Then, even more challenging, sitting and waiting. Level out the natural adrenaline rush, control the breathing, while resuming a genuine smile, steady eye contact, all the right words, as the contents of the vial slowly but surely went to work.

More practice. Smile. Eye contact. All the right words.

Slip up, slide down, uncork, pour, dismiss.

Too slow, too slow, too slow.

Practice. Practice. Practice.

Who am I? A master of pain.

What do I look like? Anyone you’ve ever met.

Purpose of operation: I can do this!

Net gain: . . . We all have to die sometime.

Palm the vial, uncork the contents, quick pour, slip it away.

Smile, make eye contact, say all the right words.

Again and again and again.

Because any single misstep and she would know. She’d spent too many years expecting the worst not to recognize it the moment it happened. Everything had to be smooth, controlled, perfect. Right up until the final moment.

No fuss, no muss. Just the way murder should be.

Primary motivation: A painless death.

Net gain: The gift that keeps on giving.

Who am I? Harry Day’s legacy.

Who am I? Shana Day’s legacy.

Who am I?

Chapter 19

CHARLIE SGARZI WAS A SOUTHIE KID, born and raised. Had the wary expression and set jaw to prove it. Of course, somewhere along the way, he’d traded in calloused knuckles for the smooth hands of a guy who mostly attacked keyboards, not to mention the tough guy’s leather jacket for the classic reporter’s trench. He still maintained the shuttered expression of a former hood turned cynical journalist who’d seen it all. Then again, given what had happened to his cousin when they’d both been just boys, maybe he had.

They’d come upon him as he was exiting his third-floor apartment. He’d glanced up from locking his door, saw D.D. and Phil approach from down the hallway and grunted in acknowledgment.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“For what?” Phil asked.

He’d tried to get D.D. to wait in the car. Actually, he’d tried to convince D.D. to let him take her home. It had been a big morning, she should be resting her shoulder, focusing on recuperation.

Like hell. She was pumped up, feeling the best she had in weeks. They were onto something. She could feel it in her bones. Shana Day held the key to finding their killer, and Charlie Sgarzi was yet another link to the puzzle that was Shana Day. No way she was sitting this one out.

“Dr. Glen call you?” Sgarzi asked, hand still on his doorknob. “Accuse me of harassing her? Because I’m not. I just want what’s owed to me and my family.”

Fun, D.D. thought, and practically skipped down the hallway.

“So you didn’t threaten Dr. Glen?” she asked now.