D.D. pursed her lips, considering. In the middle of the night, she’d been fixated on the thought that their killer was most comfortable with the dead. And when she thought dead people, she thought funeral homes. Maybe an embalmer, someone with technical experience who’d trained with a scalpel as part of mortuary school. Not to mention, the killer’s skill with cleaning the crime scene made her wonder about special products that might be used by funeral homes to eliminate all traces of blood and bodily fluids. Interesting.

“May I ask a question?” Coakley spoke up suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Is this in regard to the Rose Killer case?”

“What?”

“The Rose Killer? To quote the front page of the Boston Herald, which maybe conscientious detectives never do.”

D.D. closed her eyes. But of course. Boston PD had been doing good to keep the details of the first murder away from the press. She should’ve known they’d never get so lucky twice.

“Do I want to know what the Herald said?” she asked, peering out through one eye. “Or rather, splashed in graphic detail across the entire front page?”

Coakley granted her a look of compassion. “The article claims there have been two victims. The killer murdered them in their own beds, leaving behind a rose on their nightstands, like some kind of misguided lover.”

“Anything else?”

“You mean other than they were skinned alive?”

“Not alive!” Too late, D.D. realized she shouldn’t have responded. Then again, Coakley was a funeral director, not a reporter. “Wait, between you and me, I never said that. But the skinning occurred after the victims were dead. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. Without getting too particular, our murderer . . . Let’s just say, the majority of the time he spends with his victims is postmortem. It’s almost as if the killing part is incidental. Mostly, he—or she—wants a corpse.”

“Necrophilia?” Coakley murmured.

“No sign of sexual assault,” D.D. granted. In for penny, in for a pound.

“Which is why you thought of funeral directors. Because clearly people who spend their lives embalming have an unhealthy fascination with dead bodies.” Coakley stated the words calmly.

D.D. had the good grace to flush.

“I know,” she said. “Just like people who spend their lives investigating murder must have an unhealthy fascination with violence.”

“At least we understand each other.”

“We do.”

“Do you know what it takes to be a good funeral director, Detective Warren?”

“Probably not.”