“I’ll get Ruben to give us a heads-up when he sees the car approach.” Johan removed his cell phone from his pocket. “Until then, just hang, and wipe down any surface you touch. We came here to eliminate a problem, not create a new one.”

They waited in the living room, getting comfortable. Johan swiped through his phone, replying to emails and social media comments. After ten minutes or so, Xander got restless and started to nose around. He drifted from room to room, rooting through various drawers, criticizing the décor.

“Thought this guy was supposed to be famous,” he said. “This place is a shithole.”

“Yeah, well, this is what happens when you don’t cover your tracks,” Johan commented. “Fucking idiot woke up in the woods with his wife’s blood all over his shirt.”

“Dumb prick.”

“He’s lucky he’s not getting popped in the ass at San Quentin.” Johan checked his Twitter feed. Mostly bullshit, but he “liked” recent posts from Ariana and LDC. “Which reminds me: you’d better be wiping your paw prints down.”

“I’m using my sleeves,” Xander said.

He sniffed around a little more, then came back with his first find, reminding Johan of a dog sniffing through the brush, returning to his owner with a dead bird clamped between his jaws.

“Dug these out of the trash,” he said. Not a dead bird, but a pair of filthy sweatpants and a blue bra—the clothes Kitty had been wearing when Johan took her to Jink’s. They triggered a vibrant memory: Kitty on her knees with her T-shirt torn down her back, clutching her skateboard, the fear rising off her in stinking waves.

I just want to go home, she’d whispered, broken, but with still a little fight left in her. Tenacity was a trait that Johan admired. Under different circumstances, she would have made an excellent shield-maiden.

“This isn’t real blood,” Xander said, indicating the deep staining on the bra cups and down the front of the pants. “It’s what Kitty was wearing in those fake photos.”

“Why the fuck are you digging through the trash?” It was all Johan could think of to say.

“I wasn’t. I saw the bra strap poking up and grabbed it. The pants were balled up underneath.”

“Put them back.” Johan hadn’t touched the clothing, but he still wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. “They stink, and they don’t help us.”

Xander disappeared, but returned moments later with his second find, and this was closer to a dead bird.

“Talking of photos.” He handed Johan a manila envelope. “These were in a drawer in the bedroom. They still look real, even though I know they’re not.”

Johan opened the envelope and pulled out the photographs of Kitty’s “dead” body. They were full-color, gruesome as hell. The close-up was particularly effective.