Washington, D.C.

Gwen Patterson accepted the glass of water Detective Julia Racine offered. Gwen sat on Dena’s leather sofa, her legs still spread apart, her body bent forward and ready to resume the position of head between her legs even though the nausea had subsided. When Racine continued to stand over her, Gwen took a sip, thinking she needed to convince all of them that she would be okay, that there would be no more vomit to mess up the crime scene.

She wasn’t sure who ended up cleaning the kitchen sink. She just kept telling herself, better there than in the garbage can. Racine had handed her a damp paper towel and then the glass of water. Had Gwen remembered what Maggie had said about the detective, she would have realized that, of course, Racine wasn’t waiting to make sure she was okay. It wasn’t until she saw Racine’s foot tapping that it dawned on Gwen that the detective wanted to know what was going on.

“Tell me again why you came here.”

Without looking up, Gwen gave her the same answer, hoping that instead of sounding rehearsed it would only sound as if she was growing tired of repeating the same answers. “She didn’t show up for work. I left phone messages for her and she didn’t return my calls. It’s not like her to just not show up. I was worried.” It was all true. And yet, she had no idea how she would begin to tell the rest of the story. She had gone over it in her mind again and again, realizing how bizarre it sounded. What was worse, she had nothing—not even a match of fingerprints to back up her story.

“And you just happen to have a key?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. It was easier to just answer Racine’s questions. Especially right now while the dizziness and nausea took roller-coaster turns through her body.

“So you came in,” Racine said, hands on her hips, foot still tapping. Her voice kept calm even as it remained somewhat abrasive, but Gwen thought it was due to impatience rather than anger. “She wasn’t here, so you went on into the kitchen and checked the trash bin?”

Gwen looked up at her and dragged her fingers through her hair, starting to feel her own frustration. “I looked around. When we got to the kitchen, Harvey went to the cabinet door and started pawing at it.”

“And what about that? Do you always bring your dog with you?”

Gwen reached over and gave him a pat. He had stayed by her side the entire time, finally lying down when he realized they weren’t leaving.

“He’s not my dog. I’m watching him for a friend.” Suddenly it occurred to her that just because she knew Julia Racine, it didn’t mean Racine knew her. Gwen added, “He’s Maggie’s dog. Maggie O’Dell.”

“Agent Maggie O’Dell?”

“Yes, she had to leave for Nebraska this morning. Maggie often leaves Harvey with me when she’s out of town.”

Racine turned her attention to Harvey, and Gwen could see her softening a bit. Up until now the detective had ignored Harvey. Now she bent down to scratch behind his ears.

“I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you, buddy,” Racine said in a tone Gwen hadn’t heard her use before, a kind and gentle tone. “We spent about eight hours in my car yesterday, didn’t we, kiddo? I should have recognized you.”

When Racine stood, she glanced around as if to make sure none of her crew had witnessed the exchange. Her change of attitude toward Harvey, however, didn’t extend to Gwen. The detective was all business again.

“The victim didn’t have a roommate. Did she mention a boyfriend?”

“Yes. She said she was seeing someone new.”

“Did she mention his name?”

“No.”

“Do you know if she was seeing him this weekend?”

“She had plans with him on Saturday evening.” She almost wished Racine would ask more difficult questions.

“Do you know how she met him? Was it over the Internet?”

“She never told me how they met.” It was the truth. She couldn’t tell Racine that Dena had met her new beau at work, at her office, because that would only be speculating. Maybe it wasn’t even Rubin Nash. After all, the fingerprints hadn’t matched up.

“Funny she wouldn’t tell you more about this new boyfriend,” Racine said, crossing her arms, “especially since she felt close enough to give you a key to her place.”

Gwen avoided the detective’s eyes. Would she be able to tell that Gwen knew very little about her assistant? Instead of responding, she focused on the crime lab technician in the kitchen. He had been removing the garbage from the trash bin piece by piece and now stood staring at the bin, perhaps contemplating how to remove Dena’s head without destroying any other evidence.

“She was supposed to go to a nightclub last night with one of her friends,” Gwen finally offered. Was it possible the killer wasn’t even one of her patients?

“Do you know which one?”

“She may have told me, but I don’t remember. She said she was going to check out the new one.”

“And I don’t suppose you know the name of the friend she was going with?”

“No, I don’t.”

The technician reached both of his gloved hands into the trash bin, and Gwen began to feel clammy and light-headed all over again. But she couldn’t take her eyes away. She was mesmerized. She knew she should look away. Up until now her mind had fooled her into believing Dena had been murdered and stuffed into her own trash bin. But she knew that wasn’t true. She knew it was only Dena’s decapitated head. Just like the others. She knew that and still she gasped when she saw the technician lift the plastic bag out, a plastic bag big enough only for a head.

She felt Racine’s hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t look up at the detective. Her eyes stayed with the plastic bag the entire time it took for the technician to remove it and place it into a small black body bag. Did they have special ones for heads? she couldn’t help wondering.

Still not looking up at Racine, Gwen said, “Dena always hated taking out the garbage at the office.” It was an absolutely ridiculous thing to say.