'Actually, I had a pretty good night. Got up before the alarm, but not much -I think about six-thirty.'

She searched his face, ran a light finger across the top of his cheek. 'Your eyes have bags.'

'That's just the way they look, Flo. I'm working on them as an investigative tool. Keep me from looking too friendly.'

'Oh yes,' she said, 'that's been a real problem.'

'You'd be surprised,' he said, 'witnesses thinking I'm all warm and fuzzy. I decided I ought to look a little tougher.'

'Good idea. You wouldn't want your sweet nature to show through.'

'People just take advantage. You wouldn't believe.'

Glitsky's mother Emma had been black. His father Nat was Jewish. So Glitsky had a dark-skinned face with a hawk-like nose. In spite of that, people tended to see first the uneven white scar that ran between his upper and lower lips. Even when his eyes didn't have the valises under them as they did now, his smile was a terrifying thing to behold.

He laid a hand on his wife's thigh. 'So how's by you? You want some food? Coffee? Tantric sex?'

She nodded. 'All of the above. I'll get up.'

'You sure?'

'Unless you want the tantric sex first, but I'm better after coffee.'

'Okay, I'll wait.'

'You put on the pot,' she said. 'I'll freshen up.'

He went into the kitchen. There, on the table, were the remains of the boys' breakfasts – empty bowls, cereal boxes, milk, sugar all over the table.

And his police reports – the five dead people and as much of their recent lives as Glitsky had been able to assemble. The latest, a young woman named Tania Willows who had been raped and murdered and whose body had been discovered just yesterday.

The cereal in the cupboard. Sugar on the counter. Milk in the fridge. Got to clean out the fridge – if there's that much mold on the cheese, who knows what the meat drawer is going to look like?