He was pale now, all his self-assurance gone. He was pathetic,

Caroline thought. No wonder Claudia had made sure he'd had no financial stake in her business. She stood up, contempt in her eyes. "Now get out of here before I call Detective Toscana."

Raoul turned on his heel and fled, leaving Caroline with the first unmixed moment of triumph she'd felt since she'd raided the fridge what seemed like a lifetime ago. What a piece of work Raoul was. But at least she knew one thing for certain. He'd never have the guts for murder.

The technicians had finally completed their work on the crime scene that had been a state-of-the-art nail studio and had moved on to Karen McElroy's last resting place in the foot spa. They'd lifted the heavy shelving away from Ondine, and now Vince was left alone with the medical examiner. Dr. Richmond pulled a face as the tacky nail polish attached itself to her overalls everywhere she touched it. "God, Vince, this is terrible," she complained as her latex-gloved hands began their initial probing of Ondine's body.

"Isn't it always, Sarah?"

"Bodies, I don't mind. But I've always thought cosmetics were more trouble than they were worth." There was a horrible slurping sound as Dr. Richmond turned the body over. Vince tried not to think about it.

Sarah Richmond's expert fingers moved over Ondine's shattered body. "The skull's pretty well crushed. Blunt-force trauma everywhere." She glanced up. "Those shelves must be damn heavy." She ran her hands expertly down the supermodel's torso. "Broken ribs, sternum feels like it might have gone, too." She was talking to herself, requiring no response from Vince.

"Sounds like she'd have taken less damage if she'd been hit by a truck." Vince knew what he was talking about. He'd seen the crushed results of vehicular homicide more times than he cared to remember. "Has she taken a beating, or was it the shelves falling that killed her?"

"Hard to tell at this stage," Sarah said absently. "I'll be able to say for sure once I've done the autopsy and matched up her injuries with the shelf unit." Then she frowned. "Hang on a minute. This isn't right." She leaned forward, delicately peeling back the waistband of Ondine's jogging pants. "There's something here, Vince. Can you get a photographer back here?"

He called for the cameraman and stooped over the body to try to make out what Sarah had seen.

"Look," she said. "There's something taped to her body, just alongside the hipbone." She leaned back to allow room for the photographer. Then she picked at one corner of the adhesive tape, pulling it free to reveal a small key. Vince reached into his pocket for a plastic evidence envelope and held it open for Sarah to drop the key in.

He held the envelope close to his face. "It may be small, but it's a serious-looking key," he said. "I'd guess a safety-deposit box or a safe. But I haven't seen anything around here that this would fit."

Sarah shrugged. "There's no reason why it belongs here. Maybe it's the key for a safe back home?"

"So why carry it taped to her skin? Why not keep it in her purse?"

Before they could speculate further, Mike rushed in, looking as pleased as a puppy dog who has finally mastered continence. In his hand, he clutched a videotape. "Vince, I think I've got something for you."

Vince brightened visibly. Anything that might move this bogged-down case forward had to be worth listening to. "Shoot, Mikey," he said.

"You know we've got a team going through all the security videos?"

Vince nodded.

"Well, one of the guys brought me this tape from the camera on the corner of the main building near the path to the lake. It's timed just before the attack on Phyllis Talmadge. You can see Ms. Talmadge walking into range and almost bumping into King David and Raoul de Vries. They've got their backs to the camera, but they're obviously deep in conversation. Then Howard Fondulac comes up behind Ms. Talmadge and listens in while she's talking to them." He paused expectantly, but his boss seemed more frustrated than excited by the news.

"Damn," Vince said. "Why the hell don't they have audio on these tapes?"

"Sir, we don't need audio," Mike replied, obviously bursting to reveal something extraordinary.

"We don't?"

"No, sir. See, my sister, she was born deaf. When she was little, I used to take her to lip-reading classes. I've always kept it up. And I could read Ms. Talmadge's lips."

Vince felt his mouth fall open. "You're kidding me."

"No, sir." He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. "This is what she said. I'm pretty much certain of it. 'I had to get out of that room. It's full of secrets. I could sense secrets and lies that touch all of us.' "

"You're sure about this?"

Mike nodded. "I watched it through a dozen times to make sure I wasn't mistaken. That's what she said."

"She never said a thing about running into those guys on her way to the lake," Vince said. "Why the hell would she keep quiet about something like that?"

Sarah Richmond stood up. "She's the one who got hit on the head and dumped in the lake, right? She might well have no recollection of it. Serious trauma to the head can often lead to patchy memory loss of the time immediately before the incident. There's probably nothing more sinister to it than that."

"Whatever. But we need to talk to the Talmadge woman. Now," Vince barked, delighted to have a purpose at last. "Let's head out to the hospital, Mikey."

"I checked with the hospital. She discharged herself this morning. She's back here, having a consultation with the nutritionist," he said. "She'll be done in about ten minutes."

"So what are we waiting for?" Vince demanded, heading for the door. "You did good, Mikey."

When Phyllis Talmadge emerged with her depressingly limited diet sheet, the two police officers were waiting for her. She seemed unsurprised to see them. "I had a feeling you'd want to talk to me some more," she said. "That crack on the head seems to have sharpened up my powers. I've already spoken to my agent about it, and she's arranging some press interviews so I can tell my public that far from being impaired by my injuries, my psychic abilities are stronger than they've ever been."

"Great," Vince said without enthusiasm. Just what the world needed. A reason for crackpots to smack their psychics upside the head when they didn't like their reading. He could hear the excuses now. But officer, I was only trying to help her get a clearer picture…

"Here's an example," the psychic continued, undaunted. She pointed to the small plastic bag containing the key that was still clutched in Vince's fingers. "That bag you're holding, it contains something belonging to the dead woman."

"Which one?" Vince said cynically. It wasn't too much of a stretch to guess that an evidence bag in the hand of a detective engaged in a murder investigation would contain an item that had been in the possession of the victim.

Phyllis frowned. "Why, Claudia, of course. You mean there have been more victims?"

Vince nodded. "We've just found Ondine dead. And Karen McElroy, the manicurist."

Phyllis nodded sagely. "I'm not surprised. I sensed there would be more deaths before the day was over. But whatever you've got in that bag didn't belong to either of them. It was Claudia's. The vibrations are unmistakable."

Intrigued now, Vince opened his hand and revealed the key. "You're telling me this key was Claudia's?"

"May I?" Phyllis said, reaching for the bag.

"Be my guest. But don't take it out."

Phyllis took the bag and placed it between her hands, which she folded into the shape of prayer. She raised them to her face, the tips of her index fingers against her lips. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Vince glanced at Mike, who was staring at the squat little woman with something approaching awe. He was surrounded by nutcases, Vince thought wearily.