Forty-five minutes later, Kit was standing on Alex Brandon’s doorstep.

He heard a dog barking and said, “Hello, Rusty.”

The barks turned to whines. Kit heard a gruff voice say, “Some guard dog you are. Who is it?”

“Mr. O’Brien? I’m-I’m a friend of Moriarty’s. He said I should come to you. I need your help.”

John O’Brien opened the door. He watched as Rusty gave Kit an enthusiastic greeting, then said, “I might know someone of that name. I might not. What’s your name?”

“Kit Logan.”

O’Brien’s gaze narrowed.

Kit took a deep breath and said, “‘ ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves…’”

“Everyone knows that part,” O’Brien interrupted, but Kit could see his interest was caught.

“‘One two! One two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.’”

O’Brien looked at Kit, and at the dog, and back at Kit. “What’s Moriarty’s first name?”

“Percy. Short for Percival.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Come in, boy. Come in.”

45

LASD Homicide Bureau

Commerce, California

Thursday, May 22, 3:51 P.M.

Alex Brandon watched the viewers’ faces. He had already seen the tape of Knox’s torture and didn’t want to watch it any more often than he would have to-that would be often enough.

The room was silent. He glanced at Ciara-she had walked in during one of the worst portions. He thought she looked a little pale.

Maybe that was from coping with Laney’s troubles this morning, though. He had managed to get enough information out of Ciara to learn that Laney had indeed suffered another seizure and was now hospitalized. When Alex asked Ciara if she wanted to be with her sister instead of at work, she said, “I’ve done all I can for her. Now I’m desperate for distraction.”

He was sure a tape of two men torturing a third was not what she had in mind.

“If any of you want to watch the rest of this,” he said, pressing the stop button, “I’ll make sure you can do so. We don’t know who the torturers are, but neither are similar in stature to either Morgan Addison or Frederick Whitfield IV. So we’ve got two other individuals involved in these killings, and maybe more.”

“That should work in our favor,” Lieutenant Hogan said. “More people involved, more likely that one of them will talk to someone, or confess.”

Silence. Alex, too, was unconvinced that any of the Exterminators would talk.

“We’ve got tattoo specialists who will be comparing the number five on Mr. Majors-or, I should say, Knox-to the work of local tattoo artists and others we have on file. I should mention that there is a possibility he was not killed here in the U.S., however.”

FBI Agent Hayden Moore, who had watched the torture of Knox without so much as wincing, sat up at that. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve had a forensic entomologist look at the grasshoppers that were lodged in Mr. Knox’s mouth and nose. He wants more time to study them, but he is almost positive that they are…” He looked helplessly at the crime lab’s representative to the task force.

“Melanoplus femurrubrum,” he supplied.

“Thanks. It’s a small, red-legged grasshopper found in parts of the Midwest and in Mexico. The grasshoppers found on Knox were roasted and coated in what we are fairly sure is chili powder. That makes Mexico more likely. The entomologist said that in Oaxaca these are commonly caught in communal fields and prepared fresh to be sold in the city each day. A local delicacy called chapulínes. But these must have been caught last summer or fall and kept for some reason-perhaps for this.”

“So someone in Oaxaca was saving grasshoppers, hoping for this creep to show up again?” Ciara asked.

“Maybe ‘expecting’ would be a better word,” Agent Moore said. “We know from the snuff films that several of Knox’s victims were Hispanic. His wife said he had traveled to Mexico, Peru, and Brazil.”

“We’re asking Mexican authorities to help us to discover if anyone matching Knox’s description was in Oaxaca,” Alex said. “Do you have identifications on any of the boys who were his victims?”

“A few,” Moore said. “We’re still working on most of them. I’ll try to find out if any members of the known victims’ families have traveled to Mexico lately. I’ll also ask if the team that has been working on the snuff film cases has any more specific records of Knox’s travel.”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

“When will we have the results of these DNA tests?” the captain asked.

“Our backlog is six months,” the crime lab representative said, to a chorus of groans. “We’ve moved this work up to the front of the list, but it will probably be at least a week before we have anything for you.”

Nelson hesitated only slightly before asking, “Could the FBI lab get them to us any faster?”

Agent Moore gave him a brittle smile. “No, the test itself takes a certain amount of time.”

Nelson turned back to Alex. “What about the situation in Palmdale?”

“We’ve got preliminary identification on the two victims,” Alex said. He gave them what little information the detectives had been able to gather at the scene. “I haven’t been out there personally yet, but we’ve got a good team there. We’ve got a warrant on the phone records, just as we do from Del Aire. And we’re hoping to discover whether or not the bullets match either of the guns from Mulholland.”

“And we’re almost sure we can rule out suicides on Mulholland?” Nelson asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Agent Moore’s cell phone went off. He answered it. “Just a minute,” he said to the caller. “Let me get out of earshot.” He walked out of the room.

“They want to know if you want them to overnight the FBI etiquette manual to you,” Ciara said as the door shut behind him, causing the others to laugh. She got another laugh when she asked Alex in an overly polite manner if she might be excused.

“Alex, what’s the plan now?” the captain asked when she had left.

“We need to look for connections-not just between Addison and Whitfield, but between them and any of the fugitives. So far, we’re having some difficulties-many of the people who knew them are extremely wealthy, and there are a lot of layers of protection around them. Many are being advised by attorneys not to speak to us without an attorney present-”

Someone made a cash register sound.

Alex smiled. “Maybe. But even without their help, we’ve learned that Addison and Whitfield went to the same school. And one member of the fugitives list grew up in Malibu-Gabriel Taggert.”

“That’s the suspect in the killing of that film producer and his family?” Hogan asked.

“Right. I’ve tried contacting the school, but it’s closed for the summer and none of the live-in students are present. Apparently, it’s under new ownership and they’re doing renovations-there are signs of construction work going on, although I didn’t see any crew around when I drove up to the gates today. We’re tracking down the owner of the company that bought it. Once we reach him, we’ll try to talk to faculty and staff who might have known any of those three former students.”

He was interrupted when a sergeant hurried into the room.

“We’re getting reports of a surrender by one of the top ten fugitives. Not sure which one it is, but some lawyer has been calling the media to say he represents one of them and that his client will be giving himself up to the FBI in Long Beach.”

Alex and the captain exchanged a glance.

“Any idea of the exact location?” Alex asked.

“Not yet.”

Alex’s cell phone rang and he answered it.

“Alex? It’s John-”

“John, let me call you right back. All hell is breaking loose.”

He had no sooner hung up, than it rang again.