The idea behind it was easy. When a missing persons report came in, the investigator who talks with the family asks if the missing person has been to a dentist in the past several years. If they existed, antemortem radiographs and dental charts would be retrieved, charted and inputted into the database.

If a likely victim surfaced, a forensic odontologist would examine the body, then create a postmortem dental chart using plain sight and postmortem radiographs. The database would work its magic, spit out a match, and notification would be made to the family that their loved one had been found. If it worked.

Peter Schechter’s case was a bit easier. Missing for five days, his parents had submitted his radiographs to the police over the weekend. They were in the NDIR system. Tabor already had the comparison radiographs prepped.

Taylor watched Stuart and Tabor work together, Tabor nodding and clucking. He had a good poker face, so she couldn’t tell if there was a match yet or not. Sam was filling out some preliminary paperwork. Taylor went to her.

“I didn’t know Kris and Barclay Iles were dating,” she said.

Sam knit her brows at the interruption, answered without breaking stride in her writing. “Yeah, they’ve been out to us for a couple of months now. She was the reason he got hired in the first place—she brought his resume to me. He was almost overqualified—he’d made it a couple of years in med school before dropping out. I was a little annoyed when I found out he was actually her boyfriend, but it doesn’t seem to affect either one of their duties. I see how well you and Baldwin work together, thought I’d bend the rules a bit and let them have at it.”

“You’re using Baldwin and me as an example?”

“Of course. Lord knows Simon and I can’t work side by side. I’d wring his neck and he’d divorce me. We’re both much too controlling. But the two of you, you have that give and take, you complement each other rather than butt heads. It’s cool.”

Sam was right, Taylor did work well with Baldwin. She worked well with her whole team. Granted, she’d handpicked them, made sure she had personalities that would coalesce, but Sam had a point. It wasn’t always easy to work with your significant other.

“It’s him,” Tabor said.

“One hundred percent?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. No doubt about it. The radiographs are a perfect match. Sorry about that, ladies. I’ll get the rest of the paperwork filed in the morning. But for the time being, as far as I’m concerned, you can do a notification.” Tabor packed his things, nodded to both Taylor and Sam, then let himself out.

Sam put her tea down. “All right then. Stuart, let’s get him undressed.”

Taylor watched while they struggled with the wet clothes. When his shirt was stripped off, she felt a huge pang of relief.

Taylor called Marcus. He answered on the first ring.

“It’s Schechter?” he asked without preamble.

“Yeah. Tabor just finished the dental comparison.”

“Damn. Okay then. I’ll head out to see his parents. Any word on our pentacle? Is Schechter left over from the Halloween murders?”

“There are no visible knife wounds or carvings on the body. I don’t think it’s related. Keep an open mind though, you never know, but this doesn’t feel like the Halloween killings to me. I’m going home now. Let the parents know Sam will be ready for them to do a closed circuit visual identification around…” She looked over at Sam, who held up four fingers twice. “Around eight tomorrow morning. And, Marcus, you go home after you talk to the Schechters, okay? You’ve had a long-ass day.”

“You know it, sister,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, hey, before I go, any idea about cause of death? His parents are sure to ask.”

“Hold on,” Taylor said. “Sam, any idea on COD?”

Sam was helping Stuart wash the body, called out, “Not yet. There’s some bruising around the neck, but I’ll have a better idea by morning. Stall them.”

“Did you hear that?” Taylor asked Marcus.

“Yes,” he sighed. Notification was one of the most hideous duties of their job. Even though they brought the department’s chaplain along, as was required by Metro regulation, watching a family receive the most horrific news of their life, news that would shape their world from here on out, was devastating. None of them was good at it, though it happened regularly in their line of work.

“Good luck,” she said, sincerely. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Taylor quit the morgue, casually looking for the watchers Price was supposed to have put on her tail, hoping for one that felt out of place. He’d emailed her their photos so she wouldn’t mistake either of them for her target. She spied one of them, a dark shadow lingering around the corner of the building. He saluted her, then melted back into the darkness. The other was out of sight. If the Pretender saw them… No, he’d enjoy that challenge, too.

She got in the car, debating. Looked at the clock, nearly midnight. She needed to go home. They would follow. She would explain to Baldwin that she’d brought her own people on board. He wouldn’t be able to argue—she was allowing herself to be protected, after all.

The streets were practically deserted, just her and the watchers following at a discreet distance. She hopped on I-65 south to I-40 west, the Nashville skyline winking at her for the briefest of moments. She loved the city at night, its lights glowing in the deserted buildings like a sailor’s succor after months at sea. She felt a calm steal over her, peace, despite the evening’s death. Thought about the Schechter case.

The dead had no secrets once she got involved. Her job, her mission, was to ferret out the truth, find the tiniest bit of shame in a person’s background and follow that thread to its conclusion. What secret was Peter Schechter hiding? What small transgression, invisible or visible, had he witnessed or caused that ended in his death?

The pentacle—she couldn’t help but feel that was a message, not a fluke. Not a joke.

She flipped open her phone and dialed a number she’d recently committed to heart. Only felt a moment’s silliness for calling the witch—she’d yet to be wrong about things.

After a few moments, a woman’s soft voice answered the phone.

“How are you, Taylor?”

“Ariadne. I’m good. You?”

The question was a bit loaded. Ariadne carried a child, one conceived in violence. Taylor felt the full weight of responsibility, but Ariadne reassured her.

“The Goddess’s blessings are upon me, as always. We’re doing very well. I’m so glad you found your sergeant. I told you he’d be all right. How are you coping?”

Taylor envisioned the woman, curled on a sofa in front of the crackling fire, her small pale feet tucked beneath her, long, luxurious black hair swirling around her body like a cloak. She wished she felt the kind of peace Ariadne seemed to embody.

“I’m happy he’s going to be okay. As for me, well, I’m as fine as I can be, considering,” Taylor answered. At least she had been honest. “Listen, we found the boy that’s been missing since Halloween.”

“He’s dead,” Ariadne said, a statement, not a question. Ariadne always knew things.

“Yes. There was a pentacle spray-painted on a tree close to where we found the body.”

“Were there any markings on the body?”

“None that we saw. I don’t think it’s related, but I could be wrong.”

“Don’t second-guess yourself, Taylor. Your instincts are always right.”

“You know about the man who has been stalking me. I’m wondering if this was him, trying to draw me out.”

“You want to be drawn out, though.”

Shit. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. “Ariadne, I just need to know if this boy is connected to the earlier case.”

“Give me a minute.”

There was silence, then a sigh. “I don’t believe he was a part of the Halloween massacre.”