"This is Sheriff Wisehart. Got a minute, son?"

His head cleared when he recognized the sheriff's voice.

"Sheriff Wisehart." He climbed onto his seat. "How are you today?"

What just happened?

"Couldn't be better, thanks for asking. I've got an interesting assignment for you. I hate to do it because your skills are so valuable to us, but I've been persuaded by the Modesto Police Department to loan them some of your time. For a while, at least."

"What is it, Sheriff?" The back of his head hurt. He reached back to rub it, felt a knot and something wet. Looking: blood on his finger. What?

The sheriff's voice got serious. "I understand you're in charge of those canal cases, the ones where those men were killed."

"That's right. We had another one this morning, out near Paradise."

"Damn, that makes three, doesn't it?"

"Right. Three." The sheriff surely knew this already.

"Well, it looks like it's going to be four."

"What?" Lawless forgot about the knot on his head.

"I just got off the phone with Captain Bozeman. He said they just got a case like yours. Some poor woman got killed in town, by a canal. Guess it's just awful. Got her head cut off."

Then Lawless remembered everything; the dark canal, the water, the woman, the killing, the terrible hunger.

I killed the woman.

His stomach felt like a washing machine, agitating the roast beef sandwich he'd almost finished. Bile rose in his throat. He couldn't get the woman's image out of his head.

"I told them you'd get right over there, help 'em out."

"Right over?"

I killed the woman.

"The scene, Detective. They want you to go to the scene. You sure you're alright? You sound like something's stuck in your craw, boy."

Lawless saw the woman again, felt his jaws close down over her head, his teeth slice through her bone and muscle; his stomach went from agitate to spin dry; he dropped the phone, vomited into the trash can next to his desk, and passed out.

The next thing he saw was the sheriff's face peering down at him, his familiar cowboy hat pushed further back than normal, bushy eyebrows raised to within an inch of his scalp.

"Sheriff," Lawless said, blowing vomit-tainted breath into the man's face.

The sheriff recoiled, winced, and waved his hand in front of him. "Whew, boy! You been eatin' possum guts?"

What am I doing on the floor again? He sat up too fast and a wave of nausea ran through him. An awful smell came wafting out of the trash can, and he faintly recalled that it had come out of his mouth. He swallowed, tasted bile, reached for the Dr. Pepper and sipped, swishing the flat soft drink in his mouth, hoping to rinse out the bile taste.

The sheriff backed away from Lawless and the foul-smelling trash can, and stood by the open door, fanning his face with his hat, looking like he was either going to flee or toss his own lunch onto the floor.

"You sick, boy?" the sheriff asked, fanning.

Lawless didn't know. "Must have gotten a bad sandwich," he heard himself say. He sipped from the cup again and got off the floor, intending on standing; halfway up his legs told him that was a bad idea, so he dropped into his chair.

The sheriff took another step back and flapped his hat, trying to drawn in fresh air. "Light a match, boy."

Lawless pulled a book of matches out of his desk and lit one. After it burned a few seconds, he waved it around until the flame went out and threw it in the trash; the room now smelled like smoky vomit.

The sheriff ventured a step back into the room and took a few tentative sniffs. "You want me to send someone else out there, Detective? You don't look like you're up to it."

Lawless had regained enough of his senses to know he didn't want the sheriff sending someone else to do his job. Promotions were lost because someone else was sent to do your job.

"I'm fine, Sheriff. I'm sure it was just a bad sandwich. I'll be ready to go in a minute." He hoped he sounded convincing to the sheriff because hearing himself talk, he didn't sound ready to go anywhere.

But the sheriff had had enough of the stink and was eager to move on. "You know where Elk Park is, don't you?"

Lawless didn't, but thought he could find it on a map. "Yeah, I know where it is. I'll get right over there."

"Give me a heads up on it, would you?" the sheriff said, over his shoulder as he hurried out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Lawless wanted the door open so the room could air out, but thought someone might take it as an invitation to wander in and talk. He didn't want to talk to or see anyone right now. He wanted to go home and lie down, or get some electric shock treatments, whichever would make his brain work like it used to.

