'I buyvinyl because it's collectible. Especially the old blues.'

    'Okay.'

    'Rememberyour uniform days when everything went on your belt? Ami what didn't go on yourbelt fitted in your shirt pocket?'

    'Iremember, but keep in mind there's even less room up there for female cops.'

    'I'ma detective,' Byrne said. 'I've noticed that.'

    I letook a few steps back, gestured to the cut of his new suit, which Jessica hadto admit looked pretty good on him. It was a charcoal gray two-button.

    'Thinkabout it,' he said. 'If I put all that stuff in my pockets it would ruin theline.'

    'Theline?' Jessica put her hand on the butt of her weapon. 'Okay, who are you andwhat have you done with my partner?'

    Byrnelaughed.

    'Well,now that you carry a bag,' Jessica continued, 'you should keep in mind one ofthe first things they taught us at the academy.'

    'Imay be older than slate, but I seem to recall going to that academy myself.Over on State Road, right?'

    'That'sthe one,' Jessica said. 'But what I meant by "us" was, well, women.''

    Byrnebraced himself, said nothing.

    'Theytaught us to never, ever, carry your weapon in a purse.'

    Therewas that word again. Byrne looked at the sky, back at Jessica. 'This is goingto go on for a while, isn't it?'

    'Ohyeah.'

    TheCSU team was still processing the scene on Federal Street, which now hadcrime-scene tape crossing both ends of the alley. As always, a crowd hadgathered to watch the proceedings. It always amazed Jessica how no one ever sawanything, heard anything, witnessed anything, but as soon as the investigationgot underway, as soon as there was some sort of urban circus to attend,everyone was suddenly available to gawk and rubberneck, conveniently off workand out of school.

    WhenJessica and Byrne came around the corner there was a meeting of supervisors.Among them was ADA Michael Drummond.

    'Counselor,'Byrne said.

    'Twicein one day,' Drummond replied. 'People will talk.' He turned to Jessica. 'Niceto see you, Jess.'

    'Alwaysa pleasure,' Jessica said. 'But what brings you out here?'

    'I'vegot court in about an hour, but these were orders from Valhalla. New DA, newinitiatives. Anything that happens this close to a school gets priority. Myboss wants to watch this one from the beginning. He barks, I fetch.'

    'Gotcha.'

    'Copyme in on everything?' Drummond asked.

    'Nota problem,' Jessica said.

    Jessicaand Byrne watched as Drummond crossed the street, positioning himself far fromthe crime scene. Jessica knew why. If an ADA was close to the action, he mightwitness something, and therefore be called as a witness on his own case, whichwas grounds for dismissal. It was a game they all knew how to play.

    Jessicawatched as Byrne walked up to the mouth of the alley, spoke to the uniformedofficer. The uniform pointed to the two buildings behind the crime scene,nodded his head. Byrne took out his notebook, began to jot down details.

    Jessicahad seen it before.

    Murderhad been done here, and Kevin Byrne was in his element.

Chapter 9

    Byrnewalked down the alley, his senses on high alert, his adrenalin surging. It wasodd, to say the least. No matter how fatigued he was - today, on a 1 to 10, hewould clock in at a bone-weary 7 - it all seemed to melt away when he got to acrime scene. Crime scenes were crack for investigators. Addictive, euphoric,replenishing, ultimately depleting. There was no other feeling like it. Thebest meal, the finest wine, even soul-shaking sex did not come close.

    Okay,Byrne thought. Maybe sex.

    Hetook in the approach to the area where the body had been found. The air wassuffused with the stench of rotting fruit coming from the Dumpster a few yardsaway, and the unmistakable aroma of death coming from the shoe store.

    Hewalked down the stairs, opened the door. Although the smell was almostoverpowering in here, it was not the first thing he sensed. Instead, that was afeeling, an impression that he had just stepped across the boundary of akiller's mind, had just become an interloper in a realm of madness.

    Thereis a pairing, a balance, a partnership.

    Byrnestopped, waiting for more. Nothing. Not yet.

    Inaddition to his upcoming appointment with the sleep-study clinic, he had hisannual MRI screening. He'd had yearly MRIs for the past five years, ever sincehe had been nearly fatally injured in a shooting. He knew everyone in thehospital radiology department, and the mood was always light-hearted when hewent there, but they all knew what it was about. There was, and always wouldbe, a possibility of a brain tumor. He'd read all the books on symptoms andsigns - blackouts, voices in your head, sometimes unexplained smells.

    In aseparate incident, many years earlier, he had confronted a suspect in a barbeneath the Walt Whitman Bridge. During the course of the arrest Byrne hadplunged into the frigid Delaware River, locked in combat with the suspect. Whenhe was pulled out of the water Byrne was declared dead. One full minute laterhe came to.

    Notlong after that the visions had started. They were never fullblown apparitions.He did not show up at a scene, close his eyes, and see any sort of recreation ofthe crime in Technicolor and THX audio. Instead, it was more of a feeling.Sometimes it crossed over into the dominion of sense and sensation, but mostlyhe got a feel for the victim, the perpetrator. A thought, a dream, a desire, ahabit.

    Byrnehad been to group-therapy sessions of every kind, even going to aregression-therapy group that tried to take him back to that moment when he'dplunged into the river, an attempt to bring him back to the person he had beenbefore the incident. Byrne now knew that was impossible.

    Thevisions had diminished over the ensuing years as had the accompanyingmigraines. These days they were few and far between.

    Hehad not had anything close to a full-blown migraine lately, but he knewsomething was happening inside him. More than once, in the last few months, hehad experienced something... not pain, more of a presence, a thickness in hishead, along with a slight blurring of vision. And with these feelings came theclearest inner visions he'd ever had, now accompanied by sounds. Then,sometimes, a blackout.

    Hewas still undecided on whether or not to mention these things to his doctor.Telling a doctor something like this only led to more tests.

    Hestepped into the room where a dead man lay on the floor. Byrne's heart pickedup a beat, quickening with the knowledge that a killer had stood in this spotno more than twenty-four hours earlier, breathing the same air.

    Justwhen he was about to begin his routine, a warm sensation filled his head. Heheld onto the door jamb for a second, attempting to ride it out. With thewarmth came the knowledge of...

    . . .something that has burned for many years, a feeling of loss and desire, adark passion that will forever be unfulfilled, a love story unwritten,unwritable, the hunger to create a legacy . . .

    Byrneknelt down, snapped on a latex glove, then instantly thought better of it. Heremoved the glove. He needed the feel of the flesh. A dialogue happened betweenthe skin of the dead and his senses. A superior officer, or a representative ofthe medical examiner's office would surely object. That didn't matter at themoment. He was alone with the dead, alone with what had happened in this room,alone with the rage that drove someone to brutally take a life.

    Alonewith himself.