The muffle furnace was in a corner and looked rather much like a small beige ceramic crematorium, the size of a hotel mini-bar, to be exact, that could heat up to as much as twenty-five-hundred degrees Fahrenheit. She turned it on, and a gauge very soon began registering its warming up. Jerri placed the cap inside a white porcelain dish not so different from a cereal bowl, and opened a drawer to get out a thick asbestos glove that would protect her up to her elbow. She stood poised with tongs while the temperature crept to a hundred degrees. At two hundred and fifty, she checked on our cap. It wasn't the least bit affected.

'I can tell you right now that at this temperature latex and Lycra would be smoking up a storm and beginning to melt,' Jerri let me know. 'But this stuff's not even getting tacky yet and the color hasn't changed.'

The silicone cap did not begin to smoke until five hundred degrees. At seven hundred and fifty, it was turning gray at the edges. It was getting tacky and beginning to melt. At not quite one thousand degrees, it was flaming and Jerri had to find a thicker glove.

'This is amazing,' Jerri said.

'Guess we can see why silicone's used for insulation,' I marveled, too.

'Better stand back.'

'Don't worry.'

I moved far out of harm's way as she pulled the bowl forward with tongs and carried our flaming experiment in her asbestos-covered hand. The exposure to fresh air fueled the fire more, and by the time she had placed it under a chemical hood and turned on the exhaust, the outer surface of the cap was blazing out of control, forcing Jerri to cover it with a lid.

Eventually, flames were suffocated, and she took off the lid to see what was left. My heart thudded as I noted papery white ash and areas of spared silicone that were still visibly pink. The swimming cap had not turned gooey or become a liquid at all. It simply had disintegrated until either cooling temperatures or an absence of oxygen or perhaps even a dousing with water had thwarted the process. The end result of our experiment was completely consistent with what I had recovered from Claire Rawley's long blond hair.

The image of her body in the bathtub, a pink swimming cap on her head, was ghastly, and its implication was almost more than I could comprehend. When the bathroom had gone to flashover, the shower door had caved in. Sections of glass and the sides of the tub had protected the body as flames shot up from the point of origin, engaging the ceiling. The temperature in the tub had never climbed above one thousand degrees, and a small telltale part of the silicone swimming cap had been preserved for the simple freakish reason that the shower door was old and made of a single thick sheet of solid glass.

As I drove home, rush hour traffic hemmed me in and seemed more aggressive the greater my hurry. Several times I almost reached for the phone, desperate to call Benton and tell him what I had discovered. Then I saw water and debris in the back corner of a burned-out grocery store in Philadelphia. I saw what was left of a stainless steel watch I had given to him for Christmas. I saw what was left of him. I imagined the wire that had confined his ankles, and handcuffs that had been locked with a key. I now knew what had happened and why. Benton had been killed like the others, but this time it was for spite, for revenge, to satisfy Carrie's diabolical lust to make him her trophy.

Tears blinded me as I pulled into my driveway. I ran, primitive sounds welling up in me as I slammed the front door behind me. Lucy emerged from the kitchen. She was dressed in khaki range pants and a black T-shirt, and holding a bottle of salad dressing.

'Aunt Kay!' she exclaimed, hurrying to me. 'What is it, Aunt Kay? Where's Marino? My God, is he all right?'

'It's not Marino,' I said chokily.

She slipped an arm around me and helped me to the couch in my great room.

'Benton,' I said. 'Like the others,' I moaned. 'Like Claire Rawley. A swimcap to keep her hair out of the way. The bathtub. Like surgery.'

'What?' Lucy was dazed.

'They wanted her face!'

I sprang up from the couch.

'Don't you understand?' I yelled at her. 'The nicks to bone at the temple, at the jaw. Like a scalping, only worse! He doesn't build fires to disguise homicide! He burns everything because he doesn't want us to know what he's done to them! He steals their beauty, everything beautiful about them, by removing their faces.'

Lucy's lips were parted in shock.

Then she stuttered, 'But Carrie? Now she's doing that?'

'Oh no,' I said. 'Not entirely.'

I was pacing and wringing my hands.

'It's like Gault,' I said. 'She likes to watch. Maybe she helps. Maybe she fucked things up with Kellie Shephard, or maybe Kellie simply resisted her because Carrie was a woman. Then there was a fight, the slashing and stabbing until Carrie's partner intervened and finally cut Kellie's throat, which is where the magnesium shavings were found. From his knife, not Carrie's. He's the torch, the fire builder, not Carrie. And he didn't take Kellie's face because it had been cut, ruined, during the struggle.'

'You don't think they did that to, to…?' Lucy started to say, her fists clenched in her lap.

'To Benton?' I raised my voice more. 'Do I think they took his face, too?'

I kicked the paneled wall and leaned against it. Inside I went still and my mind felt dark and dead.

'Carrie knew he could imagine everything she might do to him,' I said in a slow, low voice. 'She would have enjoyed every minute of it as he sat there, shackled. As she taunted him with the knife. Yes. I think they did that to him, too. In fact, I know it.'

The last thought was almost impossible to complete.

'I just hope he was already dead,' I said.

'He would have been, Aunt Kay.'

Lucy was crying, too, as she came to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.

'They wouldn't have taken the chance that someone might hear him scream,' she said.

Within the hour, I passed on news of the latest developments to Teun McGovern, and she agreed that it was critical for us to find out who Carrie's partner was, if possible, and how she might have met him. McGovern was more angered than she would show when I explained what I suspected and knew. Kirby might be our only hope, and she concurred that in my professional position, I had a better chance of making that visit successfully than did she. She was law enforcement. I was a physician.

Border Patrol had ferried a Bell JetRanger to HeloAir, near Richmond lnternational Airport, and Lucy wanted to take off this minute and fly through the night. I had told her this was out of the question, if for no other reason than once we got to New York, we had no place to stay, and certainly we couldn't sleep on Ward's Island. I needed a chance first thing in the morning to alert Kirby that we were coming. It would not be a request, but a statement of fact. Marino thought he should accompany us, but I would not hear of it.

'No cops,' I told him when he dropped by my house at almost ten in the evening.

'You're out of your friggin' mind,' he said.

'Would you blame me if I were?'

He stared down at worn-out running shoes that had never been given a chance to perform their primary function in this world.

'Lucy's law enforcement,' he said.

'As far as they're concerned, she's my pilot.'

'Huh.'

'I have to do this my way, Marino.'

'Gee, Doc, I don't know what to say. I don't know how you can deal with any of this.'

His face was deeply flushed, and when he looked up at me, his eyes were bloodshot and filled with pain.

'I want to go because I want to find those motherfuckers,' he said. 'They set him up. You know that, don't you? The Bureau's got a record that some guy called Tuesday afternoon at three-fourteen. Said he had a tip about the Shephard case that he'd only give to Benton Wesley. They gave the usual song and dance, that sure, everybody says the same thing. They're special. Got to talk to the man direct. But this informant had the goods. He said, and I quote, Tell him it's about some weirdo woman I saw at Lehigh County Hospital. She was sitting one table away from Kellie Shephard.'