“Fifteen.”

“Were you in love?”

Alex’s eyes close, and the memories seep in. Stolen kisses. Sideways glances. Shameful caresses that felt so good, they couldn’t be the devil’s doing.

“Yes. Yes, I was in love.”

The timer on the desk beeps.

“We’ve come to the end of another session.” Dr. Morton stands up, smiles benevolently.

“Same time tomorrow?” Alex asks.

“Unfortunately, no. I’m booked for the day.”

Alex’s mood darkens. “You told me we could have daily sessions. I’ll only be in town for a short time, and I have a lot to figure out.”

Dr. Morton pats Alex on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. I can see you the next day, same time.”

“I’d really like to see you tomorrow.”

“Impossible. But if it matters, I think you’re coming along wonderfully.”

Alex blinks. “I am?”

“You are. You’re well on the road to recovery, Alex. The progress you’ve made in these last few sessions is tremendous. Take a day off. Do something fun. Enjoy yourself.”

Alex stands, extends a hand.

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Doctor. See you tomorrow.”

Dr. Morton smiles. “The day after tomorrow, Alex. You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Alex walks outside, to the rear of the rental car. Looks carefully up the street. Down the street. No one is around. Alex opens the trunk.

Dr. Francis Mulrooney stares up, eyes wide with terror. Clothesline binds his wrists and ankles, tight enough to be cutting off the circulation. It’s probably excruciating, Alex thinks. The graphologist’s hands are an ugly blue. Deprived of blood, necrosis is already setting in. Like dead fruit, rotting on the vine.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be needing his hands ever again.

Mulrooney tries to scream, but the gag muffles it. Alex shushes him.

“It’s okay. My psychiatrist says I’m making a lot of progress.”

Mulrooney had been incredibly easy to locate; a quick call to the university did the trick. And kidnapping is child’s play. All a person needs is some Rohypnol, available over the Internet, and a used wheelchair. Jab a man on the street, sit him down as the drug takes immediate effect, and take him anywhere. He won’t even complain.

Alex opens the kit bag by Mulrooney’s feet and removes a syringe.

“Nighty-night time. When you wake up again, we’ll be at my new place. I’m going to see how much of your skin I can peel off before you die.”

Another muffled scream. Alex jams the needle into his biceps and injects the drug.

It will be a pleasant warm-up for Jack. Alex is pleased that the lieutenant survived. It would have been a shame for her to die without getting to know her.

Mulrooney’s eyes begin to flutter. Alex pats him on the cheek.

“I have to enjoy myself. Doctor’s orders. But first, we need to stop at the hardware store and get some tools. Can’t skin you without tools.”

Mulrooney continues to scream as the trunk is closed.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO your hair?” The stylist frowned at me. “Did you have the hair dryer on too long?”

“Something like that.”

I disliked getting my hair done, which is why I kept it long and dyed it at home. Sitting still while someone fussed over me made me nervous.

Unfortunately, the fire had done some major damage, making it impossible to get a comb through it. So I sought professional help. This particular stylist was named Barb. Her own hair was pink, and she had enough facial piercings to set off a metal detector.

“The ends are melted here. You see that?” She held up my bangs and frowned at my reflection in the mirror.

I shrugged. “Cheap shampoo.”

“You get what you pay for. We only carry Vertex hair care products. The shampoo is seventy dollars for a thirty-two-ounce bottle.”

“Seventy dollars? Is it made out of caviar?”

“Kelp. And biotin.”

“Can I pay on installments?”

Barb smacked her gum. She didn’t find me funny.

“When I finish cutting, should we do something about these gray roots?”

I didn’t find that funny.

An hour later I’d lost six inches of hair, gained some auburn highlights, and was out almost three hundred bucks – but that included the tip and a bottle of Vertex, with biotin and kelp.

While vanity wasn’t one of my hobbies, I really liked the new cut. It softened up my appearance, and I daresay, made me look a little younger.

My next stop was an auto supply warehouse. I brought in the two side mirrors I’d picked up in the alley behind Diane Kork’s house, and a helpful guy named Mitch found the parts number.

“They’re from a Dodge Stratus, a Mitsubishi Eclipse, or a Chrysler Sebring. Coupes and sedans, going back a few years.”

“It could be from any of those?”

“It fits any of those. Parts manufacturers sell to different car companies.”

“Any way to narrow it down?”

“I could try to match the paint. There’s some flakes from where this one broke off.” He used his thumbnail to scrape some paint chips onto the white counter, then hauled out a book of colors. “I’m not sure if that’s Magnesium or Graphite Metallic.”

“Looks like plain old dark gray to me.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “Gray is boring. No one would buy a gray car.”

He went back to his book. I neglected to tell him that I had a gray car. Or perhaps it wasn’t really gray. Perhaps it was Silver Dusk. Or Sissy Black.

“No to Graphite Metallic. And Magnesium doesn’t match either. Which means it has to be Titanium Pearl.”

“Naturally,” I said. “I’m surprised it took you so long.”

I got another eye roll. “Graphite Metallic and Magnesium are colors used by Dodge and Chrysler. If it isn’t one of those, it has to be Mitsubishi. They call their gray Titanium Pearl.”

“Are you sure?”

“Check for yourself.”

He found the appropriate page in the color book and placed the paint flakes on the swatch. Looked like a match to me.

“Thanks, Mitch.”

I used my cell to call the station. Herb hadn’t come in today, so I gave instructions to Detective Maggie Mason, who was a comer in Violent Crimes due to good instincts and a lack of any sort of social life. Like me.

“Late model Mitsubishi Eclipse, color gray, first two plate numbers Delta one. Call me when you get the search results.”

If there turned out to be too many to track down, I could get a team to start calling repair shops, to see if anyone came in to replace their side mirrors.

My next stop was Diane Kork’s house. It was in much better shape than I would have guessed, considering the inferno of the night before. The only evidence a fire had occurred were some black scorch marks on the brick, and plywood sheets nailed over the windows and doors to discourage looting.

I stood staring for a moment, wondering how the hell I’d get inside, when luck winked at me and a woman in an OSFM Windbreaker appeared from the backyard, walking a German shepherd.

I flashed my badge.

“Lieutenant Daniels, Violent Crimes. You with the office?”

The woman nodded, offering a hand. She was pear-shaped, short, with large blue eyes.

I hesitated, keeping one eye on the dog, which was the size of a small bear.

“Jeanna Davidson, arson investigator. Don’t mind Kevlar. He’s a sweetheart.”

The sweetheart yawned, showing me enough teeth to swallow a Volkswagen. I shook Jeanna’s hand slowly, to avoid getting mauled.

“I’m guessing this was arson.”

Jeanna nodded. “Kevlar sniffed out the accelerant. Burn pattern suggests gasoline. Were you the one we rescued?”

“Yeah. Thanks for that. Do you mind if I poke around inside?”

“Sure. Structure’s stable. Want a tour?”

“If it’s okay with Kevlar.”

We went around back and Jeanna walked up the porch. The rear entry had a makeshift door nailed to it, with a standard latch and padlock. Jeanna opened it and switched on a Maglite.