The stench from the trash can had overpowered the smoke from the match, making him feel nauseous again. He grabbed his jacket and headed for his car, thinking he would sit in the parking lot and blow cold air on his face until he could think straight, if that was possible. He avoided making eye contact with anyone as he weaved his way through the building, thankful no one tried to stop him. Five minutes later the air conditioner was pumping out cold air and his head was starting to clear.

"Get a hold of yourself, Lawless," he said aloud.

He needed to get to Elk Park, but wasn't in any shape to drive. Someone tapped on his window and he jumped. He turned and saw Sandra Jensen looking at him.

He rolled the window down and said, "Why don't you just yell 'boo' next time."

She flinched, catching a bit of the breath that had paled the sheriff. "Whoa. What happened to you?" she said, backing away.

"You got anything to do right now?"

"Just paperwork. Why, you got something better?"

"Can you drive?"

"I can drive a patrol car, but since this is a detective's car, I'm not sure. Are they the same?"

He ignored her. "Get in and drive." He slid across the seat.

"You need a ride to the doctor?" she said, climbing in and buckling up.

He scowled.

She shivered. "Damn. It's a meat locker in here."

"I needed the cold to wake up."

Up close now, she said, "You look worse than usual, and you stink. Mind telling me what this is all about?"

He fumbled for breath mints, found an old roll of mint Lifesavers in the glove box and popped three into his mouth. "I'm supposed to link up with Modesto PD at Elk Park, in town. The creature killed a woman and the sheriff wants me to work the case with them."

Her eyebrows shot up. "The sheriff said that?"

"Of course not. I said that. They just think someone cut off her head, or something. Who knows what they think?"

She looked concerned. "What are you going to tell them?"

"I don't know. Just drive, slowly. Take the long way. I've got to think this through."

"We've got to think this through. I'm here, too, remember?"

"Right. Sorry. We."

She put the car in reverse. "Where is Elk Park, anyway?"

They found it on a map, drove in the general direction of the park but had to stop twice because Lawless felt he was going to be sick; nothing came up, but it didn't stop his body from trying. They stopped one other time while he told her about his trip inside the creature's head, how he killed the woman bending over the railing, the very woman whose remains he knew they were on their way to see.

The radio squawked. Someone wanted to know where the hell he was and what the hell was taking him so long. He made up an excuse, something lame, and clicked off.

Jensen glanced at him; he looked like a man who'd seen an airplane go down and was now wading through charred metal and body parts looking for survivors, knowing there could be none. It scared her.

"We're almost there. What's our story?" she asked.

"We stall. All we really need to say now is, 'Yes, that looks just like our killings.' Then we tell them we'll get together later, share files, whatever. That'll buy us more time to come up with a plan. They'll have their hands full, anyway, managing the crowd. Our killings took place out in the country, I can't imagine what a nightmare they would've been if they'd been in the middle of town. We had thirty plus this morning. These guys will have a couple hundred to deal with."

His estimate was low.

The closest they could park was two blocks away. The small park itself was half full, but the street was packed solid. Everyone might've been able to crowd into the park had the cops not strung yellow crime scene tape through the middle of it, marking the line everyone knew not to cross. Three officers guarded the tape, scowling at the gawkers.

The crowd was active, buzzing with gossip. Those who'd actually seen the body before the police covered it were busy telling their stories, again and again. Newcomers pushed up to the yellow tape and tried to see the gore themselves. When that failed, they circulated to hear the eyewitnesses tell their tales again. Everyone was moving and talking.

Lawless and Jensen weaved through the throng and ducked under the yellow tape. Jensen was wearing her uniform, but Lawless could have been anyone; he flashed his badge and was waved by.

They approached a cluster of four plainclothes cops standing by the footbridge. Lawless could see a smaller crowd being held at bay on the other side of the canal, where a street ended. There were also swarms of people east and west of the footbridge, along the canal itself. You wouldn't be standing so close to the canal if you knew what was swimming around in there. The coroner and his people were waiting on the other side of the canal. A CSI team was nosing around, but no one looked upbeat.

An orange tarp covered the woman's body, which still hung on the rail. Lawless supposed they were waiting until the detective with the most experience in these matters, him, had had a look at her. He wished he was too late, wished they had already taken her away. Why couldn't he just look at photographs this time?

