Inspector Hughes was drinking coffee at her desk when I arrived at the Hall of Justice at two o'clock that afternoon. She looked fresh and alert. None the worse for wear. She seemed to work as hard as I did on a case, maybe harder. I hoped it was a good thing for her.

'Don't you ever sleep?' I asked as I stopped to talk for a moment. My eyes went to the clutter at her work-space. I noticed a photograph of a smiling, very good-looking man propped on her desk. I was glad that she had time for a love life at least. It made me think of Christine Johnson, who was now living out here on the West Coast. I felt a stab of rejection. The love of my life? Not anymore. Unfortunately, not anymore. Christine had left Washington and moved to Seattle. She liked it there a lot, and was teaching school again.

Jamilla shrugged. 'I woke up around noon, couldn't get back to sleep. Maybe I'm too tired. The ME in Luis Obispo says he'll send us a report late today. But listen to this. I just got an e-mail from Quantico. There have been eight murders in California and Nevada that bear some resemblance to the Golden Gate Park ones. Not all of the victims were hung. But they were bitten. The cases go back six years. So far. They're looking back even further than that.'

'What cities?' I asked her.

She glanced down at her notes. 'Sacramento - our esteemed capital. San Diego. Santa Cruz. LasVegas. Lake Tahoe. San Jose. San Francisco. San Luis Obispo. This is so goddamn creepy, Alex. One murder like this would be enough to keep me sleepless for a month.'

'Plus the murder in Washington,' I said. 'I'm going to ask the Bureau to look at the East Coast.'

She grinned sheepishly.'I already did. They're on it.'

I teased, 'So what do we do now?'

'What do cops always do when they wait. We eat doughnuts and drink coffee,' she said and rolled her dark brown eyes. She had a natural, very attractive beauty, even on just a few hours' sleep.