By John Sandford

He feels like this kind of great guy. You’d by no means wager what was once happening in his mind…

Art historical past professor James Qatar has a pastime: he's taking mystery images of girls to gas extra difficult fantasies. while he’s on my own. at the back of locked doorways. Then in the future, he is going a step additional and... good, something results in one other. Qatar has no selection. He has to kill her. and also you recognize anything? He likes it.

When Deputy leader Lucas Davenport takes the case, he assumes it’ll be easy police paintings. He couldn’t be extra mistaken. because the research path takes a few unforeseen turns, it turns into transparent that not anything is easy approximately this killer, his sufferers, or his explanations. And to forestall him Lucas has no selection yet to stroll correct into his lair.

WITH a brand new creation by way of JOHN SANDFORD

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Sample text

It had been just that innocent in the beginning. A dream. His historian's eye told him that the first drawings were mediocre; but as he became more expert with the various tools in Photoshop, and with the pen itself, the drawings became cleaner and sharper. They actually became good. Still not good enough to provide a living, but good enough to engage his other enthusiasms . . He could download a nude from one of the endless Internet porno sites, process it, print it, project it, and produce a fantasy that appealed both to his sense of aesthetics and to his need to possess.

Aronson's apartment had been in a six-story brown-brick prewar building south of the loop, and her mother had been waiting at the door when Lucas turned the corner on the stairs. "Glad you could come," she'd said. He remembered that the apartment building hallways had smelled of paint, disinfectant, and insect spray but that Aronson's apartment had the odor of a Christmas sachet. The place felt like murder. A crime scene crew had been through it, leaving behind a kind of random untidiness--a disheveled feel, if apartments can be disheveled.

The police would be coming around sooner or later. He hummed as he worked, nothing intricate: Bach, maybe. When he'd finished cleaning up, he threw the toilet paper into the toilet, pressed the handle with his knuckles, and watched it flush. ELLEN BARSTAD HEARD the toilet flush a second time and wondered what was keeping him. All this toilet flushing was less than romantic; she needed some romance. Romance, she thought, and a little decent sex. James Qatar had been a severe disappointment, as had been all of the few lovers in her life.

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