The little circle of cops opened up to allow them in, Lawless introduced himself and Jensen. They nodded at Lawless, eyed his rumpled appearance, and gave their names. He thought he had worked with two of them before but couldn't recall how long ago or on what case. Three looked at Jensen with suspicion, as if to say why is she here. The fourth, an athlete gone soft, short and stubby, beer belly, gave her a thorough look-over and tried to catch her eye. She ignored him.

The cop who said his name was Dave Baskel, a tall, thin, black man with a scruffy moustache, said to Lawless, "I hear Captain Bozeman asked you to work with us on this, says you're the one working a similar case in the county." Baskel looked at Lawless with sleepy eyes.

"Cases. We got our third this morning."

"Third?" Baskel said, confused. "I thought you just had one, yesterday."

"Nope. Three in three days."

"Shit," said a guy with nicotine-stained moustache.

"Yeah," Lawless said, "tell me about it."

"No wonder you look like hell," said a different guy, who smiled and showed crooked yellow teeth.

"Thanks," Lawless said, not smiling.

"You got anything yet? Any leads, any idea who's doing this?" It was Ex-Jock's turn to speak. He looked at Lawless when he talked, but went back to Jensen's chest before he got his answer. She crossed her arms and frowned.

"We have some stuff, but we're still waiting on labs and autopsies. I can show you what we have later today or tomorrow, when we don't have five hundred people staring at us." Then I can tell you about our funky DNA, shaky eyewitness, and, you'll really like this, my psychic experiences! We'll order pizza and beer.

"Hell of a crowd," Smoker said, looking around. "We should get moving before someone sticks a TV camera in our face."

"You want to see the body," Baskel asked, "make sure it looks like your stuff?"

Under no circumstances did Lawless want to see the body, but he hadn't thought of a way to get out of it, so he nodded. "Might as well get it over with."

Yellow Teeth said, "You show 'em, Dave." They'd seen enough.

Lawless and Jensen followed Baskel onto the footbridge.

At the tarp, Baskel said, "I don't know how the other three victims looked but this is the worst thing I've ever seen. Whoever did this is one sick son of a bitch. I hope he rots in hell."

He lifted the tarp enough for Lawless and Jensen to see. The smell hit them first. Lawless, closest to the body, fought the urge to heave again. His stomach was empty but he still didn't want hundreds of people to see him retching over the rail, his body out of control. He turned his head and took a deep breath.

"I know what you mean, man," Baskel said. "I lost my breakfast in the canal as soon as I got here. Ain't no shame in it. Shows you're human."

Lawless nodded and plunged back under the tarp, holding his breath. Jensen crowded in next to him. He first noticed the white legs and purple veins; old-lady legs. There were spots of blood on her white sneakers and a few drops on the wooden bridge. Jensen put her hand over her mouth and gasped, fighting to keep her breakfast down.

There was a crater where her head should have been and something hung out of the hole, part of an organ, something familiar: Lawless realized it was part of her heart. The bite extended almost to her shoulders, stopping at the collar bone. Flies moved over the meat and blood in their drunken, random crawl, not caring who saw or hated them because the eating was seldom this good.

Jensen's stomach had had enough. She tried to make it off the footbridge, but didn't. She leaned over the railing and vomited into the canal.

Even though it was just vomiting, and no one really likes to watch someone else vomit, it was still action, something. The crowd pressed against the yellow tape and craned their necks, pushing and shoving, trying to see who was tossing their lunch.

Lawless turned away while Jensen emptied her stomach; he was afraid to watch or offer comfort it would likely get him started. The smell and flies bothered him, but the woman's appearance didn't; he'd seen her before.

"That's enough," he said to Baskel.

Baskel let go of the tarp and they waited for Jensen to finish. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and walked off the footbridge. Yellow Teeth offered her a handkerchief and muttered something about it being the last clean one. Ex-Jock had lost interest, put off by the sight of her puking her guts out.

"Well?" Baskel asked Lawless.

Lawless nodded. "The first guy lost his arm and part of his chest. The second guy had his legs taken off, but got to keep his feet. He tied off one leg with his belt but bled out crawling to his truck. All we found this morning were feet. The rest of the kid was gone."

All four cops stared at him.