“I see you’re still allergic to ironing.”

McGlade tugged on his lapels like a wise guy. “This is Armani. Armani doesn’t wrinkle.”

“Then what are all of the crinkles and creases?”

“Those are style lines.”

He smiled at me, the smile becoming a wince as he took in my condition.

“Damn, what happened to you? Looks like you got into a fight with an ugly stick, and the ugly stick kicked your ass.”

I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “This is the amount of patience I have left, McGlade. What do you want?”

“I need a favor.”

“No.”

“It’s important.”

“No.”

“It’s not work-related. It’s personal.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m getting married.”

“My sympathies to your fiancée.”

“I’d like you to stand up.”

I was about to say no again, but I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

“What did you just ask me?”

McGlade spent a moment studying his shoes. Brown leather, Italian. Probably worth a fortune.

“I need a, uh, best man. I want you to be my best man.”

I considered all of the hurtful put-downs I could sling at him, and gave him my best.

“Let me guess. You don’t have any friends because you’re an obnoxious bottom-feeding creep, so I’m the only person you can ask.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. That pretty much covers it.”

I rubbed my eyes, a bad move because they hurt like hell. Millennia ago, McGlade worked for the CPD and was my partner. He screwed that up, and screwed me over, which should have been the end of our relationship. But Harry kept reappearing in my life, like an antibiotic-resistant rash. He was the reason why that stupid character on that stupid TV show was named after stupid me.

“Will you do it?”

“I’d rather eat a box of tacks.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll pay you. I’m rich.”

“Pay someone else.”

“I would, but my betrothed wants it to be you.”

“She knows me?”

“She loves the TV show.”

That damn show. “I’m close to losing my job because of that show.”

“Aren’t you knocking on retirement anyway, Jackie? Pretty soon you’ll be chasing bad guys with a walker.”

It was my fault. I let him in.

“You want me to be your best man?” I gave him a sharp poke in his chest, feeling my finger sink into pudge.

“I’m begging you, Jackie. I’ll do anything.”

“Kill me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“On the show. Kill my character. You’re the executive producer, right?”

“Yeah. But an executive producer doesn’t do anything, other than collect a fat paycheck.”

“Then find some other moron to stand up for you.”

McGlade chewed his lower lip, and I could practically see the two gears turning in his head. I was pretty sure there were only two.

“We haven’t filmed the season finale yet, and it has a big surprise in it.”

“Great. Gun me down.”

“Actually, your character professes love for me and we have sex in an alley.”

“There’s your surprise. After sex, I eat my gun. A perfectly natural reaction.”

“I have to talk to the producer. And the writers. And the network.”

“Yes or no, McGlade?”

He grinned. “It’s a deal. The network has always pushed to replace you with someone sexy. Here’s their chance.”

“Good. Now you can leave.”

Harry headed for the door.

“The rehearsal is in two days.”

“Two days?”

“Wedding is in four days. Why wait?”

“Indeed…”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. And you need to bring a date.”

“Why?”

“Holly doesn’t have anyone to stand up either.”

“Great.”

“Toodles, Jackie. And try to wear something nice, not any of that Home Shopping crap.”

I may have smacked him in the ass with the door as he left.

After regaining my composure, I hit the bathroom and took a few more aspirin – standard procedure after a visit from Harry – and then attempted to shower.

The water hurt, but I scrubbed until the last of the soot swirled down the drain. After the shower I rubbed some burn salve on my hand, bandaged it up, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging pants, and jogged into the kitchen to eat.

I microwaved a potato and stuffed it with cheddar cheese and some pan-seared broccoli. Swallowing brought tears to my eyes, and the tears in my eyes made them hurt. I was squirting myself in the face with Visine when the phone rang.

Latham? I hurried to answer.

“Hughes at county. Got some results.”

I sighed. If I couldn’t speak to my ex-boyfriend, I suppose the next best thing was speaking to an assistant medical examiner about a jar of severed toes.

“I’m all ears, Max.”

“My bone girl, Jess Coran, confirmed the toes are all about thirty years old. We also did some tests, found saliva.”

Yuck.

“Is it from a secretor?”

“It’ll take a few days to know. Sample is tiny, it will be tough to pull.”

“If anyone can do it, you can.”

“I wouldn’t need the flattery if I made more money.”

“Flattery costs the taxpayers less. What about those holes you found in the toes?”

“I’ve got a hypothesis. We dissected one, found minute fibers. Could be thread.”

“Meaning?”

Hughes clucked his tongue. “I arranged the toes in a circle. There were just enough to make an adult-sized necklace.”

ALEX SHIFTS ON the couch and mentally replays the shrink’s question.

“What are some of the things your father did to you?”

There are so many, Alex sometimes wonders if they were all real. The punishment box, the size of a coffin, locked inside for days without food or water. Wetting the bed and being forced to lick up the mess. Kneeling on thumbtacks. Being hung from the rafters and lashed until you went hoarse from screaming. Having to help Father kill people. Even other children, friends from school.

“He did many things,” Alex says. “If there was an award for child abuse, he’d have won.”

“You know it’s abuse as an adult. How about as a child? Did you understand your father was unfit?”

“I knew Father was different, but I didn’t understand he was crazy until years later. I didn’t question the abuse. I just tried to cope.”

“By killing cats?”

Alex smiles. Dr. Morton has probably been waiting to slip that in.

“Among other things. We lived in constant fear, and did things to help with the fear.”

“What things?”

“I would cut myself, sometimes, on my legs. Isn’t that strange? Here I was, a kid, being horribly abused, and I abused myself even more.”

“Perhaps you were doing it to express the pain you were feeling inside.”

Alex digested this.

“Or perhaps I began to like the pain.”

“Do you enjoy pain, Alex?”

Alex sneaks a glance at Dr. Morton. The good doctor is calm and composed, as usual.

“I’m not sure. I was always terrified of being hurt. But after a while, it was kind of like a challenge. Sort of like, I can handle this, what else have you got? I don’t think I enjoy the pain so much as I enjoy mastery over it.”

“How about the pain of others?”

Alex grins, full wattage.

“Oh, now that I love.”

“Hence the cats.”

“Yeah. Hence the cats.”

“But you know now that it’s not beneficial for you to harm animals.”

Alex nods. “Right. No more animals. I’m clear on that.”

Dr. Morton makes a grunting sound, perhaps trying to convey approval.

“What are some of the other things you did to cope, Alex?”

“Sex. I had sex.”

“Were you sexually abused by your father?”

“No. Never. For Father, sex was something perverted. Unnatural. The devil’s work.”

“Is that how you feel about sex?”

“No. I think sex between two people who love each other can be a beautiful thing.”

“How old were you at the time?”

Alex thought about it. “Fourteen.”

“And the person you had sex with?”