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  Claire stood up and raised her gaze to the victim, who stared back down at her. “She’s just a tiny little thing, isn’t she? And she looks so young and innocent. I wonder who she is and why he picked her? Why her, out of all the girls in this county?”

  “We’ll find that out soon enough.”

  Claire nodded. The victim looked like the kind of kid who’d never hurt anyone in her entire life. Frail, skinny, pale skin that looked creamy and young and smooth. The loss of color might have been from all the blood, because there was plenty of it turning that filmy white gown to scarlet. Some of it had dripped down from her widespread arms onto the tree and its top ornaments. The whole scene was bathed in the glow of the lights strung around the balcony bannisters, all of them blinking on and off, on and off, coloring her face red, then green, then yellow, a bizarre kind of cheerful strobe, almost psychedelic in effect. Like some scenario out of a horror movie. It was horrible.

  “How do you think he got her?”

  “I don’t know. She’s so little that it wouldn’t take much to subdue her. And that might be a nightgown. Maybe he came in the night, broke in somehow, and got her when she was asleep.”

  “So she must live here? Or maybe she’s just a tour guide. Know what? Come to think of it, seems like I remember seeing a picture of the tour guides in the paper a few weeks ago. Some of them had on angel costumes.”

  “It could be a costume. Looks like a nightgown to me, though.” Claire couldn’t seem to drag her focus off the victim’s little heart-shaped face. Her mouth was slightly open. Claire could see the tip of her tongue. The halo of lights was another of the killer’s dramatic flourishes to set a shocking scene. He had been proud of his work and wanted to showcase it. Definitely. Claire felt slightly sick to her stomach.

  “Look, there’s a spiral staircase that goes up to the balcony. We need to go up and check her out,” Bud said, heading quickly that way.

  Claire followed him, and then rounded the wooden, winding steps. It was a two-story library without a single book. There were several rolling ladders for selecting books on the high shelves. Claire and Bud didn’t touch anything. Hopefully they’d get some prints. This guy had gone to a hell of lot of trouble and might have gotten careless. There were a lot of dramatic flourishes that he’d had to have touched in order to arrange. Upstairs, they could see the damage done to the girl’s skull, up close and way too personal. Half of the back of her head was gone, lying behind her on the floor in chunks. Claire looked away, nausea churning in the back of her throat. The blow had been brutal. Parts of her head had been crushed.

  “Looks like he hit her twice.”

  “This guy’s a friggin’ monster,” Bud was saying. “Look at this.”

  Claire leaned closer and realized what Bud was talking about. The killer had nailed the victim’s hands to the bannister in order to get the effect of those outspread wings. “He’s a psychopath, all right. She was still alive. Look at all the blood that dripped down the bannister onto the floor.”

  “What’s that smell?”

  Claire knew instantly what it was—singed human flesh. “The lights are burning into her forehead. He strung them over the wound, so he probably bludgeoned her first.”

  The whole scene was eerily horrendous, the young woman dead and bloody as all the lights around her blinked merrily. She looked like some kind of a scary mannequin in a Halloween haunted house. Claire’s happy state of mind took a slow dive into dark oblivion. She stared at the back of the girl’s head. “Who would have the stomach to do this to an innocent girl?”

  Bud said, “Maybe she wasn’t so innocent. Maybe she was a devil, disguised as an angel. Could be the killer’s stab at murderous irony.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve got a real bad feeling about this case.”

  “Me too. Too much theater. This guy has been practicing.”

  “He’s a serial. I’d bet next week’s pay on it.”

  Across the room, a new song came on, “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” That did it; Claire had had enough. “Please, Bud, find that music and turn it off.”

  Bud descended to the ground floor and walked across the room. A moment later, the CD was turned off mid-stanza. Claire breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow the soft and melodious Christmas carols made everything seem worse. As if it could get any worse. She hadn’t worked a murder like this in a while. Especially not a carefully staged one full of cruel clues left for them to puzzle over. This killer liked to play mind games, all right, so it was going to be complicated and messy. She had not forgotten the dread that processing the body at the scene brought up inside her. She steeled herself. They’d get him. They’d get him and he would pay for what he’d done to this poor girl.

