Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part IAnnie
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Part IIHarry
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Part IIIAnnie
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part IVHarry
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Part VAnnie
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
It was then that he fully appreciated how nice her hair was. Long and flowing, and once dyed, it would be ideal for a field or a lawn. And there were hints of a fine bone structure in her face and, presumably, her entire body. Given her petite stature, she would be easy to prepare. He could fillet her like a perch, extract her delicate frame in no time.
He felt an itch, wanting to make her part of his process.
But no, he’d already had this debate with himself. Time to take a bit of a breather. Although this particular set she had her hands on, it would pack a punch, he believed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a bit of mess at the moment. Before I show it off, I have to work out some of the kinks in the track. Don’t want to be running a train and have any embarrassing derailments.”
“Of course. Forgive me if I was being pushy, there.”
“Not at all.”
“Anyway, I’m sold. I’m going to get this.”
She went to lift the set off the shelf, but Edwin intervened. “Allow me,” he said, and carried the package over to the counter. He slipped behind it as the woman approached and opened her purse.
She suddenly shook her head, as though she had forgotten something. “I’m so rude. I haven’t even asked you your name.”
“Edwin,” he said, extending a hand. “Edwin Nabler. And you are?”
“Janice,” she said.
“Janice. Nice to meet you.”
She laughed. “I’m buying this for my husband, Harry, and our son, Dylan. Harry’s the chief of police here, in Lucknow. Chief Cook?”
“Yes, yes,” Nabler said, nodding. “I do believe we’ve met.”
Thirty-Seven
Harry had put in another call to Melissa Cairns, his friend who worked at the FBI. He’d gotten in touch with her briefly after the discovery of Angus Tanner’s body, wondering whether the bureau had ever come across any cases where a victim’s bones had been removed from the body. She’d made some mention of a case in Des Moines, had said she would get back to him, but he hadn’t heard from her.
So he’d left a message for her after Delbert Dorfman stuffed a pack of cigarettes into his mouth and set himself ablaze. There’d already been a couple of very dark jokes around the station in the wake of that, something about how maybe the anti-smoking lobby might want to make that dude their “In Memoriam” spokesperson, or how a picture of his flaming head might be best placed on every pack of smokes as a deterrent.
Harry hadn’t laughed.