“No, so far as I know. He’s a neighbor—name’s Byron Howard.” Decker turned to the techs. “Detective Dunn will take you men in. It’s ripe in there. Take along lots of VapoRub.”

The Asian smiled, exposing large, square teeth. His name tag said Tommy Chin. “I like challenge.” He spoke in a staccato voice. “Food for brain.”

The redhead rolled his eyes, and pulled his partner by his coat sleeve over to Marge. Decker watched the three of them go inside the house, then asked Crandal if he wanted to take a look at the murder victims.

Crandal ignored the question and said, “So you and your partner are not technically with Homicide?”

“Nope,” Decker said. “Juvey and Sex Crimes.”

“But you found the kid in Foothill territory.”

“Yes,” Decker answered. “In the newest Manfred development just over the hill.”

“Who’s Manfred?” Crandal asked.

“Developer,” Decker said. “Been building a lot in our division.”

Crandal marked a line in the ground with the tip of his shoe. He said, “We can do a joint investigation, if you want—split the paperwork.”

Bullshit, Decker thought. A joint investigation usually meant double paperwork on everything and people stepping all over each other’s toes. But he paused only a moment before nodding yes. He couldn’t get Katie’s face out of his head, her tinkly laughter, her scrunched-nose smile. And Byron Howard sobbing Linda, Linda, Linda…

Dammit, one of those women was the little girl’s mother.

Tommy, the Asian, came running out of the house, his mouth and nose hidden behind a kerchief. Wiping sweat off his brow, he came back to Decker and Crandal.

“We got a real problem in there.”

“What?” Decker asked.

Tommy said, “Better if you see for yourself. Arnie’s in there now. He try to figure out what to do. It’s real bad. Especially bad if you are allergic.” He let go with machine-gun laughter.

Decker removed his shoes, explaining to Crandal that there were two different shoe prints and the less mixup Forensics had, the better. He led Crandal into the house, offering him the VapoRub as they reached the front door. Then they stepped inside.

Time had done nothing to dampen the shock of the sight. Decker felt his stomach buck anew at the pile of bloated meat in the center, the legless man on the refrigerator. Pools of blood, layers of milk and honey. The bugs—especially the maggots—seemed to have multiplied in just a half hour. The heat sped everything up. Marge was sketching the layout of the kitchen in her notepad, trying to draw, hold the tablet, and cover her nose at the same time. Arnie, the other lab man, was scraping some dried blood off a cabinet, transferring it to a glassine slide.

He said, “I can’t keep this up much longer. Bee stings weren’t part of the job description.”