  Claire moved down the turn in the spiral stairs and met Bud at the bottom. They moved away from the tree; there was nothing they could or should do until forensics showed up. When they stopped at the other end of the library, Bud looked back. “I wish we could turn off those lights around her head. They’re burning her skin, damn it.”

  “Well, we can’t. Not until Buck gets here and we get our still shots and the video. I wish they’d hurry up. I want her down off that tree, too.”

  “I’m gonna look around and see if I can find her purse or something with ID. She could be a maid or housekeeper, something like that. She’s got to be in this house for some reason.”

  “If it’s an angel costume she could be a tour guide. But I still think he got her in her nightgown.”

  Bud nodded. They both sobered at once when the music suddenly kicked on again. Startled, Claire had her weapon out before she realized the music must be on a timed loop. For some reason, a chill rippled up her arms. “A Holly Jolly Christmas” was playing now. Huh uh, not with a well-lit bloody corpse in the room with them. “Guess you’re gonna have to unplug it, Bud. I can’t stand listening to any more cheerful music right now.”

  “Yeah, I hate this case already.”

  Claire did, too. Big time. Something terrible had gone down here, and the reason for it was not going to be a fun thing to investigate. “We’ve got to get an ID first. Somebody in this town really, really hated this girl’s guts and wants us to know it in no uncertain terms. Who goes to this much trouble, for God’s sake, and then spends time decorating the corpse with lights and tinsel? And then there’s the trophy and gift left as clues. This guy definitely is a game player.”

  Games that left people dead. Games that Claire did not want to play. But she had to. They had to find this guy, and soon. She just hoped the clues he left panned out. Maybe he wasn’t quite as brilliant as he thought he was—and maybe they were smarter than he thought.

  Chapter 5

  The Canton County Medical Examiner’s name was Buckeye Boyd. He was an old friend of Claire’s and as good as gold, through and through. Tall and lean and bearded, with dark hair streaked iron gray, the two of them had fished for bass countless times out on the lake. Buck usually beat her in the stringer count, maybe because he’d won so many bass tournaments that Claire couldn’t keep up with them anymore. He was as smart as they came, and had gradually put together a crack team of criminalists, most of whom had stuck around and worked together amicably for years. They were a well-oiled machine, all the time, every time. Canton County was lucky to have them. They pulled up at the crime scene a bare fifteen minutes after Bud had placed his call.

  Claire met them at the front door and gave tight hugs all around. She had missed the heck out of them, especially Johnny Becker. He was special to her, a crazy, goofy guy whom she adored like a little brother. The whole team had always called him Shaggy, Shag for short, because he looked so much like the character in the Scooby-Doo cartoons. He was probably the best criminologist the state of Missouri had ever seen, and he was the happiest of all to see her again. He locked her inside a great big bear hug, and then actually picked her up and swung h
er around. Not exactly professional, but it was Shaggy, so she let it go.

  “Hell, Claire, I thought you’d gone off for good, never to be seen again,” he fussed at her. Then he placed her down on her feet and gave her his usual and utterly contagious grin. Claire probably would’ve already slugged or arrested anybody else who dared do that to her, but Shag, well, he was a different sort of guy. Brilliant, quirky, irresistible. A nerd through and through, but Claire had a tendency to like nerds. And the nerdier the better. He had worn dreadlocks for most of his life, but now they were gone. His blond hair was still fairly long, but this time straight and touching his shoulders, shorter than she’d seen it in years. He still had his multiple ear piercings, though, all eight of them. He was a southern California beach bum wannabe, but had never stepped foot on any Pacific sand. One could always tell his L.A. yearning by the way he dressed. It was the dead of winter, and he had on a yellow and black tropical shirt with surfboards printed all over it, ultra-long yellow surfer shorts, and snow boots. Luckily, he did have a heavy military overcoat that he’d bought at some army surplus store. Still, he never seemed to get cold. Crazy, but true.

