Myron couldn’t stop staring. Gabriel and Lex had thrown some “guyliner” on their eyes. Both men were given equal space in the photograph—if anything, Lex had a better spot, being on the left where your eye naturally goes first—but what you noticed here, what you couldn’t help but feel, was that your eyes were drawn to Gabriel Wire, almost exclusively, as though there were a bright beacon shining down on that half of the photograph. Wire was—and Myron believed this with all due hetero respect—so damn handsome. His gaze did more than smolder; it called out to you, demanded attention, insisted you look back.

Successful musicians have a variety of strengths, but rock superstars, like their athletic or thespian counterparts, also have the intangibles. That was what transformed Gabriel from musician into rock legend. Gabriel had almost supernatural charisma. Onstage or even in person, it blew you away, but even here, in a photograph from an album cover never released, you could feel it all again. It was more than just good looks. You sensed in those smoldering eyes sensitivity, tragedy, anger, intelligence. You wanted to listen to him. You wanted to know more.

Evelyn said, “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true about his face being destroyed?”

“I don’t know.”

Next to Gabriel, working the pose too hard, was Lex. His folded arms were tensed up, as if he were doing the quiet bicep flex. He was strictly average-looking with somewhat nondescript features, and perhaps, if you paid him any attention at all, you realized that Lex was the sensible one, the consistent one, the stable one—in short, the boring one. Lex was the grounded yin next to Gabriel’s hypnotically volatile yang. But then again, every long-running group needs that balance, don’t they?

“I don’t see the symbol here,” Myron said.

“It never made it to the cover.” Evelyn was back in the file cabinet. She pulled out a manila envelope with the wraparound string. She took the string between her thumb and index finger, stopped, and looked up. “I keep wondering if I should show you this.”

“Mrs. Stackman?”

“Evelyn.”

“Evelyn. You know Lex is married to Suzze T, right?”

“Of course.”

“Someone is trying to hurt her. And Lex too, I guess. I’m trying to figure out who.”

“And you think this symbol is a clue?”

“It could be, yes.”

“You seem like a good man.”

Myron waited.

“I told you Horace was a big-time collector. His favorite items were the one of a kinds. A few years ago, the photographer Curk Burgess contacted him. A week before Alista Snow died, Burgess took the photograph you’re looking at now.”

“Okay.”