The rattle-clack of the tracks became deafening. The rock and drift and sway of the train sailing by so close to me made me feel off balance.

As I was dialing my light deeper into the tunnel that the limping man had escaped into, he grabbed my arm from where he’d apparently been waiting for me. And now, with the train racing past less than a meter behind my back, he slammed my hand against the wall to knock the light free. I would’ve reached for my gun, but with the way he had my arm twisted, that wasn’t going to happen.

In the flickering, pulsing darkness, I still couldn’t get a good look at his face.

I tried to push forward to get away from the train, but he held his ground. As I twisted to yank my arm free, he drew a gun, but rather than firing at me, he swung the butt of it toward my head.

Impact.

A burst of stars.

Then darkness.

33

I woke up alone in the tunnel, my head throbbing. I had no idea how much time had passed while I’d lain there in the dark.

My flashlight was still on, its light skewing off to the side across the ground in front of me. I snatched it up and searched the area, but the man who’d knocked me out was nowhere to be seen.

Checking the time, I realized I’d only been out a minute or so, but it’d been long enough for him to get away.

The train had passed, and silence loomed around me. I swept the light through the main tunnel, saw no one, and quickly returned to the subway platform.

By the time I made it back to the cemetery, the CSI unit was arriving.

I passed the mannequin’s head along to them so they could check it for prints, then directed them to sort through the top layer of dirt surrounding the grave to search for other body parts from mannequins. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maybe I should’ve been checked out at the hospital, but I’d been clonked on the head more than my fair share of times over the years, and once I felt regrouped and clearheaded, I left for home.

During the drive, I considered what Mannie might have been trying to communicate to me by pointing me to that specific grave. Was he the one who left the head there? If so, when? It seemed extraordinary for him to have written me that cipher, and then, trusting that I would decode it in time, traveled here to bury the head. However, if he’d placed it here prior to his apprehension, then did it mean he’d gotten himself arrested on purpose?

And why ten o’clock? Did the time carry any significance to what was happening?

And who was that man I’d chased?