice there was bad news. The killers had struck again.

It was another bad one, another hanging. Two hangings, actually.

Jamilla and I split up as soon as we arrived at the murder scene in Mill Valley. We had different ways of doing things, different crime-scene techniques. Somehow, though, I thought we would arrive at the same conclusions about this one. I could see the signs already — all of them bad.

The two bodies were hung upside down from a rack used to hold copper pots. The scene of the murders was a contemporary kitchen inside a large, very expensive house. Dawn and Gavin Brody looked to be in their mid-thirties. Like the other victims, they'd been drained of most of their blood.

The first curiosity: Although the Brodys were naked, the killers had left behind their jewelry. A pair of Rolex watches, wedding bands, a large diamond engagement ring, hoop earrings studded with countless small diamonds. The killers weren't interested in jewels or money, and possibly they wanted us to know it.

So where were the victims' clothes? Had they been used to clean up the mess, to sop up blood? Was that why the killers had taken the clothing with them?

They seemed to have interrupted the Brodys, who were both successful lawyers, while they were preparing a meal. Was there some symbolism involved here? Or dark humor? Was it a coincidence, or had they purposely attacked the couple at dinnertime? Eat the rich?

Several small-town police officers and also the FBI's techies were crowded into the kitchen with us. I figured that the damage had already been done by the Mill Valley police. They were well intentioned but had probably never worked a major homicide before. I saw a few dusty footprints on the natural-stone kitchen floor. I doubted they belonged to the killers or the Brodys.

Jamilla had made her way around the large kitchen and now she came up to me. She'd seen enough already. She shook her head, and really didn't have to say what she was thinking. The local police had messed up this crime scene pretty badly.

"This is beyond strange," she finally said in a low whisper. "These killers have so much hatred in them. I've never seen anything like it. The rage. Have you, Alex?"

I looked into Jamilla's eyes but said nothing. Unfortunately, I had.

The story detailing a "rampage" of West Coast murders dominated the front page of the San Francisco Examiner. All hell had broken loose.

William and Michael watched it unfold on TV that night. They were impressed with themselves, though they had expected the news story to break soon. They were counting on it, in fact. That was the plan.

They were the special ones. The chosen team to get the job done. Now they were on their mission. On the road again.

They were chowing down at a diner in Woodland Hills, north of L.A., off I-5. People in the restaurant noticed them. How could they not? Both were over six feet two, with blond ponytails, strapping, well-muscled bodies, and dressed completely in black. William and Michael were the archetypes of modern boyhood: wild animalmeets entitled prince.

The news was playing out on TV. The murders were the lead story, of course, and the sensationalized coverage lasted for several minutes. Frightened people in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, San Francisco, and San Diego were interviewed on camera and had the most incredibly insipid things to say.

Michael frowned and then looked over at his brother. "They got it all wrong. Mostly wrong, anyway. What idiots, what fucking drones."

William took a bite of his dreary sandwich, then he stared up at the TV again. "Newspapers and TV always get it wrong, little brother. They're part of the larger problem, what has to be fixed. Like those two lawyers in Mill Valley. You finished here?"

Michael wolfed down the remainder of his extra-rare cheeseburger in a voracious bite. "I am, and I'm also hungry. I need to feed." His beautiful blue eyes were glazed.

William smiled and kissed his brother on the cheek. "C'mon, then. I have a good plan for tonight."

Michael held back. "Shouldn't we be a little careful? The police are out looking for us, right? We're a big deal now."

William continued to smile. He loved his brother's naivete. It amused him. "We are an incredibly big deal. We're the next big thing. C'mon, little brother. We both need to feed. We deserve it. And besides, the police don't know who we are. Always remember this: The police are incompetent fools."

William drove their white van back down the road they had traveled through Woodland Hills before they had stopped at the diner. He was sorry they couldn't have brought the cat, but this trip was too long. He pulled the van into an obnoxiously lit shopping mall and studied the signs: Wal-Mart, Denny's, Staples, Circuit City, Wells Fargo bank. He despised every one of them as well as the people who shopped there.

"We're notlooking for prey here?" Michael asked. His bright blue eyes darted around the mall and he looked concerned.

William shook his head. The blond ponytail wagged. "No, of course not. These people aren't worthy of us, Michael. Well, maybe that blond girl in the tight blue jeans over there is marginally worthy."

Michael cocked his head sideways, then licked his lips. "She'll do. For an appetizer."

William hopped out of the van and walked to the far end of the parking lot. He was strutting a little, smiling, his head held high. Michael followed. The brothers crossed through the backyard of the Wells Fargo bank. Then the full parking lot of the Denny's restaurant, which William thought smelled of bacon grease and fat people.

Michael began to smile when he saw what his brother was up to. They had done this kind of thing before.

A somber black-and-white sign loomed straight ahead of them. It was backlit. Sorel Funeral Home.

The back door to the funeral home took William less than a minute to crack open. It wasn't a problem since security was minimal.

"Now, we feed," he said to Michael. He was starting to get excited, and his sense of smell led him to the embalming room. He discovered three bodies stored in the refrigerators. "Two males and a female," he whispered.

William quickly examined the bodies. They were fresh. Two had been embalmed, one hadn't. William knew about necrology, including what went on in funeral homes. The embalming process involved draining blood from the veins, then injecting a formaldehyde-based fluid. Tubes connected to pumps were inserted into the carotid artery and the jugular vein. The next step involved emptying the internal organs of their fluids. After that, much of the work was cosmetic. The jaws of the dead were wired shut. The lips were arranged and sealed with some kind of glue. Eye caps were placed under each eyelid to prevent the eyeballs from sinking into the head.

William pointed to a centrifuge, which was used to drain bodies of blood and other fluids. He laughed. "We won't be needing thattonight."

All his senses were heightened. He felt larger than life. His night vision was excellent. Nothing more than the illumination from a table lamp would be needed.