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“Why would they get into trouble?”

He didn’t really need to answer her question because they were ten feet away from that open door now and she could smell it. The harsh sour odor of tainted blood. Judging the foul stench by its strength, Lena guessed that there was a lot of it inside the dilapidated garage.

Paladino stepped aside and let her pass. “They saw that photo on TV,” he said. “I guess the shot was so bad they couldn’t be sure it was him. The guy they rented it out to paid for the year in cash. Like I said, they’re poor. They needed the money and wanted to keep the cash.”

“So you came down to check it out.”

“They found me. I’m glad they did. I can help them now.”

Lena’s eyes were fixed on the door as Paladino stayed behind her on the lawn.

“The lock’s been replaced,” she said. “Who’s got a key?”

“The guy changed everything when he rented the place.”

“Does this guy have a name?”

“He didn’t sign anything, but he called himself Nathan Good.”

A moment passed with Lena thinking it over. Nathan Good.

“How’d you get the door open?” she said.

“I gave it a hard kick.”

“You go inside? You touch anything?”

“The door won’t open any more than that. I couldn’t fit. Besides, I know what death smells like. I talked it over with the Andolinis and gave you a call. I’ve been waiting on the front porch ever since.”

She turned and measured his face, certain that he was telling the truth. Behind him she could see the old couple staring through the kitchen window. They looked frightened. Thin and frail and more ancient than old.

She turned back to the door and noticed that the foundation had risen over time and the door wouldn’t budge. After taking a deep breath, she squeezed through the opening and peered into the gloom. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness and details became more visible, she made an effort to slow down her heart but couldn’t get past the chills. A meat hook hung from the rafters. Against the wall she spotted five buckets filled with a dark murky liquid. She didn’t need a criminalist to know that the buckets were filled with blood.

The foul odor was so intense in the closed space that she became worried that she might faint. She turned around but couldn’t see Paladino through the crack in the door.

“You still there?” she called out.

“I’m here,” he said.

“You got a handkerchief?”

“How ’bout paper tissues?”

“I’ll take them.”

A long beat went by before his face appeared in the doorway and he passed them through.

“Is there a body?” he asked.

“I’m guessing she’s already at the morgue.”

“You okay? You want to open the garage door?”

She had thought about that, but a breeze might disturb something important. She couldn’t take the chance.

“I’m okay,” she said.

Her voice died off. She had just noticed the table on the other side of the garage. Covering her mouth and nose with a tissue, she located the switch by the garage door and flipped on the lights with her elbow. The table turned out to be a 4x8 sheet of plywood set on a pair of saw horses. She moved closer. One step after the other-her efforts to keep her heart rate down not working very well. She noted the massive bloodstains on the wood’s surface. The gashes left behind by a razor-sharp knife. The additional spotlights mounted on the rafters overhead.

It was a makeshift operating table. Underneath the plywood, a 4x8 sheet of linoleum had been laid over the concrete serving as a blood catch.

Her eyes flicked back to the meat hook swaying in the foul air. The five buckets filled with tainted blood. When she turned back to the operating table, she began to pick up patterns in the stains. Wisps of the victim’s hair, an arc of fingertips, and the stamp of a palm-impressions from the body so clear that they looked as if they had been silk-screened onto the wood.

Something glistened in the light. She caught it out of the corner of her eye. Inching her way to the other end of the table, she found a carving knife laid out on top of a liquor carton. She looked at the knife without touching it. The drops of blood. Two smaller knifes were here as well, along with a black Sharpie.

She paused a moment, adjusting the tissue over her nose.

The garage had been cleaned, the floor swept. Whatever belonged to the Andolinis looked as if it had been moved to the back of the garage and stacked beside a workbench. When Lena spotted the trash can, she moved closer and gazed inside the plastic liner. Several pairs of vinyl gloves had been discarded, along with a smock, a pair of goggles, store-bought rags, and numerous sets of paper booties.

Her eyes skipped across the workbench. She took a deep breath and pushed the foul air out of her lungs. Felt the chills begin to swarm her spine and shake it. There was a roll of parchment paper here. But even worse, a meat grinder had been mounted to the surface with a thumb screw.

She closed her eyes and stepped back, thinking that she might be sick. Gathering her strength, she shook the thought out of her head and turned away. And that’s when she noticed the coat rack on the wall. She had walked right by it. Missed it as she took the horror in.

The victim’s clothes were here. Everything hanging neatly from the hooks on the rack as if it belonged in the woman’s bedroom closet. A pair of jeans and a simple white blouse. A sweater. Her bra and panties. On the floor her shoes had been set side by side, her socks folded and carefully placed on top.

Lena moved closer, picking up a light scent of perfume-the same fragrance that managed to cut through the stench at the morgue during the young woman’s autopsy. As her eyes swept across the rack, she spotted a string of Rosary beads hanging from the last hook.

A moment passed. A long stretch of oppressive silence broken up by the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. She was thinking about Jane Doe, the young woman who had stolen Jennifer McBride’s identity and walked into this nightmare. She was playing back her last few moments of life in her head. She was thinking about what Art Madina had told her on Friday. That the killer had kept her alive for as long as he could. That her death hadn’t been quick or easy.

The man the Andolinis knew as Nathan Good.

Her mind surfaced. She noticed her breath as she exhaled. She could see it dissipating in the cold air as it passed through the tissue. Her body was shaking now, but she couldn’t tell if she was shivering or trembling anymore. Couldn’t tell if it was the December air working through her body or this living vision of hell closing in on her.

She shook it off and headed for the door. Squeezing through the narrow space, she stepped outside and moved away from the garage as quickly as she could. The winds had changed direction. She could smell moisture in the air, the promise of rain. She could hear a door opening.

“Come in and get warm.”

She looked up and saw Paladino on the porch, but it took a moment to register.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “Where are the Andolinis?”

“Resting. I went through it with them before you got here. They’re tired. I figured you could talk to them later. You don’t look so good, Lena. Come in and sit down.”

She took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on herself. After several moments she climbed the steps and followed Paladino into the kitchen. The room was small but clean, the appliances dated. Moving to the sink, she turned on the hot water. As she splashed her face, she couldn’t help noticing all the prescriptions lined up on the windowsill. There must have been at least thirty different medications. A small house plant broke the line of pill bottles into two groups. An African violet in bloom. Taped to the sill on the left and right were the words HIS and HERS.

Paladino gave her look, his voice quiet and gentle. “What was it like in there?”

“Exactly what you think it was like,” she said.