"It sounds disgusting," Tracy said. "It's hard to believe that waste like that would have any use."

"The renderer turns it into fertilizer," Kim said. "And, disgustingly enough, cattle feed. The industry has forced our unwitting cattle into becoming cannibals."

"Uh-oh!" Kim mumbled as he felt a shiver descend his spine.

"What's the matter?" Tracy demanded anxiously.

"I just heard a noise," Kim said.

"Then get yourself out of there," Tracy said anxiously.

Kim shined his light in the direction of the noise. In a fashion strikingly similar to the episode in his own basement the night before, a number of pairs of diabolically ruby eyes stared back at him. A second later the eyes disappeared, and Kim caught sight of a group of animals the size of house cats scampering off. Unlike the night before, they weren't mice.

"It's okay," Kim said. "It's just some monster rats."

"Oh, that's all," Tracy said sarcastically. "Just a group of friendly monster rats."

Kim stepped out onto the cellar floor and discovered that not only did the floor surface look like crude oil, it had approximately the same consistency. His boots made a rude sucking sound each time he picked up his feet.

"This is certainly a nightmare image of post-industrialization," Kim commented.

"Cut the philosophizing," Tracy snapped. "Come on, Kim! Get out of there! What on earth are you doing down there anyway?"

"I want to find the chute for the heads," Kim said.

He slogged forward among the tanks and vats, trying to estimate where the head-boning room lay above. He came to a concrete block wall which he assumed was contiguous with the wall above. That meant the chute he was looking for would be on the other side.

Kim shined his light along the wall until he located an opening. Walking down to it, he ducked through. He shined his light around this second space. It was smaller than the first and cleaner. It also had what he'd guessed. To his immediate right was a chute connected to a particularly large Dumpster.

"This looks promising," Kim said. "I think I found it. It's about the size of a construction Dumpster." With the flashlight beam, he followed the chute up to where it penetrated the ceiling. He estimated the diameter of the chute to be about the same as the aperture he'd remembered above.

"Okay, wonderful!" Tracy said. "Now come out of there."

"In a second," Kim said. "I'm going to see if I can look inside."

Kim stepped over to the rusted, filthy Dumpster-like container. In this area of the basement there was no sucking sound as he walked. Around the side of the container near where the chute was attached was a small metal platform accessible by four steps. Kim climbed up. He could now see the top of the Dumpster. Right in front of him was a hatch secured with a metal latch. He moved the latch to the side but then couldn't open the hatch. At least not with one hand.

Putting the flashlight between his knees, he got both hands under the edge of the hatch. With a squeak, it lifted. Holding it with his left hand, he raised the flashlight with his right and shined it inside. It was not a pretty image.

The container was almost brimming with rotting, skinned cattle heads. In contrast with the newly slaughtered, bloody heads upstairs, here the eyes were shriveled and the attached shards of gristle were black. In many of the heads the gaping hole made by the air gun was plainly visible.

Disgusted by the view as well as the smell, Kim was about to lower the hatch into place, when an involuntary cry of horror escaped from his lips. The flashlight beam had found a particularly gruesome sight. Partially buried by a subsequent avalanche of fresh cow skulls was Marsha's severed head!

The shock caused Kim to let go of the heavy hatch, and it slammed shut with a deafening crash in the confined space. The booming sound echoed repeatedly off distant, unseen concrete walls.

"What happened?" Tracy demanded frantically.

Before Kim could respond. a horrid screeching noise tortured both Kim's and Tracy's ears. The crashing hatch had activated some automatic machinery.

Kim snatched up the light and shone it in the direction of the dreadful noise. He saw a rusted steel overhead door rising.

Kim could hear Tracy repeatedly demand to be told what was going on. hut he couldn't answer her, he truly didn't know. Behind the rising door was a filthy, forklift vehicle that suddenly came to life like a horrible, futuristic mechanical creature. Red lights on its front began to flash, washing the room with the color of blood.

As soon as the overhead door reached its apogee, the driverless vehicle began to give off high-pitched, intermittent beeps as it rolled forward in a thunderous, jerky fashion. Terrified of the imminent collision, Kim leapt from the platform and pressed himself against the wall.

The forklift crashed into the Dumpster, causing a boom even louder than the sound of the slamming hatch. The Dumpster shuddered and then raised. As the forklift backed up, the chute connecting the container with the head-boning room above became detached. When the Dumpster was completely free from the space, a second, empty Dumpster waiting next to the first slid into place with another thunderous crash. The chute automatically snapped into place.

The forklift stopped, pivoted, then rumbled off into the inky blackness.

"Kim, I don't know if you can hear me or not," Tracy shouted, "but I'm coming in!"

"No!" Kim cried into his microphone. "I'm okay. I inadvertently activated some automatic removal equipment. I'm coming out, so don't come in."

"You mean you're coming out here to the car?" Tracy asked hopefully.

"Yes," Kim said. "I need a breather."

It wasn't that Derek Leutmann didn't trust Shanahan O'Brian, but he knew there was more to this aggravating story than he'd been told. Besides, Derek had a set methodology in his work. Killing people was a business in which one could not be too careful. Rather than going directly to Kim's former wife's house as Shanahan had initially suggested, Derek went to Kim's. He wanted to test the reliability of Shanahan's information as well as learn more about his supposed quarry.

Derek drove into Balmoral Estates and directly to Kim's property without hesitation. He knew from experience that such behavior was far less suspicious than cruising the neighborhood.

Derek parked in the driveway in front of the garage. He opened his metal Zero Halliburton valise that was resting on the passenger seat next to him. Reaching in, he pulled out a nine-millimeter automatic from its custom-cut pocket in Styrofoam. With trained ease, he attached a silencer and then slipped the gun into the right pocket of his camel-hair coat. The pocket had been altered to accommodate the long weapon.

Derek got out of the car, holding his ostrich briefcase. He took a quick peek into the garage. It was empty. Then he strode up the front walk, appearing for all the world like a successful businessman or an elegant insurance adjuster. He rang the bell. Only then did he glance around at the neighborhood. From Kim's porch he could see only two other houses. Both appeared unoccupied at that moment.

He rang the bell again. When no one answered, he tried the door. He was surprised but pleased to find it unlocked. Had it not been, it wouldn't have made much difference. Derek had the tools and the expertise to handle most locks.

Without a moment's hesitation, Derek entered the house and closed the door behind himself. He stood for a moment, listening. There wasn't a sound.

Still carrying his briefcase, Derek made a rapid, silent tour of the first floor. He noticed some dirty dishes in the sink. They looked as though they'd been sitting awhile.

Climbing up to the second floor, Derek saw the splintered door leading into the master bath. He took in the broken console table. Stepping into the bath, he felt the towels. It was clear that none had been recently used. So at least that much of Shanahan's information seemed accurate.