“I checked. There’s not actually a lot written about Harry. And none of the articles I found contained that level of specificity regarding the crime scene. I even Googled his name combined with the number one hundred fifty-three. No hits.”

“Did your sister get her hands on the police report? Have her own copy?”

“Doubtful. We could check with the prison librarian, of course, see what kinds of subjects Shana was prone to researching.”

D.D. pursed her lips, feeling more confused than ever. “At the end of the day,” she said slowly, “Shana provided us with a number that relates back to her father. But that’s it, right? So she knows how many pieces of skin he collected. Now we do, too. Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s something to be too concerned about yet.”

Silence. Long silence. Long enough that D.D. suffered a sudden, acute feeling of foreboding, while Melvin began to ache.

“The Rose Killer,” Adeline started, and D.D. no longer wanted her to continue. “He’s removed strips of skin from his victims. I don’t suppose your ME knows how many?”

D.D. closed her eyes, said nothing.

“It’s only a guess, of course, but if those numbers match . . .”

“Your sister offered up a tangible connection between her and the Rose Killer. Proving she’s involved in this mess once and for all.”

“I’m assuming you’ll call the ME next.”

“Oh, I would assume that.”

“Detective, Shana does nothing without a reason. The question isn’t, what does her partner get out of this relationship. The question is, what does Shana get out of it? What’s in it for her? And I can tell you, the answer to that question won’t be simple. It would be easier for all of us if my sister were just a homicidal maniac. But she’s not. She’s smart, she’s strategic, and she’s . . . complicated. She’s also already lost thirty years of her life behind bars. If all of this is some gambit for her to get out, a brief furlough in return for her cooperation, as she alluded to this morning . . .”

“Yeah?”

“She won’t go back, D.D. I know that much about my sister. In her mind, she made one mistake when she was just a kid—”

“You mean killing another kid?”

“No, I mean getting caught killing another kid. Inside prison, Shana’s life is over. Outside . . . Whatever is going on here, whatever Shana’s looking for, we can’t give it to her. She will win and we will lose.”

“Is that your opinion as a professional psychiatrist or as a little sister?”

“Do you have any siblings, Detective?”

“Nope, I’m an only child.”

“For most of my childhood, so was I. So I’m sticking to professional psychiatrist. You’ll call the ME’s office?”