“Fast-forward,” she said.

“It will take a minute. The upload isn’t done yet.” Daphne fiddled with the controls, tried sliding the play bar forward, but it wouldn’t move. “We just have to wait for it to load all the way.”

It didn’t take long. The next scene flashed up, and Taylor leaned forward in her chair. It was a long shot of the hall leading to Jerrold King’s bedroom. Taylor sucked in her breath as a hand appeared in the frame, pushing open the boy’s bedroom door. King’s body was spread-eagled on the bed, naked. The camera never panned to his face, just showed the long shot, then his torso. He appeared dead.

The disembodied hand disappeared, then came back into the frame with a long, wicked, gleaming knife. Taylor forced herself to watch as the knife got closer to Jerrold^?s body, and the tip pierced the boy’s flesh, loving, gentle, then whipped into slashes and circles, the pentacle appearing in a blur of motion. The wound oozed, but didn’t bleed freely-Jerrold was newly dead, but dead for all that.

The scene cut to an open mouth. A high-pitched laugh, disembodied and androgynous, filled the frame. The camera pulled back slightly, enough to allow a vision to appear, a specter in black, unidentifiable but with black hair. The camera zoomed onto its chin, then did a close-up on the mouth, black-stained lips drawn back in a grin, as sharp, pointed fangs drew closer to Jerrold’s stomach. A pointed tongue flicked out of the mouth into the fresh wound, lapped up a bit of Jerrold’s blood. The lips tainted red, and were licked suggestively. Taylor noted absently that they looked chapped.

“Jesus,” McKenzie muttered.

“Stop it there,” Taylor said. Daphne clicked the pause button.

Taylor stood, hoping that movement would settle her stomach. She flipped open her cell phone, called Forensic Medical. Kris, the receptionist, answered. Taylor asked to speak with Sam.

A few moments later, the phone clicked and Sam came on the line.

‘Tin glad I caught you. Have you started the post on Jerrold King?”

“I’m about to. Stuart’s working the prelims now.”

“Catch him, quick. We might have the killer’s DNA on King’s body.”

Fifteen

They watched the rest of the film in horrified silence. The tableau was repeated three more times-the vampire arriving at the scene, carving open the flesh of the dead. The dancing figure in black, fangs and lips growing bloody again and again. The only reason she recognized the bodies was because she’d been at each scene. The killer had been very careful not to show the victims’ faces outright.

They scrutinized the repetition, looking for anything that might reveal the killer’s identity. The editing was superb, cutaway shots of deepest black inserted at the perfect time to obscure the identity of the film’s star. There was never more of the murderer shown than the leering mouth, and that hand draped in black clutching the knife.

Taylor had Daphne rewind and forward the film several times-it seemed like the act of licking the wounds was the same every time. She didn’t know what that meant. Had the killer only licked the wound of Jerrold King, or all the victims’? She filed the thought away.

It wasn’t until Brandon Scott’s scene that it all changed. Brandon was caught by surprise, obviously changing to go for a run. He turned to face the camera, shouted “No” several times, then was attacked with a fury. The cat-o’-nine-tails bit into his flesh again and again, his hoarse cries became begging screams.

The shot faded into a haze, and it was over, Brandon Scott’s shrieks of agony settling into a silence that echoed through the conference room. Brittany Carson’s attack had not been documented.

They were all dulled for a moment, absorbing. Taylor was the first to regain herself.

‘That’s it. We have to £et this video down from the site now,” Taylor said. Lincoln would be able to handle that. “How many people have seen this?”

Daphne pointed to the counter. “It’s going viral. It’s only been up since late last night, and we’re already at five hundred thousand views.”

McKenzie glanced at the page. “Can you tell who posted it?”

“I was looking at that before you came. There’s no real way-the user name is generic, letters and numbers, nothing personal. This is the first video posted using that name, there are no identifying details. Obviously, the company will have more information.”

“Lieutenant?”

Greenleaf was still sitting, his face pale.

“Yes?”

“Was that, I mean, could that?” He breathed out in a great gust. “Was thatreal?”

Taylor was suddenly very conscious of where she was. Thev were sitting in the conference room of the statewide newspaper, owned by a national media conglomerate, Gannett, and this would be mind-blowing, startling news that would capture the headlines for days. A scoop like this could sustain them for weeks.

‘Tin not sure,” she said carefully. “It seems this video has some elements of reality to it. But David, don’t run it. Please.” The Tennessean had a robust online community with breaking news updates sent to computers, phones and PDAs all over the city. A rallying cry like this would force the video even further into circulation. Then again, maybe it would crash the server and they’d have half their work done for them.

Greenleaf didn’t look her in the eye, but nodded. She hoped that meant he’d sit on it, at least until they could get the video taken down.

“Thank you. Daphne. David.” Taylor shook hands with Greenleaf, who was actively sweating. She couldn’t blame him-that would have horrified anyone. She was feeling rather sick herself. There was no doubt about it-the video most certainly was real.

Taylor and McKenzie took the security films with them, headed to the CJC. Tim Davis had the letter in evidence and was bringing them a copy with his results. Taylor had phoned ahead to Lincoln, warning him about the video upload. He said he’d get right on it.

Taylor was still a little shaky. She slid behind the wheel and turned to McKenzie, watched him placidly click his seat belt home.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t remember a murder case that had an accompanying video. Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked.

He nodded. “Once, unfortunately. This guy in Orlando was making snuff films in his basement. He killed three girls before the Orange County Sheriff’s Office got to him. But those were getting sold on the black market, through the fetish sex clubs, not being broadcast to anyone who wanted to look. And I didn’t see the victim at the scene where it took place, either. It’s not without precedent-we’re living in our very own brave new world.”

McKenzie had jotted down the symbols from the letter and was staring at them with an intensity that she thought might burn a hole in his notebook.

“What do they mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think they’re meant to be pagan, or at least symbolize the occult-that much I can tell you.”

“Really? So they match with the pentacles?”

“Yes, to an extent. Here’s the irony. The pentade is a symbol of protection. It’s a sign of unending life, the cycles of the year, the interconnectedness of the universe. It doesn’t represent evil, and it’s not meant to invoke fear. It’s a very misinterpreted symbol.”

Taylor glanced over at him. “McKenzie, how do you know that?”

He was quiet for a moment, then sighed loudly. “Listen, this is going to sound ridiculous, okay?”