  Shag was absolutely brilliant at his job, found all kinds of things everyone else overlooked. Charlie even let him get by with wearing the surfer clothes in the lab because he was so good at his job. Shaggy and Claire had spent many a Friday night watching action movies at his house, eating pizza and drinking Mountain Dew. That was before she met Black, who tended to monopolize her time from that moment on.

  “How you been, Shag? I missed the hell out of you. But a lot’s been going on in my life the last year or so.”

  “Don’t I know it. But it’s cool. Newspapers just love you and Nick. Tabloids got a real romance going on with you guys.”

  Then it got quiet all around. They all knew how Claire felt about reporters and the media in general, so Claire knew full well what was coming next. She decided to just go with it. Get it over with. “Okay guys, go on, do it. Laugh about those damn pictures. I know you want to. Get it out of your system. But let me tell you: Black and I don’t think it’s so funny.”

  “Well, one thing is for damn sure,” said Buckeye, his eyes glinting. “You look like a million bucks in that bathing suit. Don’t tell my wife I said that.”

  They all laughed, but it was good-natured ribbing and Claire knew it. Buck had been married for almost thirty years, and he and his wife still enjoyed a true storybook romance. Claire shook her head, attempting to be a good sport, but the jokes about those stupid photos were already wearing a trifle thin. Maybe because she’d seen that poor bludgeoned angel in the next room. Not much sense of humor in Claire at the moment. The forensic guys wouldn’t have much of one, either, not after they got a glimpse of the victim. “Okay, ha, ha. You got your laughs, so no more. Please.” But she smiled when she said it. “By the way, just so you know, that was a private beach we were on that day. There weren’t supposed to be photographers within miles. We had no idea anyone was around.”

  “Oh c’mon, we all know that. So, Claire, tell us, how’s the sexiest man alive doin’?” That was Shaggy.

  More amusement. “Stop already. Black’s ready to throttle somebody as it is. Don’t be the first to feel his rage.”

  After that, Buckeye took the hint and got down to business. “This’s a bad one, I take it.”

  “Yeah.” Bud nodded. “The victim’s in the library, back there.” He pointed.

  “The perp used some kind of trophy to bludgeon the victim,” Claire was telling Shaggy. “One that looks to weigh five pounds, at least. He left it behind for us to find. He also left a wrapped Christmas present for us.”

  “No shit.” Shaggy said. “Wow, never had that happen before.” Then he sobered. “What do you think is in it?”

  “Let’s find out.” Claire led them back through the foyer to the library. “The victim’s just a kid. Not twenty yet, is our guess. No idea yet who she is. C’mon, she’s in here.”

  Claire stood back and allowed the forensic guys to carry their equipment cases into the library. Bud pointed down the length of the room to the Christmas tree. Everybody stared silently at the dead angel.

  “Whoa,” said Shaggy, very serious now. “This guy’s got a bent for the theatrical, huh?” By the time they all climbed up to the balcony and stood around the body, nobody was saying anything.

  Buckeye stepped up close and examined the back of the victim’s head. “Good grief, he must’ve hit this woman with force like you wouldn’t believe. God, half her skull is lying down there on the floor. I’d say she died instantly.”

  Nobody said a word, just stared at the brain matter and pieces of skull at their feet. Buck wasted no more time. “All right, let’s get the still shots done first, and then we need to film every inch of this scene. Make it quick, but thorough. I want to get those lights off her head. I can smell her skin burning.”

  The woman who’d worked the cameras during Claire’s tenure had left the department to concentrate on photographing weddings and graduations. Tired of blood and gore, probably. Ready for some rainbows and hearts and smiling faces. Claire couldn’t say she blamed her. She hated going to weddings with a passion, her own included, truth be told, because of all the hoopla. But weddings were happier affairs than young girls with crushed skulls on top of Christmas trees. The new photographer stepped forward with his camera. Buck introduced him as Ryan Wright. He nodded to Bud and to her and then went right to work. Everybody else stood back and watched, waiting for the body to come down onto the floor so they could do their jobs and go home and wrap Christmas presents. Homicide work was a strange profession, to be sure. One had to be able to turn it off, but that was the problem. Most people couldn’t, Claire included.

