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“That’s pretty astute of you, Decker.”
“Did you shut the repair facility down after the crime, or did it close on its own?”
“The guy who ran it hit the state lottery for about six hundred thousand and got the hell out of here.”
“You got a key?”
She pulled one from her pocket and unlocked the front door.
There was a smallreception area, and beyond that, through a wall of glass interrupted by a door, Decker could see three service bays.
“Okay, take me through step by step.”
“We got a call about a possible break-in. Uniforms responded. They found the bodies.”
“Who called it in?”
“Anonymous. We tried to trace it but couldn’t.”
“That’s unusual, because most peopledon’t carry untraceable phones. Where did you find the bodies?”
She led him into the service bay area.
“Vic number one was found in the grease pit of this service bay.” She pointed down in the hole.
“Cause of death?”
“A gunshot wound to the head sealed the deal.”
“ID?”
“Michael Swanson. Black guy, early thirties. Low-level street dealer.Started his career right out of high school. He’d been arrested before on petty stuff. Did some short stints twice in the local lockup. But nothing too serious. Last address we had for him was an apartment on the outskirts of town. Very low-rent district.”
“The second body?”
She led him over to a machine that was used to lift engine blocks out of vehicles.
“He wasfound wrapped in chains and hanging from this.”
“Cause of death?”
“Same as Swanson. But he had a mark branded into his forehead.”
“What sort of mark?”
“You ready for this?”
“I guess.”
“It was a flame, but it was turned upside down.”
“A torch, you mean? That’s the symbol of the Greek god of death, Thanatos.”
Lassiter’sjaw slackened. “How did you know that?”
“I read a book once. With pictures. Who was he?”
“Bradley Costa. White, age thirty-five. He was a fairly recent transfer here. Worked at Baronville National Bank. A senior vice president.”
