Tess surged to her feet. 'Jesus. How did he…?'

'Get burned? We're not certain yet. The victim might have been a derelict, sleeping in the park. It closes at one a.m., and it's supposed to be patrolled, but sometimes street people sneak in and manage to hide. The victim was doused with gasoline and set ablaze. The autopsy shows he died from the flames, not from a knife wound or a gunshot that a fire is sometimes used to conceal. The blaze destroyed his clothes, so we can't tell if he was a derelict, but as we know, sometimes kids get their kicks by tracking down vagrants while they sleep and setting them on fire. That neighborhood doesn't see much trouble, so near to the mayor's house. The gangs tend to stay farther north and west. All the same, the scenario I just described is consistent with what happened.'

'But do you believe that scenario? You wouldn't mention this victim unless you thought there was a chance' – Tess could hardly say the words – 'he might be Joseph.'

'All I'm doing is pointing out a common denominator.'

' Carl Schurz Park.'

Craig nodded. 'But it's probably just a coincidence. Your friend wasn't a derelict. What would he be doing in the park at three a.m.? Especially that night.'

'What's so unusual about last Saturday night?'

'On Sunday, it rained, remember?'

'Yes.'

'Well, the storm began around two in the morning. Even if your friend couldn't sleep and felt tempted to take a walk, is it reasonable to believe he'd have gone out after he saw it was raining? And if he did, why would he have left the street to climb the fence of a park that was locked for the night?' Craig shrugged. 'The scenario that doesn't raise questions is the one I described. A derelict snuck into the park to find shelter. Kids followed him and set him on fire.'

Tess bit her lip. 'All the same, I don't have a choice.'

'Excuse me?'

'I have to look at the body, to try to assure myself it isn't Joseph. Otherwise I'll never stop wondering.'

'I meant what I said. It's much worse than the others.'

'Please, Lieutenant.'

Craig studied her. 'Why don't we compromise?'

'I don't' – Tess swallowed – 'understand.'

'I admire your loyalty to your friend. But why not do yourself a favor? This time, look at photographs. Since visual identification is almost hopeless, the difference won't matter, and you can still put your mind at rest.'

She thought about it, dismally nodding.

'I'll be back in a minute,' Craig said.

Alone in the room, Tess waited nervously, darting her eyes toward the window and the horrors she'd seen beyond it. She wondered what greater horror she soon would-

Lieutenant Craig re-entered the room, carrying a folder. He opened it, then hesitated. 'Remember, the fire disfigured most of the body, especially the face. All of the body would have been disfigured, but it seems that the victim had strength enough to run through the rain and get to a pool of water. He managed to roll in it and put the flames out before he died.'

Tess reached for the folder. She slowly removed what felt like six photographs, discovering that they were frontside down. A short reprieve. Tense, she turned the first one.

She gasped.

What once had been a head now resembled a roast that had been seared, scorched, blackened, charred, and…

'Oh, my God.' Tess jerked her eyes away, but the image of the grotesque mutilation remained in her mind. The blistered skull had no hair, no features, nothing that could possibly resemble Joseph's handsome face. Soot-filmed bone protruded from dark whorls of crisped…

Her voice quavered… 'Lieutenant, I'm sorry I doubted you.'

'Here. Let me… There's no need to torture yourself any further.' Craig reached for the photographs.

Tess shook her head fiercely. 'I started this. I'll…'

She turned the next photograph. Another head shot, equally repulsive. In a rush, she set it aside. Only four more to go. Hurry, she thought.

She wasn't prepared for the next photo. The corpses on the platform beyond the window had each been covered with a sheet to the neck. But now she winced at a full view of a naked, almost totally charred body. Only the legs to the knees and the left arm below the elbow hadn't been scorched. However, what Tess noticed most, with mounting nausea, were the bulky stitches that ran from the pelvis up to the ribcage, then right and left, forming a Y, where the pathologist had closed the body after the autopsy had been performed.

I can't take much more. Tess inwardly moaned, hands shuddering, and flipped another photograph. Whatever horror she'd dreaded she would see, she discovered – exhaling sharply, reprieved – that she was staring at the corpse's unburned left leg and foot. Thank you, Lord. Now if only… She turned the next-to-last photograph and again exhaled, reprieved, viewing the corpse's unburned right leg and foot.

One more to go.

One last photograph.

And if I'm lucky, Tess thought.

She was.

At the same time, she wasn't, for although the final photograph wasn't threatening (indeed it was predictable, given the logic of the sequence – a shot of the corpse's unburned left arm below the elbow), something in it attracted her shocked attention.

Abruptly her memory flashed back to when she'd talked with Joseph in the delicatessen last Friday afternoon.

'We can only be friends,' he'd said.

'I'm not sure what…'

'What I mean is, we can never be lovers.'

His frankness had startled her. 'Hey,' she'd said, I wasn't making a proposition. It's not like I asked you to go to bed.'

'I know that. Really, your behavior's impeccable.' Joseph had reached across the table and tenderly touched her hand. I didn't mean to offend or embarrass you. It's just that… there are certain things about me you wouldn't understand.'

And while he'd said that, Tess had glanced down at the back of the hand, the left hand, that Joseph had placed on hers.

Just as Tess now glanced at – no, riveted her eyes upon - the back of the left hand in the photograph.

She felt as if she'd swallowed ice cubes, as if her stomach were crammed with freezing chunks of…!

A choked sound escaped from her throat. She slumped back in the chair, forced her eyes away from the photograph, fought to speak, and told Craig, 'It's him.'

'What?' Craig looked surprised. 'But how can you be…? The corpse is so…'

'On Friday, when we ate lunch, Joseph touched my hand. I remember glancing down and noticing he had a scar, a distinctive jagged scar, on the back of his left wrist.' Weary, heart sinking with grief, Tess pointed toward the photograph. 'Like this scar on this left wrist. He's dead. My God, Joseph's…'

'Let me see.' Craig grasped the photograph. As if clinging to Joseph, she resisted. The lieutenant gently pried at her fingers and carefully removed the photograph.

Craig scowled down, frowning, nodding. 'Yes. An old scar. Judging from its thickness, the wound was deep. No one mentioned this to me. Otherwise I'd have told you about it and saved you the pain of looking at the other photos.' He raised the picture closer. 'Not a knife scar. Not jagged the way it is. More like a wound from a broken bottle or maybe barbed wire or… Tess, are you sure?'

'In my mind, I can see his hand on mine as vividly as I see that photograph. There's no way to measure them. But yes… I'd give anything not to be… I'm sure. The scars are identical. This is Joseph. Joseph is…" Tess felt pressure behind her ears, in her stomach, but most of all, around her heart.

Her voice sank. Abruptly she felt numb. 'Dead. Joseph is…'

'Tess, I'm sorry.'

'Dead.'