"Not far from my own damn house." He stabbed the elevator button. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

"Who's in charge?" I said. "Sheriff or Highway Patrol?"

"Highway Patrol on the killing itself," he said. "I reached Whitworth at the scene. He said feel free to check out her house. He's staying there, wants to make sure they scrape whatever physical evidence they can off the road before traffic thickens up."

"They shot her and butchered her right there on the freeway?"

"Turnoff. Wide turnoff. Far enough and dark enough for cover."

"Crimmins would know the road well," I said. "Growing up in Treadway. But still, it was risky, right there in the open."

"So they're loosening up-maybe losing it, like you said. Peake's massacre wasn't exactly well thought out. He left goddamn bloody footprints. Maybe Crimmins is starting to freak, too."

"I don't know. Crimmins is a planner. The escape says he's still pretty organized."

He shrugged. "What can I tell you?" The elevator arrived and he threw himself in.

"Did the coroner have anything to add?" I said.

"The bullet's still in there, he'll go digging. Ready for me to drop you off now?"

"Not a chance," I said.

"You look wiped out."

"You 're not exactly perky-fresh."

His laugh was short, dry, reluctant. "Want some chewing gum?"

"Since when do you cany?" I said.

"I don't. The attendant-Lichter-gave me a pack. Says he started doing it for any cops who come in. Says he's gonna retire next year, feels like spreading good cheer and fresh breath."

Outside the morgue, the air was warm, thick, gasoline-tinged. Even at this hour, the freeway noise hadn't abated. Ambulances shrieked in and out of County General. Derelicts and dead-eyes walked the street, along with a few white-coated citizens who didn't look much better off. Above us, on the overpass, cars blipped and dopplered. A few miles north, the interstate was quiet enough to serve as a killing ground.

I imagined the car pulling abruptly to the side-not the yellow Corvette; something large enough to seat three.

Crimmins and Peake. And Heidi. Riding along.

A captive? Or a passenger.

The dope conviction.

I thought of the meeting at Plummer Park.

My roommate's sleeping, or I would've had you come to myplace.

Would a live roommate be waiting for us at the Orange Grove address? Or...

My mind flashed back to the freeway kill. Heidi out of the car, surprised, asking Crimmins what was up. Or immobilized-bound, gagged-and terrified.

Crimmins and Peake haul her out. She's a strong girl, but they control her easily.

They walk her as far as they can from the freeway. To the edge of the turnoff, everyone swallowed by darkness now.

Last words or not?

Either way: pop. A searing burst of light and pain.

What was the last thing she'd heard? A truck whizzing by? The wind? The racing of her pulse?

They let her fall. Then Crimmins gives a signal and Peake steps forward.

Blade in hand.

Summoned.