"But bone doesn't make sense. Helms was buried. Montague was tossed into the ocean. Their skeletons were intact."

"Maybe their bones turned out to be unsuitable for some reason."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. OK. Maybe it wasn't a problem with the bones. Maybe the perp got spooked, the drop-off was spotted, the cleaning apparatus broke down. A thousand things could have gone wrong."

"What about the cut marks?"

What about the cut marks? Lower back. Pelvic and abdominal area.

Think outside the box, Brennan. Outside the bones.

My mind tossed up a gruesome possibility.

"But you're right about one thing," Ryan was saying. "Helms lived in a scrap-yard trailer. Montague was homeless. Aikman was mentally ill. Teal was unstable and lived on the streets. Who else is missing? Hookers. Druggies. Those on the fringe, those no one notices. The same people who fell victim to Burke and Hare."

It couldn't be. The idea was too terrible to contemplate.

"But there's no proof anyone's dead except Helms and Montague." Ryan's voice was barely registering. "So what have we learned? Cruikshank was digging into Burke and Hare. Cruikshank was staking out the GMC clinic. Helene Flynn worked there. Montague and Teal were patients there. But we don't even know that Teal is dead."

"Cruikshank sure is," I said. "Because he uncovered something that got him killed. Ryan-"

"Shh."

"No. Listen."

Clicking off the light, Ryan pulled me to him. When I tried to protest, he hugged me tighter. I fell silent and we lay together in the dark. Sometime later, Birdie hopped onto the bed. I felt him circle, then curl at my side.

Tired as I was, sleep wouldn't come. My mind kept offering up the same dreadful suspicion. Kept repeating the same horrified response: It can't be.

I refused to think about my appalling hypothesis. To calm myself I chanted silently. Tonight, rest. Tomorrow, pursue.

It didn't work. My thoughts raced from topic to topic. I kept seeing the rigging and tubes pumping to keep Pete alive. I relived mopping Anne's kitchen floor, pictured my tears falling and mingling with his blood. I went cold at the prospect of telling Katy that her father was dead. Where was Katy?

I remembered my recent call to Emma, dreaded the awful conversation I would have upon her sister's return from Italy.

I considered Gullet. Was his attitude toward me resistance, or merely indifference?

I thought of Dupree and his threats. Were they threats? What could he really do? All developers bitched to their friends in government about archaeologists interfering with progress.

Faces strobed in unending spirals through my brain. Pete. Emma. Gullet. Dupree. Lester Marshall. Corey Daniels. Adele Berry. Lonnie Aikman. The gargoyle features of Unique Montague. The fleshless skull of Willie Helms. Pete again.

The digits on the bedside clock glowed orange. Outside the ocean rolled, a soft, murmuring whisper. Minutes passed. An hour. Beside me, Ryan's body hadn't relaxed. His breathing hadn't steadied into the rhythm of sleep.

Share my suspicion with Ryan?

No. Wait. Dig. Be sure.

"You awake?" I whispered softly.

"Hm."

"Thinking about Lily?"

"Among other things." Ryan's voice was dusky.

"What?"

"Cruikshank's code."

"You crack it?"

"Except for the Helms file, I think it's mostly initials, dates, and times."

"C means case closed."

"Breakthrough noted."

I jabbed Ryan with an elbow.

"CD is Corey Daniels. AB, Adele Berry. LM, Lester Marshall. Not sure about some of the others. The dates are obvious. I think the numbers after each set of initials indicate the times that person entered or left the clinic."

"It's that simple?"

"There's more to it, but I think basically Cruikshank was keeping track of when people came and went."

"Staff only?"

"I think some were patients. Helms is another story. Those notes must have to do with research rather than surveillance since Helms disappeared before Cruikshank was hired to find Helene."

"If Cruikshank's system is so easy, why didn't Pete get it?"

Earlier, Ryan wouldn't have missed an opportunity for a dig. Not tonight. "When Pete was working it he didn't have the names of the clinic staff. Or Willie Helms. What time is it?"

I looked at the clock. "Three ten."

"Doesn't matter. I don't think the notes will yield much." Ryan pulled me to him. "You sleepy?"

"I'm not in the mood, Ryan."

"I was thinking of Cruikshank's laptop."

"Gullet wants it back tomorrow."

"Want to take one last run at the password?"

"Yes." And there was something else I wanted to check into. Could it be?

"Did you find Cruikshank's police ID number?" Ryan asked.

"There's a badge, but the Charlotte PD doesn't number them."

"Did Cruikshank keep any other police equipment? A holster? Handcuffs? A handcuff key?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Contrary to our glamorous public image, we in law enforcement aren't all that complex. Old cop trick: use your ID number as your password. Older cop trick: scratch your ID number onto your belongings."

Boyd and I set a land speed record bolting down the stairs. Ryan followed at a more dignified pace. By the time he'd joined us I'd hit pay dirt.

"Cruikshank scratched digits beside the keyhole." Thrusting the handcuffs at Ryan, I dashed to the desk, opened and booted the Dell. "Read them off."

Ryan did. I hit the keys. Black dots appeared in the little white window, then the screen changed to the Windows desktop.

"We're in!"

"Mailbox first?" Ryan asked.

I spent ten minutes poking around.

"The PC's set up for wireless, but there's no e-mail. I doubt Magnolia Manor's plugged in, so Cruikshank probably used coffee shops or libraries to access the Net. He's got hundreds of downloads. You might as well go back to bed."

"You sure?"

"This is going to take a while."

Ryan kissed my head. I heard footfalls on the carpet, then his tread on the stairs. Boyd stayed at my feet.

Everything faded from my consciousness but the softly lit monitor of a dead man's PC. Beyond its glow, Anne's picture window was a shiny black rectangle of glass. As I read file after file, a hard knot formed in my gut.

When I finally sat back, the window had gone gray, and the vast Atlantic was emerging from an early morning mist.

The hunt for explanations was over.

My guess had been correct. I knew. And the reality was as ruthless as any I'd imagined. But that would have to wait.

I had my own reality to contend with. I called the ICU. No change. No obvious improvement, but Pete was stable.

Try Katy again? No point. She'd get my message if she had her cell on. If she didn't, another call would just result in another message. If I didn't hear from her within a few hours, I'd call the university and ask for help in locating her.

I stretched out on the couch.