I closed my eyes, and when I opened them a few seconds later, I found out that I was capable of speech, after all. "Karl, oh dear Jesus God, Karl! This can't be real, I must be fucking dreaming and I wish I would wake up. It's impossible!"

  "What, Stan? What's wrong? Is it the woman? We already knew there was gonna be one this time – Thorwald said so. What's going on, man?"

  "Jesus, Karl, don't you fucking see?"

  "See what, Stan? Come on, work with me. What is it?"

  "You've met her, I know you have, that time in Pittston. Don't you fucking recognize her?"

  "The woman in the video? I've never seen her before, Stan. Who is she?"

  "What're you, fucking blind, you with your fucking vampire sight, you can see in the dark and you can't even fucking see that?" I said.

  "Stan–"

  "Karl, it's Lacey Brennan."

  Karl grabbed my arm. Even through my shirt and sports coat I could feel how cold – and strong – his grip was.

  "Stan, take a deep breath. Stan, listen to me – it's not Lacey. It isn't her, Stan. I'm sure of it."

  "What makes you the fucking expert? You only met her once, you said so yourself."

  "No, Stan, that's what you said. I know she was at that crime scene in Pittston last summer, but I saw her twice before then, and I remember what she looks like. There's a resemblance, yeah. I can see how you'd get faked out by it. But it's not her, Stan."

  "How can you be so–"

  "And I think I can prove it."

  I stared at him. "And how the fuck are you gonna do that?"

  "Stan, does Lacey have a long scar that runs down her right calf?"

  "I don't — how am I supposed to know that? How the fuck do you know that?"

  "That crime scene in Pittston was in the top floor of a duplex, remember? I was behind Lacey going up the stairs, and we had to go slow because the stairs were shaky. There was nothing better in my field of vision at the moment, so I looked at her legs. She had a skirt on, remember? A little short for official business, but on her it looked good."

  "Karl," I said, "are you telling me you're hot for Lacey?"

  "Nah, she's too sarcastic for my taste. But following her up those stairs I noticed her legs, and they were first-class. Shapely, and without a mark or blemish. Perfect skin – I remember thinking that at the time."

  "Perfect, huh?"

  "Yup. Apart from that, I'm sure it's not Lacey's face, but that's not proof. The scar is."

  "Christ, she could have picked it up since the summer," I said. "It could've happened anytime."

  "Not this one – the scar I'm talking about is old. See for yourself."

  He pressed Play and the DVD started again. But instead of letting it run, he used the Reverse button to bring the action back to a point before the real action started. Then he paused it again.

  "Look, Stan – it's a long scar, pretty hard to miss, especially close up. And it's old, man. Look at it."

  "Yeah, OK, all right, it's an old scar. Years old, probably."

  "Absolutely. Now, take a look at this."

  He advanced the recording slowly, a few frames at a time. When he hit Stop, the screen showed a good, clear shot of the woman's face.

  "See that? Really look at it. Her face is fuller than Lacey's. In fact, her whole body is at least twenty pounds heavier than I remember Lacey to be, haina?"

  I looked at the image for several seconds, and something inside me that had been clenched hard started to loosen up. "Yeah, I think you're right, Karl."

  "And this chick is older than Lacey, too, wouldn't you say? By at least ten years."

  I looked some more. "I guess you're right about that, too. Thanks, buddy."

  I reached inside my jacket pocket for my phone.

  "What're you doing?" Karl asked.

  "Something I should have done five minutes ago."

  I opened the phone, selected a number in the directory, and touched Call. After two rings, it was answered.

  "Occult Crimes Unit – this is Sandra. How may I help you?"

  "Hi, Sandy. It's Stan Markowski, in Scranton."

  "Well, hi, Sergeant. How you been keeping?"

  I decided to lie. "Not too bad, thanks. I'm surprised you're on the night shift – I thought you worked days."

  "I do, but the night girl is out with the flu, so I'm putting in some OT. Can always use the money."

  "Is Detective Brennan available?"

  "No, she's out on a call, Sergeant. If it's urgent, I can patch you through."

  "That's OK, Sandy, don't bother. But she did come in to work tonight?"

  "Sure, I saw her less than half an hour ago. Care to leave a message?"

  "No, that's all right. I'll give her a call tomorrow."

  "OK, Sergeant. You take care now."

  I put the phone away and said to Karl, "I can't handle watching the rest of this right now. Why don't we go get a cup of coffee – or, in your case–"

  "Yeah, I know. Sounds good to me. We'll watch this shit later. Come on."

  As we waited for the elevator – which, like usual, took forever – I looked at Karl. "Listen, some of the stuff I said to you back there in the room – I got no right to talk to you that way. I was just crazy for a couple of minutes, that's all."

  "Forget it. If it was me, I'd have been worse. A lot worse. But then, everybody says I'm a guttermouth."

  The elevator finally pinged, signaling the car was about to arrive.