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behind him grew louder.
    Shit.
    Blinding light suddenly lit up the entire back of the building. He jumped for the driver's seat. This couldn't be happening. There's no way that he—
    Murphy never finished his thought. The cold steel ground into his torso and abdomen as the car door slammed through him.

P retty, huh?”Howe stood in the rear parking lot of Peachtree Summit Studios, revealing Glen Murphy's twisted, bloody body with the same casual-ness as if he were showing off a new lawn mower.
    Joe grimaced at the sight. Murphy's eyes were open, staring upward. Joe wanted to close the corpse's eyes, but he knew better. It was seldom as easy as the palm-down glide-over in the movies. He'd once watched a rookie beat cop spend five horrible minutes trying to close a corpse's uncooperative left eye.
    “Where's the symbol?”Joe asked.
    Howe pointed to the victim's chest.”There's blood on it, but it's right here. A hazy circle with two intersecting lines. There's another fainter symbol intersecting it, which we saw on a couple of the other victims.”
    Joe squinted at the mark on Murphy's dark skin. He looked back at Howe.”Okay, so what the hell hapened here?”
    Howe pointed to a massive yellow forklift angled away from Murphy's pulverized Jaguar. “This forklift belongs at a construction site a couple doors over. Near as we can figure it, someone waited for him to come out, then steered it down.”
    “Physical evidence?”
    “Doesn't look promising. The forklift's been dusted for prints, and there are no footprints to be seen on the street. Whoever's doing this is good at covering his ass.”
    Captain Henderson strode out of the studio's rear exit. “Bailey, what are you doing here?”
    “I was told that Monica Gaines would be here.”
    Howe motioned toward the street. “She's with Carla in the alley. She wants to come down here as soon as possible.”
    Henderson nodded. “Only after the scene's broken down. And try to keep the journalists away while she's here, got it?”
    Howe nodded.”Sure.”
    Henderson turned toward Joe. “I heard about your performance onTalman's boat yesterday.”
    “I thought you might have.”
    “Your job is not to make Monica Gaines look like a fool, Bailey. You're here to watch her investigate these murders and point out any possibly deceptive behaviors as they relate to this investigation. Anything else she does is her business, not yours. Got it?”
    “Sure.”
    “This is not a time for the Atlanta PD to be pissing people off.”She glanced down at Murphy's body. “Jesus. Throw a blanket over him, will you?”
    Howe nodded.”Yes, ma'am.”
    Henderson stepped back into the studio.
    Joe made his way up the sloping parking lot to the street. He spotted Carla and Monica standing on the sidewalk, sipping coffee from Dunkin'Donuts cups.
    “Glad you could make it,”Carla called out to him.
    Joe approached them. “And why didn't you see this coming, Ms. Gaines?”
    “Please call me Monica. I generally can't see the future, but I did have terrible dreams last night. I dreamed that the beasts who killed Franklin knew that I sensed them, and it made them angry.”
    Carla half smiled.”Angry enough to kill again?”
    “It was probably just a dream.”Monica turned toward Joe. “Or do you have an explanation for that too?”
    “I meant no offense to you yesterday.”
    “Is that an apology?”
    “No. Are you expecting one?”
    “Of course not.”
    Carla pointed to the parking lot entrance, where a uniformed officer took down the yellow crime scene tape. “Looks like they're breaking down the scene. Ready?”
    Joe and Monica followed Carla to the lot and walked down to Murphy's body, which was now covered by a white plastic tarp. Monica tightly crossed her arms in front of her. She had the attention of everyone on the scene, including Howe, four uniformed cops, and the medical examiner.
    “Ms. Gaines?”Howe said.
    “Please, not now,”she said. “I need a moment.”She stood