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had to admit, his eyes glazed over a lot of the financial stuff. But one thing was clear: Green was connected.
    The lead homicide investigator, a tall, white-haired guy named Hunsicker, met him out in front of the Green house. They shook hands, Hunsicker giving him the up and down, slightly quizzical look in his eyes. Paulson knew what he was thinking. Is this guy even out of high school? Paulson had been cursed with a baby face and curly dark hair.
    “What do we have?” Paulson asked.
    Paulson knew what the crime scene looked like from the photos Riggins had sent him. But it always helped to hear another investigator’s take on it.
    “Let me show you,” said Hunsicker. “Words won’t do it justice.”
    Hunsicker walked him through the entryway. The house was furnished with designer housewares and was professionally maintained, but the inside was a mess. Papers and utensils and clothes strewn everywhere.
    “Robbery?” Paulson asked. “Or just made to look like one?”
    “No, there’s definitely stuff missing,” Hunsicker said. “Jewelry, watches, some electronics, some art. Insurance guys have already been out here, and whoever did this got away with a bundle. We also think the vic kept a seriously large amount of cash in a bedroom safe—we found money wrappers and a little logbook. Which may have brought this whole thing. But if you’re going to rob somebody, you knock ’em over the head or shoot them. You don’t do this to them.”
    “Show me,” Paulson said.
    Paulson followed the homicide detective into the basement. He tried to push everything he’d read and seen out of his mind. He wanted to view the crime scene with fresh eyes.
    Green was still hanging upside down from the ceiling, his body was suspended by one ankle. His other leg was bent at the knee and tucked behind, his legs making an inverted number four. Both legs appeared to have been flayed, exposing the blood-buttered muscles beneath. Green’s hands were tied behind his back. The first thing Paulson notice was the stagecraft. Everything was orchestrated to be appreciated by the viewer walking down this flight of stairs. The grisly tableau was meant to shock. The image was supposed to sear itself onto your mind. This was something you weren’t supposed to forget. Something you would be unable to forget.
    Paulson moved for a closer look. Green’s head was badly burned, as if it had been set on fire, then extinguished. Paulson wondered how the killer did that without the rest of the body catching fire. There were no scorch marks anywhere else in the basement. Could you wrap a man’s head in some kind of bag, then set it ablaze from the inside?
    Maybe Green had been tortured. The robbers knew he had all of that cash hidden away, so they brutalized the man until he coughed up a safe combination.
    Paulson made a mental note to take a look at Green’s financials. Even with grisly torture-executions, sometimes the best advice was to follow the money.
    “What’s the time of death?” Paulson asked.
    Hunsicker walked around the scene, but looked at everything except Green’s body. “Based on body temp, he was killed around midnight. He was last seen at a restaurant a few miles away—we talked to the bartender, and the valet guy. Green left alone. He could have picked someone up, but there’s no evidence of anyone else in his car.”
    “Who found him?” Paulson asked.
    “The security company received an alert,” Hunsicker said. “The system had been disengaged, and when it came back online, we received a call. You ever see anything like this?”
    Thing was, Paulson had. There was something familiar about all of this. He just couldn’t bring it to mind right away. It nagged at him. Paulson had to remind himself of the advice he once read: Keep your mind clear. Don’t take mental shortcuts. Let the evidence speak to you.
    Just like Steve Dark.

chapter 8
    Johnny Knack always thought there was no thrill like a massive deadline rushing