Shit, what the hell happened to his ride? It used to be so sweet and shiny. Now it was a fucking wreck. Windshield cracked, side window busted. He was disappointed in the doc. He'd expected her to take better care of her rig.

He turned off the car alarm with the remote control on the key ring, adjusted the driver's seat, then slipped inside and turned the key in the ignition switch. Quickly he backed out of the space. Once clear of the lot, he accelerated, speeding down a series of side streets until he felt safe.

He relaxed a little, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of the steering wheel and the responsiveness of the engine, pleasures he hadn't experienced in a year of incarceration.

The CD on the tray was some classical shit. That crap made his ears bleed. He ejected the disk and tossed it out the window, then dialed through the FM stations till he found some kick-ass rock 'n' roll. He pumped it loud, beating his hands on the steering wheel above the blare.

He was laughing. He was out of Twin Towers. He was on the loose and living large.

"Lock up your daughters, moms and dads," he said with a whoop of glee. "Justin Gray is back in town!"

When Robin was sure Gray had left the office, she pushed herself into a sitting position, then rose upright. Two unsteady steps brought her to the phone on her desk. She assumed she would dial 911 and was surprised when her fingers speed-dialed the first number in the phone's memory.

Meg, she realized. She was calling Meg.

There had to be a good reason, but none occurred to her until Meg picked up on the third ring.

"Cameron residence."

"Meg, I want you out of the house right now."

"It's a condo. Mom, not a house, and why would I be out of it when I just got into it? Jamie's mom dropped me off, like, thirty seconds ago"

"Meg!" The shout of anger surprised them both. "Shut up and listen to me. I want you to leave the house and go to Mrs. Grandy's and then call me from there. Call me at the office. Understand?"

The jollity was gone from Meg's voice. "What's happening?"

"Just do it."

"What if Mrs. Grandy's not home?"

"She's always home. If not, try Mr. Haver."

"The guy who works at home all day in his bathrobe? The guy who's always hitting on you"

"That guy. Now leave the house. Right now. Don't stop to get changed and don't take another call. Just go. Have you got that?"

"Yes, Mom."

"I love you," Robin said, ending the call before her daughter could reply.

Now it was time to call 911, except first she had to put down the phone and bend over the wastebasket by the desk and throw up, voiding her stomach of lunch.

Lifting her head, she caught sight of the rectangle of waiting room carpet visible in the doorway, and on the carpet, an outstretched hand.

She forgot 911. Slowly she walked through her office to the doorway and looked down at the deputy on the floor, his face upturned to her. His throat had been opened to release a lake of arterial blood. His cap and pants were gone. Gray hadn't taken the shirt and jacket; they were ruined, splashed by red spray.

The man's expressionless face was hard to take, but somehow worse was the casual obscenity of his Jockey shorts and hairy legs.

She stared at the corpse for a long moment before remembering that he had a partner waiting in the prison van in the parking lot, only steps away.

The trip through the waiting room seemed endless, and then there was the longer trek down the hall to the rear door with the exit sign glowing overhead. All the while she was thinking of Gray on the loose with a gunGray, who had met Meg and never stopped speaking about her, and who now had Robin's wallet, containing her driver's license, which listed her home addressthe place where Meg was now, unless she had already left.

Gray wouldn't go after her. Of course not. It would be too risky. It would be crazy.

And a man who killed teenage girls for sport would never do anything crazy, would he?

Robin reached the exit and flung open the door and then she was standing at the top of the steps, waving with both arms at the deputy in the van, like a castaway signaling a distant, vanishing plane.

Hammond 's cell phone buzzed as he was driving into West LA. The caller was Lewinsky. "Chief, we've got a situation."

"I'm on my way to the dentist, Carl."

"I know that, sir. But I think maybe you'd better have Tom drive you back here."

"Tom's not driving. I'm in my personal car."

"Okay."

"I don't use my department driver for personal business. You know that."

"Yes, sir. But"

"I wouldn't want people thinking I'm abusing the office. There could be serious repercussions to any rumors like that."

"Yes, sir."

"Try to be more careful with what you say."

"Yes, sir. We do have a situation here, Chief."

Hammond sighed. "What is it? Some crack dealer suing the department for restraint of trade?"

"It's Justin Gray. The serial killer."

"I know who he is, Carl. I read the papers."

"He's escaped."

"What?"

"Gray has escaped."

"He busted out of Twin Towers? That place is a fortress."

"No, he was out on a special run. He was going to that shrink, you know."

"Robin Cameron."

"Yes, sir."

"The same Robin Cameron who was nearly carjacked yesterday? What is she, a one-woman crime magnet? Jesus." He took a breath before asking the obvious question. "Is she dead?"

"Gray roughed her up a little, that's all. But he killed one of the correction officers on escort duty."

"Cameron saw all this?"

"I guess so. I don't know the details. She's talking to some Rampart officers now."

"She's lucky to be alive. Gray isn't the type of guy to leave a witness. All right, I'm coming in, but it may take a while for me to get there, with the crosstown traffic at this hour. I want you ready with a complete rundown to bring me up to speed as soon as I walk in the door. And get out my spare uniform. I'm in civvies now. I want to be properly attired for the"cameras, he almost said"the investigation."

"Chief" a new voice spoke up"I don't know if that's a good idea."

It was Banner, Hammond's de facto public relations manager, although his official title was office coordinator, whatever that meant. Only the chief of police was authorized to have his own media handler.

"You don't want me wearing my uniform?" Hammond snapped.

"I don't want you getting involved in this case, period."

"And why is that?"

"This thing is a mess," Banner said. His voice faded in and out. He seemed to have been patched through on a cell. "It's too high-risk. There's no telling where this might go. I say palm it off on the Rampart guys or RHD."

"You lack vision, Phil." Hammond was smiling. "Where you see risk, I see opportunity."

"I'm just saying it could amp;" Fadeout.

"What? Didn't catch that. Where the hell are you calling from, anyway?"

"Halfway home. I mean, I figured if you were taking a half day for the dentist amp;"

Hammond got it now. "You'd kick back, too. How convenient."

"It's not like that. Caroline's in a music recital. I thought I could catch it. It's not like I see much of my family any other time."

"Whenever you want to be rotated back to Traffic, just say the word."

"No, sir. That wasn't what I meant at all."

"Good. Well, Helen will just have to videotape your daughter's performance. Turn your car around and come back to work. Read me?"

"Yes, sir. But I still say this course of action is unwise. It could backfire on us. It could undo all the hard work we'veI mean, the work you've done."