“I remember when everything was simple for me,” Coletti said pensively. “A man was a man and a woman was a woman. The rich got richer and the poor got poorer. Black was black and white was white. There was no gray area. Then I worked on the Confessional Murders, and everything seemed to turn inside out.”

“Does that mean you believe he’s an angel?” Mann asked.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Coletti said with a sigh. “But I do know this: Angels don’t pay guys to drop confessions at art exhibits, they don’t shoot people in churches, they don’t convince kids to kill for them, and they don’t try to drive old men crazy just a few days before they retire.”

“But they appear and disappear,” Mann said, tapping the screen of his iPhone and looking at the words that popped up. “They leave signs, they take vengeance, and from everything I’ve ever read, they take no prisoners.”

“So you’re reading up on angels now?” Coletti asked with a sideways glance.

Mann smiled as he tapped the screen of his iPhone again. “Actually, I’m reading up on Daniel. Seems he was more than a man who saw visions. He interpreted dreams.”

“I wish he could interpret mine,” Sandy said.

“Maybe the killer’s already done it,” said Mann. “You had a vision by a river just like Daniel, and when you woke up, you found dates written on your wall. Daniel’s vision dealt with dates, too. Maybe it’s all connected.”

“Could be,” Sandy said. “But if the killer was only concerned with dates, why did the note say ‘check the confessions’?”

Coletti looked down at the list of dates he’d copied from the message on Sandy’s wall. “There’s only one explanation,” he said. “The confessions and the dates are linked.”

It was close to 5:00 AM when Coletti and Mann walked into homicide after leaving Sandy’s house.

“Anybody here?” Coletti said as he turned on the lights and walked into the office.

No one answered. He walked to the back and opened the captain’s door. Mary Smithson was inside. She was asleep with files and boxes spread haphazardly across the floor. Five files were neatly stacked on the desk beside her.

Coletti quietly stepped around the mess, took the files from the desk, and handed them to Mann. Then he closed the door and the two of them walked to Coletti’s desk to peruse them.

“I figure we can let her sleep for a few minutes,” Coletti said, pulling his hot plate from his bottom drawer. “Meanwhile, we can eat.”

Mann looked at him as if he were insane. “What are you gonna make with a hot plate?”

“Spaghetti,” Coletti said, plugging the frayed wire into an outlet behind his desk.

Mann shook his head. “If that’s your idea of a meal, you’ve been alone way too long.”