“Yes,” she whispered. In that moment she knew for an absolute fact that the Acid Man had read “The Tears of Rati.” Even psychopathic serial killers did not come up with such inventive ways to murder people. The specific stories meant everything to him. And clearly he was knowledgeable about mythology.

“Does it help you?” Professor McKinley asked.

She had to take a breath. “Yes. Do you have the number for Maya Press?”

“No. But I can get it for you if it’s important.”

“Please. Have you heard of the ancient Chinese fable about Mai Mai?”

“No. But Professor Jagger is the expert when it comes to Chinese literature.”

“Do you have his number? I would like to call him.”

“I’ll have to get that for you as well. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Yes. Any time is good. If I’m not here, just leave the number.”

He wanted to know more but she politely put him off. The story had deeply shaken her. She had to see who had ordered both books in the last ten years. It was possible the Acid Man could be easily caught. Yet she knew India and China—she had visited both countries in her twenties. Chances were the publishers had not kept perfect records. She would have to fly there herself to check their files.

She checked the Internet for “The Tears of Rati.” No listing.

Her daughter came home at six and they went out for pizza. Anna acted happy to have her mother all to herself. She talked excitedly about her play: The Last Survivors—an end-of-the-world scenario where kids ruled.

“Why is it fun to have all the adults gone?” Kelly asked.

“Because then you can do whatever you want,” Anna said matter-of-factly. Her daughter was her only oasis in what was turning out to be a barren love life. To hear her voice soothed Kelly. She noticed Anna’s long dark hair had begun to lighten. Between the ages of four and five, she had grown six inches straight up—into a stick figure minus a touch of glue. Her wit was a tad sarcastic for her age, but she cried at tender moments in books and movies. Kelly did not have to wonder where she had gotten both qualities.

“But if there were no adults around, there would be anarchy,” Kelly said.

“What is anarchy?”

“What you see on TV. Tell me more about your role?”

“I’m the tribal slut.”

Kelly choked on her pizza. “What?”

“That is what Peter says I am. He’s the tribal leader.”

“What exactly do you do in this play?”

“I act bitchy and have fun.”

Kelly enjoyed the evening with her daughter but she continued to be distracted by thoughts of the Acid Man and Tony’s late hours. God, what if he was having an affair? She did not think she could bear that.

When they returned home, there was a message from Slate. He wanted her to call. Best to get it over with. He answered on his cell—sounded like he was at the airport. He wanted to know what she had learned.