“I saw the flowers on the sideboard,” Morelli said.

I handed him the card. “They were left on the porch this morning. They were on top of the paper, so the webmaster stopped around when it was daylight. Maybe someone saw him.”

“He’s taking chances,” Morelli said. “He’s glorying in his success and that’s going to make him careless.”

“Something to look forward to.”

“I’ll have the neighborhood canvassed.” Morelli read the note. “Sick,” he said.

I took a shower and did the best I could with my hair, pushing it behind my ears, lacquering it up with hair spray. I’d get a cut as soon as possible, but I hadn’t a clue what could possibly be done with it. I looked close in the mirror. Extensions, maybe? Hairweave?

Morelli was on the phone when I came downstairs. He glanced at his watch and ended his conversation when he saw me. Morelli was ready to roll. The day had started without him. That’s what happens when you’re a sex fiend.

“I was talking to Ed Silver,” Morelli said. “We just got the report back from the state techs. They were able to recover some email from Singh’s computer. And the email corroborates what you learned last night. There were five players and the webmaster. We know Fisher Cat was last man standing, so we’re missing a dead player.”

“Do you know any more about how the game is played?”

“One of the emails spelled out the rules. The webmaster conducts the game. Players only use their game names and can communicate with each other only through the webmaster. So the webmaster always knows all. The webmaster gives out clues about the players’ identities and the hunt begins. All players know from the beginning that there will only be one man standing at the end of the game. All players know there’s no pulling out once the game has begun. Pulling out marks a player for assassination.”

“Singh.”

“Yeah. It looks like Singh was assassinated. The game began a full month before you got involved. You might have been the prize from the very beginning. Or the webmaster might have changed the prize midway. Or maybe the webmaster didn’t feel any rush to designate a prize until the game was under way.”

“And I happened along.”

Morelli shrugged. “No way to know. You’re a good prize. Bounty hunter. The webmaster had to come up with something to top the cop. The prize isn’t mentioned in any of the emails to Singh. The rules were that the webmaster only gave up the prize to the last man standing.”

“And the webmaster?”

“That’s the bad news. No clue to the webmaster. His emails are, so far, untraceable. And he hasn’t given away anything of himself. There were some messages to Singh about his disappearance, requesting that he return to finish the game, warning of the consequences. And there were a couple earlier messages that got the game going. Player names and hunt clues.”