Fuck the fire. They gotta get someone up here to wait for the CI. I don't want us to get stuck with this stink.

Trenchard swatted futilely at the flies and ducked like a boxer slipping a punch as he moved for the door. Beakman, fascinated, circled the dead man.

Trenchard said, Don't touch anything. We gotta treat it like a crime scene.

I'm just looking.

A photo album lay open between the dead man's feet as if it had fallen from his lap. Careful not to step in the dried blood, Beakman moved closer to see. A single picture was centered on the open page, one of those Polaroid pictures that develop themselves. The plastic over the picture was speckled with blood.

The flies suddenly seemed louder to Beakman, as loud now as the helicopters fighting the flames.

Trench, come here

Trenchard came over, then stooped for a closer look.

Holy Mother.

The Polaroid showed a female Caucasian with what appeared to be an extension cord wrapped around her neck. The picture had been taken at night, with the woman sprawled on her back at the base of a trash bin. Her tongue protruded thickly from her mouth, and her eyes bulged, but they were unfocused and sightless.

Beakman heard himself whispering.

You think it's real? A real woman, really dead?

Dunno.

Maybe it's from a movie. You know, staged?

Trenchard opened his knife, then used the point to turn the page. Beakman grew scared. He might have been only a reserve officer, but he knew better than to disturb the scene.

We're not supposed to touch anything.

We're not. Shut up.

Trenchard turned to the next page, then the next. Beakman felt numb but excited, knowing he was seeing a darkness so terrible that few people would ever imagine it, let alone face it. These pictures were portraits of evil. The mind that had conceived of these things and taken these pictures and hidden them in this album had entered a nightmare world. It had left humanity behind. Beakman would have stories for his kids when he returned to school, but this story would not be among them.

They're real, aren't they? These women were murdered.

I dunno.

They look real. He fucking killed them.

Stop it.

Trenchard lifted the album with his knife so they could see the cover. It showed a beautiful sunset beach with gentle waves and a couple leaving footprints in the sand. Embossed in flowing script was a legend: My Happy Memories.

Trenchard lowered the cover.

Let's get away from these flies.

They left the album as they had found it, and sought comfort in the smoky air.

PART TWO

PART ONE

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN

Chapter 1