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“Actually, Javier,” Harris said, “what I meant was for you to show Matt the critter, not give a sales job on the damn bag.”

“Oh.”

The clear vinyl panel, despite being somewhat smudged on the inside by viscous fluids, did its job of allowing a remarkably clear view of the remains.

So clear that, for a moment, Matt Payne feared that he-and everyone else-was about to see his breakfast again.

But he gulped his coffee, pushing down the feeling in his gut while trying to maintain a detached inspection of the remains.

He saw that the Hispanic male victim’s face was disfigured beyond belief. And from head to toe the outer layer of skin was blackened and blistered. There were crude cracks and gouges in his darkened flesh, particularly about the face and arms and hands, which at points were scorched to the bone.

Scorched and seared, like a steak on a hot grill.

It would take more than a little imagination to piece this guy all back together for an ID shot.

Right now he looks like something out of a really bad sci-fi flick.

“Javier,” Harris went on, “is that the one with-”

“The circumcision?” Iglesia said, smiling. “Yeah.”

In Harris’s peripheral vision, he saw Payne looking between him and Iglesia, trying to decode what was being said.

“Give Detective Payne a peek, would you?”

Payne thought: I don’t want to see what’s left of his damn- Javier Iglesia slipped his hand under the bag, at the point just under the back of the dead man’s neck, and lifted.

— Oh, Jesus!

Payne felt the lightness rise in his stomach again. It went away when Iglesia pulled back his hand and the neck wound closed.

“Go on, Javier,” Harris egged him on, “tell him.”

Iglesia looked at Payne and, clearly pleased with himself, said, “The dickhead got himself circumcised.”

Then he unceremoniously flipped the body bag’s top flap back in place and rolled the gurney to the back bumper of the van. He aligned it there, and with a shove collapsed its undercarriage and slid it in beside the other gurney holding the other body bag.

Watching Iglesia close the van’s back doors, Matt suddenly thought: … forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, For ever and ever. Amen.

Jesus. Where did that come from?

Where else? From years of reciting the Lord’s Prayer-sitting in the same sanctuary as Becca.

Then he thought: How bad can Becca be?

Matt looked at Harris and said, “Was Becca, the girl in the Mercedes-”

Tony Harris shook his head.

“Nothing like that, Matt. Curiously, what hurt her is also what saved her from something worse. When the windshield blew inward and struck her, it appears to have also acted like a shield that deflected the brunt of the blast.”

They walked back to the window. As they surveyed the scene, Harris put down his coffee and pulled out his notepad, flipping to a fresh page.

“Matt, how about giving me that information you said you have? You asked about the Mercedes. Do you know the Benjamin girl well?”

“Yeah, fairly well. We grew up in Wallingford. Went to the same church. And she was two years behind me at Episcopal Academy.”

Harris started writing on his pad, then said, “Any reason to believe she’s involved with running drugs, specifically meth?”