Stuart Ulrich lived in Santa Ynez, about ten miles from the notorious residence. Now that the public’s interest in Ronny Lee and his crimes had faded in the wake of the countless other electrifying abominations born of the culture of self and sensation, few if any of the morbidly curious would prowl around the property. Ulrich had less reason to keep a close watch over the place. Nevertheless, if he happened past and saw a strange vehicle parked in front of the house or along the road in the immediate vicinity, he would be on the hunt for nonpaying trespassers.

Standing beside the Ford Explorer, David slipped his arms through the loops of the small backpack that contained the gear he needed. He cinched the strap across his chest. He tied the sheath with the larger chef’s knife to his belt and secured it with a cord that he knotted around his right thigh. The smaller knife depended from his belt on his left side and hung loose in its sheath. He retrieved the four-rung folding stepladder from the back seat.

When he returned, stealth wouldn’t be necessary. No need to come overland. His grisly task would have been completed. He could follow the county road and with flashlight make his way along the dirt track.

The bearded sky had blinded the sun. The once regimented fields of the abandoned vineyard were as brown and gray as they were green. Woody vines sprawled like uncoiled spools of concertina wire. Blue oat grass bristled. An early growth of mustard plant bloomed yellow.

The slopes of the foothills at first seemed to roll under his feet, so that he lurched a few times and staggered, the stepladder knocking against his side.

But the problem wasn’t the land or his sense of balance. The fault lay in his state of mind. Doubt troubled him, and he wondered if he had misjudged the degree of aberrant behavior to which recent events had driven him.

He halted, alarmed by his rapid breathing and the throb of blood in his temples. A tinnitus of terror hummed in his ears, and his heart quickened absurdly, considering that he was nowhere near his destination, with nothing yet at risk. He tried to calm himself.