‘Cadavers. How are you with them?’ She didn’t look up as she fastened the buckles on her shoes. ‘In what context?’ I frowned at her. A first... ‘In the context, first, of your becoming one, followed by the context of your handling one.’ Finally she looked up at me. She appeared suddenly ashen. ‘I–don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘To the first, at least–I don’t know.’ My brow piqued. ‘And to the latter?’ Breathing in deep, she sat up straight and rigid. ‘I can hold my own well enough.’ She began to. It was only ten p.m. but the streets were strangely empty. The mayor had put out a curfew until the Red Ribbon Rapist was caught. The press had named him after Devon’s death, seeing the red ribbon on her hair and gaining the knowledge of the others, through secret sources, of course. He had laughed when he sent that letter in, knowing that the police were trying to keep some things out of the press. Why shouldn’t he talk to the press? The Zodiac Killer had, so had BTK and Son of Sam. He slowed. More

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