Thetown of Garrett Corners was a notch on the map off 1-80, set among rollingfarmland. If you lived here, and you wanted something that could not beobtained at the local general store, hardware store, or pair of diners, therewere a few larger towns within thirty or so miles where you could find aWal-Mart, a Lowe's, or a Bed, Bath & Beyond. Dinner on Saturday night orspecial occasions was at Max and Erma's or Outback.

    Thepolice department of Garrett Corners was three officers strong. In addition tothe standard duties involving processing civil matters such as court orders,writs and orders of possession, there were mortgage foreclosures and townshipauctions. Rarely did they deal with homicide.

    Thetown itself was an intersection, twenty buildings deep in four directions. Themunicipal building was a featureless block of limestone, housing the policedepartment, courthouse and public agencies. It was every small-town city halleast of the Rockies. Jessica and Byrne were instructed to meet the chief of police,a man named Rogers Logan.

    Thewoman at the desk was in her fifties and had a lacquered, highly complexhairdo, cantilevered to one side. She also had about her an air of small-townbureaucratic efficiency that told Jessica there was no doubt who ran theoffice, if not the lives, of the three police officers stationed there. Hername was Helen Mott. There was a plate of Halloween-themed cookies on her desk.

    Jessicaand Byrne announced themselves, showed ID, and took a seat on the worn oak benchacross the room. Jessica scanned the walls.

    Affixedto them with yellowed tape were mostly outdated posters for D.A.R.E and othercommunity drug and outreach programs. After a few minutes the door to the backopened, and a man walked out.

    RogersLogan was a fit sixty: military flat-top, big hands and farmer's shoulders. Hewalked with a purposeful gait. Behind him was a young woman in full uniform andSam Browne.

    'I'mChief Logan,' he said. 'This is Officer Sherri Grace.'

    Handshakesall around.

    OfficerGrace was in her late twenties, stout and surly. She was maybe fifteen poundsover her prom weight, and Jessica knew why. Cop hours and cop food would do itto you if you didn't fight it hard. Jessica waged the battle every day. Still,Officer Grace wore it well.

    'CanI get everyone some coffee?' Grace asked.

    'Sure,'Byrne said.

    'Howdo you take it?'

    'Likeit comes.'

    Gracewinked and left the office.

    'Coffeemaker's fritzed,' Logan said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, a sheepishlook on his face. He probably figured that in Philadelphia the policedepartment issued espresso machines and milk frothers to every squad. Littledid he know. The first thing Jessica noticed when she walked into the officewas that they had the same make and model of fax machines.

    Theyretired to the squad room, which amounted to two desks pushed up against eachother, a pair of large corkboards on the wall, a conference table pushed intothe corner, along with five or six dented file cabinets.

    Aminute later Officer Grace returned with three cups of coffee in chippedceramic mugs. The outside temperature had dropped a few degrees, and the mugsbillowed with steam. She put the cups down on the desk, then put a cardboardbox filled with packets of non-dairy creamer, sugar, Equal, Sweet'N Low andplastic stirrers on the table.

    'I'moff to patrol,' she said. 'Nice meeting you all.'

    GivingByrne a little extra wattage in her smile, she left the office.

    Thecoffee rituals came to a close. It was time to get down to business. Logan, thecountry gentleman, gestured to Jessica to take his chair. Jessica smiled,declined. All three of them stood as Logan described the victim.

    'Hisname was Thomas Archer. Twenty-six years old. Lived over in Kelton, right nearthe county line. He worked in the beauty salon over there.'

    'Wherewas he found?' Byrne asked.

    Loganmoved over to a map on the wall, a map of Garrett Corners and surroundingtownships. He pointed to a small green area just a short distance from thecounty line. 'He was found here, in the Shadyside Cemetery. As you can see, thecemetery is on both sides of the creek. Tommy was found on the southern end,near the mausoleum.'

    Atthe word cemetery Jessica and Byrne exchanged a look. All they hadreally known on the way up to Garrett Corners was what the telex had told them,namely that there was a homicide victim with a possible connection to thePhiladelphia murders.

    'Whofound the body?' Jessica asked.

    'Bodywas found by the mail carrier. He was doing his afternoon route and he noticeda pack of dogs circling something in the cemetery. We've had a few problemswith meth labs out here in the past couple of years, and where there's methlabs there're mean dogs. Mail carrier figured they'd gotten loose, called itin, and we went out to check it out. County game warden scooped up two of thedogs, others got away. The dogs had been at Tommy, but not too bad.'

    'Whereis Mr. Archer now?'

    'Thebody was taken to the coroner's office in the county seat. They do all ourautopsies, what few we need done.'

    'Dothey know how long the body had been there?' Byrne asked.

    'Hardto say until they give it a good going-over. Not that long, though.'

    'Doyou have photographs of the crime scene?'

    'Yeah,'Logan said. 'Unfortunately, I do.'

    Loganled them to a small area off the squad room, which served as storage space forfax paper, toner, and other supplies. A folded crib leaned in one corner. Loganflipped on the overhead fluorescents.

    Onewall was dedicated to racks of official forms. The town might have been small,but it rivaled the PPD for forms needed. In the center was a folding conferencetable. Most of the table's contents were bunched to one side, and a pair oflarge manila envelopes sat in the middle.

    Loganopened the envelopes, slid out the photographs. He arrayed them side by side onthe table. The longer shots showed a rural cemetery. The close-ups were of thebody. It was a sight with which Jessica and Byrne were all too familiar.

    Jessicalooked closely at the victim. The signature was identical to the bodies foundin Philadelphia. The body was nude, and shaved clean of all hair. The band ofpaper was wrapped around the head, just barely covering the victim's eyes.There were three bloodstains on the paper, one lateral, one circular, alongwith the mutilated ear. The body was sprawled on a hillside, surrounded by lowheadstones. The left leg was clearly broken.

    'Doesthis dovetail with the case you're working?' Logan asked.

    'Itdoes,' Byrne said.

    'We'llneed copies of these photographs, if that's all right,' Jessica said.

    Loganretrieved a stack of envelopes from the top of a nearby file cabinet. He pickedup two of them. 'I anticipated that. There's duplicates of everything in here.'

    Hehanded the envelopes to Jessica. 'Thanks.'

    Thethree of them went still for a few moments, each of them taking in the horrordisplayed before them in full color.

    'Whenwas your last homicide?' Jessica asked.

    Loganran a hand over his chin. 'Well, even though it's been a few years I find it a littlehard to talk about. And mind you, I was in Vietnam. Two tours. Saw quite a bit.This one shook me good.'

    Jessicaand Byrne remained silent.

    'Wehaven't had but two murders here in all the time I've been on the job. One wasa domestic that went tragically wrong. Everyone saw that one coming, I suppose.Those two were at it for years. The other was little Peggy van Tassel.'

    'Wouldyou mind telling us the details?' Byrne asked.