It’s three in the morning, the orange sulfur lamps bleach the black sky, and for a moment I think it’s the sun rising over the skyline, but then the darkness recedes back into my vision. It’s always night here; this place never sleeps . . .
I looked out my apartment window through the Venetian blinds down at a street full of shadows . . .
Full disclosure was the term they used. Before I moved my family, my life, everything. It’s an easy job really, being sheriff. Quiet most nights. Some drunks, wife abusers, the occasional meth head. And the mutilations. We don’t expect you to solve them or anything, but you need to be aware . . .
The teenage boys sat low on a curb behind the loading docks, employee parking, and emergency exits of the East Towne Mall, Lancaster County’s finest local shopping center . . .
He was painfully aware of his sweat. It oozed out of his pores and swam down his temples and cheeks without bothering to bead. His T-shirt was stuck to the flat mounds of his breasts . . .
A hush had fallen over Hvar. The fish market was closed, and the cold cement countertops were empty and the knives and scales aremained untouched. The cold weather of fall had descended upon us with a ferocious howl of wind and a violent clap of thunder, and I watched the few bright patches of shimmery water fade into a dark sea . . .
I’m patiently scoping out my next victim, but I’m distracted. Thanks to the news, I’m not savoring the moment like I normally do . . .
Laure always believed she would die young, a murder victim. At 40, she had assumed time for the killing had run out. Yet here she was, kneeling on gravel in the middle of the night, about to die in the high-altitude plains of Ladakh . . .