I picked up the pager and tried to get my eyes to focus. Why the hell did they page me instead of just calling me here? I glanced up at the clock, blinked, then looked frantically at the time on the pager.

“Holy crap,” I murmured, shocked. I hadn’t just fallen asleep. It was five in the morning! No wonder my neck had a crick in it. I’d been damn near unconscious!

Then my eyes focused on the actual message on the pager. My throat tightened as the meaning penetrated. Another victim. That made two victims in three days. The Symbol Man was definitely back.

The body had been found at Leelan Park—only a couple of miles from downtown Beaulac on the east end of the lake. The park was one of the pride and joys of the city, built within the last decade through the combined efforts of residents, local businesses, and the estate of the previous mayor of Beaulac, the late Price Leelan. There were sports fields, basketball and tennis courts, and a sprawling playground with nearly every conceivable climbing or swinging activity represented. A boat launch was in constant use on nice days, and on weekends when the weather was pleasant the park was packed with people.

At five a.m., I could hold on to the hope that the body hadn’t been found by a kid.

The park was large, but it wasn’t hard to figure out where to go. About half a dozen police vehicles were clustered on the end farthest from the lake, near the baseball fields. I parked my little Taurus in the first free spot I could find, did a quick makeup check-and-fix in the rearview mirror, then grabbed my notebook and exited my car. I scanned the area quickly, subtly relieved that I didn’t see any sign of Kristoff. At least I’d fallen asleep sitting up, so I wasn’t too wrinkled. I really needed to keep a change of clothes in my office, or at least in my car. I felt like I’d slept in my clothes, and I had a sneaking suspicion that I smelled like it too.

I could see Pellini and Boudreaux leaning up against one of the unmarked vehicles. They didn’t look very pleased at being up at this hour, nor did they seem eager to provide their help. Not that I gave a fuck about their help, but I did enjoy a bit of perverse pleasure that they’d been dragged out of bed. Pellini puffed on a cigarette, face drawn in a scowl as he took note of my presence, while Boudreaux remained deeply engrossed in the sports section of the newspaper. I quickly ceased to worry about my appearance. Pellini had quit battling the fat on his midsection many years ago, which meant that his gut had reached the point where it flopped over the top of his belt. He was sporting a Beaulac PD T-shirt that was so worn it looked more like e ulac P, and to add to the insult to onlookers, anytime he lifted his cigarette to his mouth the shirt rode up enough to display a couple of inches of pale and hairy stomach fat. Boudreaux didn’t have a weight problem, but his shirt was so wrinkled I suspected it had been balled up at the bottom of his laundry basket for weeks. And I didn’t want to know whether it was the “clean” or the “dirty” basket.

I knew they’d seen me, but neither felt it necessary to acknowledge my presence with any form of greeting. No help from that quarter. Fine with me. As least I knew it going in so that I wouldn’t have to worry about being disappointed by them.

There was enough of a chill in the air that I was regretting leaving my jacket in my office. The sun was well above the horizon, but the western sky still stubbornly held on to the dark-purple hues of dawn. Yellow crime-scene tape fluttered sluggishly in the morning breeze, blocking off the entrance to one of the baseball fields. I walked up to the tape, dew scattering off the grass and soaking my shoes.

The officer manning the crime-scene log was one of my old teammates from when I’d been on the road. Scott Glassman was a self-described “good ol’ boy” from the sticks, with a bit of pudge beginning to show in his midsection and with no desire to ever move over to the detective bureau. Scott was more than content to remain a street cop for the rest of his life. And I had to privately agree that the street was the best place for him. He had a good manner with people, knew everyone, and would go quietly nuts if he had to endure the slower pace and the paperwork required in the bureau. He kept his uniform pressed, his head shaved, and his nose clean. I fully expected him to eventually retire with thirty years of service, still a street cop.

Scott sketched a wave to me as I approached. “Another victim for ya, darlin’. Doesn’t look good.” Then he frowned, brows drawing together in concern. “And neither do you. Whatcha been up to?”

“I’ve had a couple of rough nights,” I said as I signed the scene log. “Not much sleep.”

He laughed. “You? You lead such a normal, boring life. What, didja finally drag a man home?”

I blinked at him in brief shock as I wondered how he could possibly know, then realized that he was just teasing me. But it was too late. Scott began to laugh even harder. “Oh, my God! You did!”

“I did not!” I struggled to control the guilty-as-charged expression on my face. “C’mon, Scott. You know me. I have No Life. Where’s this body?”

Scott sobered. “Looks like your guy struck again. Same signs of torture, same marks, same symbol. Crime Scene’s just finishing their pics now.” He gestured toward a figure on the ground just past the pitcher’s mound. I could see Jill crouching near the body, snapping pictures.

“Who found the body?” I asked, eyes on Jill and the latest victim.

“Some guy out walking his dog. A preacher.”

Jill stood and walked over to us, giving a shudder as she approached. “Ugh. I’m really disliking this Symbol Man,” she said, rubbing her arms. “That was seriously nasty.” Then she gave me a smile. “Heya, darlin’. Nice way to wake up, eh?”

“Heya, chick. That’s why I love this job. I don’t need to waste money on alarm clocks.”

Jill laughed, then peered into my face. “You look … different. Are you okay?”

I shrugged with a casualness I didn’t feel. “I’ve been busy. Not much sleep. Working, you know.”

Jill shook her head. “No, that’s not it. You look different. I can’t explain it.” She gave a wicked grin, blue eyes flashing. “Did you finally get laid?”

“Oh, come on! Why is everyone saying I look like I got laid?” I glowered at Jill and Scott.

Jill smiled and shrugged. “Dunno, darlin’. Maybe it’s the ‘freshly fucked’ hair thing you have going on.”

I laughed and shoved my hand through my hair in a futile attempt to make it lie flat. “No, that’s called falling-asleep-at-desk.”

She set her hands on her hips and glared at me. “You are so incredibly pathetic. Would it kill you to ease up on the work and go out and have fun?”

“Why, yes, I am pathetic,” I said, with a grin that I didn’t quite feel. Yeah, I’m pathetic enough to have a one-night stand with a demon. Pathetic and desperate. I’m even having weird-ass dreams about him at my desk. “And I can’t exactly slack off on work when it’s my first crack at a homicide investigation,” I reminded her.

“Okay. I’ll let you slide for now.” Then she leveled a sharp look at me. “But as soon as this case is wrapped up, I am going to drag your pathetic ass out drinking.”

A warm flush filled me, as if I’d downed a slug of hot brandy on a cold day. “Deal,” I said, smiling. “Now show me what we have.”

Jill made a face and headed back toward the body. I followed, mentally bracing myself for what I would see.

I had seen bodies. Natural deaths, suicides, homicides, motor-vehicle accidents. Enough years in police work and you get to see more than your share of death. No matter how many times I’d seen the horror of what one human could do to another, I was always shocked at the result. But this was worse than anything I’d ever seen. Even worse than the woman from three nights ago. Victim number two, or maybe number fifteen—however you want to count it. And the killer’s already stepping it up. Usually it was months between bodies being found. Now it was days.