Moe Reed said, “Shining them up fits with a personal trophy.”

“So does placing them in a fancy box,” I said. “The question is why go to all that trouble, then abandon the cache in a way that guaranteed discovery? That makes me wonder if they started as souvenirs but changed to something else: a taunt.”

“ ‘Look what I did,’ ” said Milo.

“It’s consistent with the games Hernandez found in the storage unit.”

“Playing with us.”

Liz Wilkinson said, “What kind of games?”

Reed said, “Just the boards-Monopoly, Life.”

“Money and basic existence,” she said. “That’s pretty primal.”

Reed said, “Money, existence, ending someone else’s existence.” He shifted closer to her. She didn’t mind.

I said, “Selena’s murder also supports an exhibitionist angle. Up until her, the killer chose victims he considered throwaways, buried them where they could’ve remained indefinitely. Selena’s murder was called in, her body left out in the open, with I.D. in her purse. He wanted us to know who she was and what he’d done to her.”

Reed said, “And with her there, he was hoping we’d search the marsh, find the others.”

“If you didn’t, there’d be other prompts.”

Milo said, “He stops paying for storage, knows the unit will come up just around the time he’s gonna do Selena. Whole damn thing’s a production?”

Liz Wilkinson grimaced. “Treating the fingers with acid means he kept the bodies. Maybe to play with them.”

Reed said, “You okay?”

“Fine. I just usually don’t see this side of it.” As she moved to smooth hair from her face, her fingers brushed his cuff. “People ask me all the time if I get grossed out working with remains. When I tell them I love it, they look at me funny. But down at the tissue level, you can deny. Once I start thinking about a human being connected to what’s on the table…” She pushed her plate away. “Guess I’d better be getting back. If you want, Moses, we can talk about that other stuff later.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

When Reed returned to the restaurant, Milo said, “What other stuff?”

“Pardon?”

“What you’ll be talking to the good doctor about.”

Reed went scarlet. “Oh, that. She’s putting together a forensics reading list. I figured it’s something I should know.”

“The power of education-you eating any of that lamb?”

“All yours, Loo. Guess I should also be booking.”

“Why?”

“Thought I’d go by the Vander house, maybe I can catch Huck coming or going.”

Milo shook his head. “I’ll go through His Eminence, get some patrol officers into civvies to run shifts. You’re meant for bigger and better.”

“Like what?”

“Go nationwide on unsolveds featuring missing limbs, body parts treated with chemicals. Start with hands but don’t limit yourself.”

Reed said, “Legs, arms, whatever.”

“Heads, shoulders, knees and toes. I don’t care as long as something got cut off.”

“You’re figuring he could’ve switched techniques?”

“As Dr. Delaware likes to remind me, patterns are for fabric.” He turned to me. “If the bodies were kept around to play with, the Vanders’ property probably isn’t the crime scene. Estate manager or not, setting up Dr. Frankenstein’s lab in that place would be too risky.”

Reed said, “Not if the Vanders are also involved in weird stuff.”

“Even so, Moses. They’ve got a kid on the premises. Kinky parties after Junior’s gone to bed is one thing-and even there, I’m doubtful because we’ve got no evidence saying these people are bizarre. But hacking up corpses in the manse with Junior around is over the top.”

“So Huck has another place.”

“Maybe that’s why we haven’t seen him, he’s hiding out in his kill-crib. Check with the assessor, see if he pays property tax on anything. Rentals are a problem, no way we’ll be able to trace unless we go public on him and I’m not ready for that.”

I said, “When we were at Pacific Storage you made a crack about people living there and the attendant denied it. But I’m sure it happens.”

Milo thought about that. “Worth checking out. Including back at Pacific itself. We never showed the clerk Huck’s picture. Your plate getting too full, Moe?”

“Not even close,” said Reed. “Give me more.”

“Nothing more. Sure you don’t want any lunch?”

“No thanks, let me get going.”

After finishing Reed’s and Wilkinson’s food, Milo topped off his meal with the lobster and two bowls of rice pudding. He returned to his office. I went home and repeated searches on Travis Huck, Edward/ Eddie/Eddy/Ed Huckstadter, came up empty.

Keywording Simon Vander pulled up the eight-figure grocery chain sale and a couple of mentions of Vander and his wife on charity committees: the art museum, the zoo, Huntington Library. Your basic genteel philanthropy.

If Simon and Nadine Vander had a dark side, they’d hid that fact from cyberspace.

At four thirty, I logged off, talked to Robin about dinner. Pasta sounded good to both of us. She kept working and I made a run up to the market at the top of the Glen, called my service.

One message from Alma Reynolds.

The operator said, “She said if you didn’t remember her name, she’s Sil Duboff’s lover.”

“I remember her.”

“Interesting way to label yourself, don’t you think, Dr. Delaware? Someone’s lover? Then again, you deal with all types.”

Alma Reynolds’s phone rang eight times. I was just about to hang up when she answered.

“Lieutenant Sturgis didn’t call back, I figured I’d get the same from you,” she said. “I’m running out to the mortuary. They’re releasing Sil in a few days. He always talked about cremation, as long as it could be done in an eco-respectful manner. The ideal, of course, would be if all of us were just placed in the compost heap.”

“What’s up?”

“Anything new on the case?”

“Not yet, sorry.”

“Well, I thought of something. Been ruminating about what could’ve gotten Sil over to the marsh that night. Not that he needed prodding, he was always going there. To clean up trash, make sure no one had trespassed. He had a thing for that place. Truth is, he was somewhat obsessed. I know why. His parents were beatniks who moved from Ann Arbor to a rural part of Wisconsin. The family lived in a cabin near a guess-what.”

“Freshwater and reeds.”

“A huge marsh, fed by one of the Great Lakes. Sil said it was perfect-idyllic, until a paper mill opened up nearby and polluted the hell out of it. All the fish died, the air smelled horrible, and eventually Sil’s family had to move to Milwaukee. Both his parents died of cancer and he was convinced it was the toxic air and water. Even though his father was a three-pack-a-day smoker who got lung cancer, and breast cancer ran in his mother’s family. But try telling Sil that. Try telling him anything.”

I said, “I can see why the Bird Marsh would be important to him.”

“Obsessed,” said Alma Reynolds. “Sometimes it got in the way.”

“Of what?”

“Us. We’d be relaxing and he’d jump up suddenly, say he needed to drive over, make sure everything was okay. It annoyed me, but I rarely said anything because I could see the psychology behind the idealism. But the night he was-that night, I really didn’t want to go and he defied me. So it had to be something major.”

“He told you the caller promised to solve the murders.”

“And I believed him. When those bodies showed up, Sil took it personally, as if he’d allowed something to happen to his baby. He was also worried the murders would be used to say the marsh was no longer pristine and that would open the door to development. I know it sounds paranoid, but Sil didn’t dance to anyone else’s beat. Just the opposite, the world waltzed, he two-stepped.”

I said, “With that level of anxiety, he’d follow any lead.”

“Exactly. I’m glad I reached you and not Sturgis.”