“Is Bart Cone still a suspect?”

“Everyone’s a suspect. Cone is high up on the list.”

“What about the other victims’ computers?”

“We were never able to find Rosen’s or Howie’s computer.”

“Fisher Cat’s?”

“Fisher Cat’s name is Steven Klein. Nineteen years old. Worked at Larry’s video rental and lived with his parents. The state has a team going through the parents’ house, but so far as I know the computer hasn’t turned up yet.”

I glanced at the newspaper I’d dropped onto the coffee table. Klein’s picture was on the front page. To be more precise, Klein’s sneakers were on the front page because the rest of him was hidden behind a couple cops and a back shot of me, standing hands on hips, head down. My hair didn’t look good.

“Crap,” I said.

Morelli looked down at the photo. He raised his eyes and looked over at me. “Did you get a new haircut?”

“Yeah. Somewhere between getting shot and posing for this newspaper picture. I guess you didn’t look in the envelope.”

Morelli took the envelope off the coffee table and looked inside. Morelli’s usually pretty good at hiding emotion, but the lock of hair pushed a button that was beyond his range of control. Color rose in his cheeks and he slashed out at a table lamp, hitting it with his closed fist, sending it flying across the room to smash against the wall.

Bob was curled into a big Bob ball at the end of the couch, sound asleep. He levitated six inches off the couch when the lamp crashed and he ran for the kitchen.

“Feel better?” I asked Morelli.

“No.”

“Do you have anything else for me?”

“Klein, Rosen, Singh, Paressi were all shot at fairly close range. Howie was shot across a parking lot. Even using a laser scope, there’s still a skill level required to put a twenty-two between someone’s eyes at a distance. Someone in the carnations and roses group is a very good shot. I’m guessing it’s the webmaster. A possible scenario is that you discovered Howie’s identity and the webmaster had to take him out or risk having the game blown. And then maybe the webmaster discovered he liked killing and decided to insert himself into the game as a player.”

“Was Bart Cone in the military? Does he belong to a gun club?”

“Never in the military. No gun club that we know of.” Morelli did another watch check. “We have to roll.”

I did a fast scan for Ranger’s man when I got outside, but I couldn’t spot any shiny new black cars.

Morelli beeped his truck unlocked. “If you’re looking for your rent-a-thug, I told Ranger you’d be with me this morning.”

“Did he make you take a blood oath that you’d protect me?”

“He asked me if I had adequate health insurance.”

The rain had stopped and Jersey was steaming. Grass was growing and oil-slicked puddles were evaporating. Another hour and the sun would be bright in the sky, shimmering in the ozone haze.