On the one hand, it appeared to be nothing more than a very old blanket chest. On the other hand, he couldn’t get the melodramatic notion out of his head that it was about the right size for a coffin.

“Oh, my God. What’s that?” Kim had followed him and was now standing just a few feet behind him. Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

Gurney put the flashlight between his teeth, pointed down at the box. With the Beretta in his right hand, he lifted the lid gingerly with his left.

For a second he thought there was nothing there.

Then, gleaming softly in the flashlight’s little pool of yellow light, he saw the knife.

A kitchen paring knife. Even in the weak, dirty light, he could see that the blade had been honed until it was unusually thin and sharp. On the point was a tiny drop of blood.

Chapter 5

Into a Tangle of Thorns

Despite Gurney’s efforts to persuade her, Kim refused to call the police.

“I told you, I’ve called before. I’m not doing it again. Nothing happens. Worse than nothing. They come to the apartment, they poke around the doors and windows, and they tell me there’s no sign of any forced entry. Then they ask if anyone was injured, if anything of value was stolen, if anything of value was broken. It’s like if the problem doesn’t fit one of those categories, then it’s not a problem. Last time, when I called about finding the knife in my bathroom, they lost interest when they learned it was mine—even though I kept telling them that the knife had been missing for two weeks before that. They scraped up the little drop of blood that was next to it on the floor, took it with them, never said another word about it. If they’re going to come here and give me this look like I’m some hysterical woman wasting their time, then the hell with them! You know what one of them did the last time? He yawned. He actually, unbelievably, yawned in my face!”