  Nobody said a word while Ryan took photos from every conceivable angle. A young girl was dead before her time and now would be poked and prodded and cut on and photographed and put into a hole in the ground. It was not fair. A second victimization, to be sure, but necessary if they wanted to find her killer. When Ryan finished the still shots, he videotaped every inch of the murder scene up close, and then he moved around the room, recording every detail. He would document their every move, every word, and every decision as they continued to work the crime scene. Although new at his job, he seemed very thorough. Buck always hired the best personnel available.

  “Okay Shag, shut down those lights and let’s get her off that bannister.”

  “Her hands are nailed down,” Claire told him. “The sleeves are covering them up.”

  “God Almighty. Then we’ll have to pry them out. Somebody get the small hammer out of the kit. Ryan, tape us getting them out, okay?”

  Ryan moved up close and turned on the camera. The end of the nail was left out of the skin a bit, so they used the claw of a hammer to pull it out. Shaggy got down on his hands and knees, found an electrical outlet behind the tree, and jerked out the plug. The lights around the victim’s head went off, as did the lights on the tree, but the room still blinked and winked all around them. Claire grimaced, wanting to pull all the plugs. Hit the master switch, for God’s sake. She never wanted to see Christmas lights again, not after this. Unfortunately, now every time Christmas rolled around, this grisly scene would appear inside her head and make her remember this poor dead girl dressed up as an angel. Yes, her lovely Christmas joy was on its last legs and staggering for the finish line. She just hoped she could get some cheerfulness back by the time she got back home.

  Buckeye pulled on his gloves while Shaggy and Ryan lowered the body down onto a plastic tarp spread out on the floor. Buck stepped up to the body, knelt down, and turned the body over. The back of the girl’s head was not a pleasant spectacle. Pretty much just an ugly, bloody mass of gray tissue and broken shards of skull. The attack had been tremendous, brutal, and deadly.

  “Looks like one blow that killed her, maybe two, if he brought her upstairs to
pose her body,” Buck told them. “One so brutal that she couldn’t survive it. Probably died instantly, or soon after she was struck. Let’s get her on her back and see if what else we can find.”

  They obliged, and Claire thought the victim looked even tinier when stretched out beside Buck’s large frame. She was so incredibly thin and white. This young girl had only just begun to live. Now her life was over for good. It was a tragedy, just like every homicide was a tragedy. Just a kid and gone forever. No more love or fun or goals or desires for her, all erased in a single second. All ended before she was old enough to vote.

  Nobody said a word, which was what usually happened at this point at murder scenes. “Well, it looks like the perp surprised her, took her down with a quick, hard blow that killed her. From behind, I’d say. Then he could’ve bound her up here and hit her again, hard enough to shatter her skull and send this spatter and brain tissue down here on the floor. What a terrible way to end up. The terror she must have felt.”

  “Okay, let’s go back down and open that gift he left us. It’s probably a clue.”

  “Better be careful. It might be some kind of explosive,” Shaggy told them as he and another technician struggled to get the body down the steps to the ground floor.

  Once at the base of the tree, Claire touched the wrapped present with her finger to make sure there wasn’t a wire leading out of it. The paper was covered with white angels. This guy was sick, all right. She slit the tape with her pocket knife and carefully folded back the paper. There was a small, blue velvet ring box inside. She picked it up and opened the top, fairly certain that it was going to be something awful.

  “What in the hell is that?” Bud asked, leaning closer.

  “Looks like some kind of game token. A miniature trophy.”

  Shaggy knelt down. “Let me see. Yep, I know exactly what that is. It’s out of a game. It’s from that Detection game. You know, the one when a murder goes down with a bunch of amateur detectives trapped inside a mountain ski lodge. They’ve got to figure out whodunit and how it was done. Or, it might be from the new version, because they’ve changed up the original one a bit, I think. I don’t remember the motives or the weapons, but it’s a fun game. ”