A cold breeze blew through the church and into his consciousness, settling there like a pain that wouldn’t go away. The door at the back of the sanctuary was open, but everything inside was still. Coletti and Mann shared a knowing glance, and when Coletti flipped on the light, they both saw what they knew to be true.

The body was sitting in a chair on the pulpit, his vacant eyes staring at an invisible congregation while a pistol sat on the floor next to his right hand.

With his gun out in front of him, Coletti signaled Mann to check the right side of the sanctuary while Coletti checked the left. When they were sure that the room was clear, Coletti walked to the front of the church and looked into the dead man’s ashen face. His mouth was open. His blond hair was tangled by congealed blood and pieces of flesh. His wide-brimmed hat was on the floor, and his suit hung loosely on his spare frame. His hands were a bit too large for his body, and his eyes, though vacant, seemed ruthless—desperate, even. He looked too young to harbor that kind of desperation, so young that Coletti felt a momentary pang of sympathy.

As the backup they’d requested arrived at the church, Mann walked down the aisle and stood beside his partner. “I wish this was the end of it,” he said. “But I think the pastor was right. This is only the beginning.”

Sandy Jackson had been home for an hour and a half, trying to relax despite the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen.

If not for her lieutenant insisting that she go home and rest for at least a few hours, she’d still be on the street, helping Charlie and the others to track down the man she’d seen. Instead, she was sitting on her king-size bed after a bath, caressing Thierry Mugler Angel cream onto her thighs.

As she did so, she gazed at her cinnamon-brown skin in her full-length mirror. Then she stood up, turned around, and looked over her shoulder, examining her naked body for the defects that came with time.

Her hips were wider than they’d been when she was younger. Her breasts had fallen just a bit. There was a tiny varicose vein at the crease behind her right knee. She was critical of every imperfection. Still, she was as beautiful at thirty as she’d been a decade before.