Blood Ties by Nicholas Guild

out that she was alive and conscious when he did it, probably without even a gag to keep her from screaming. The screaming is likely the part he enjoys most, and she would have awakened the whole neighborhood. No, he killed her in some secret place of his own and then carted her insides back in a garbage bag and left them for us to find.
    â€œWhich, incidentally, leaves Mr. Tregear out. He’s got an apartment on Fisherman’s Wharf, remember? Crowds, neighbors—not the sort of place where you can really enjoy yourself the way Our Boy does.”
    â€œIf he’s rich enough to live on North Point, he can afford a dungeon someplace.”
    â€œPossible, but not likely.” Sam made a small gesture with his hand to suggest how little he thought of the idea. “Face it, Ellie. This humorist isn’t some pathetic weirdo who cuts up girls because his mommy used to threaten to snip off his dick with the pruning shears. This isn’t about sex with him, or even anger. It’s about winning. He’s a game player. So far he’s making all the right moves.”
    â€œAnd he’s laughing at us.”
    â€œLooks like it.”
    Sam took his feet down, and the front legs of his chair hit the floor with a snap that should have shattered them like glass. He stood up and then settled again on the corner of Ellie’s desk.
    â€œPlay the disk again,” he said. They watched it through twice more, each time freezing on the man in the tan Windbreaker.
    â€œMaybe he’s made his first mistake.”
    Ellen felt a disappointment that was like grief when Sam shook his head.
    â€œMaybe, but this isn’t it. That isn’t him, Ellie. Haven’t you figured it out yet? He knows our methods. He knows all about how we go after sick fucks who butcher cocktail waitresses and leave them out in the rain. If we ever do catch him, it won’t be because he fell into our laps.”
    *   *   *
    When her shift ended Ellen went home and played with Gwendolyn until the poor baby curled up in her lap and went to sleep. By then it was five, time to start thinking about dinner, and Ellen didn’t feel like cooking.
    Mindy Epstein was probably going to be sleeping on the sofa tonight, since that was what she had done after leaving her first husband. She had phoned and said her suitcases were in the trunk of her car. Perhaps Mindy would feel like dinner out.
    She dialed Mindy at her office and they decided on a restaurant by Fisherman’s Wharf where you could get scallops and pasta and a bottle of halfway decent wine and still pay the rent.
    â€œIt was too domestic,” Mindy announced, describing the collapse of her second marriage. “He had this house over in Tiburon.…”
    â€œI know. I’ve been there.”
    â€œReally? You’re sure?” She seemed momentarily taken by surprise. “Remind me. When was that?”
    â€œSeven months ago. Right after the honeymoon.”
    â€œOh, yeah.”
    They were about three-quarters down on a bottle of Chardonnay, so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that Mindy was a little vague on the details. But she was clear enough on the main point—the house in Tiburon was the casus belli .
    â€œI think Stewie saw our relationship from the point of view of property management. He wanted someone on the premises to deal with the lawn service guys and make sure the cleaning lady didn’t get into the liquor cabinet. Tiburon, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how long the commute time is from Tiburon to Bryant Street on a Monday morning? I might have gotten used to that, but I’m an assistant district attorney and he wants to play Ozzie and Harriet.”
    â€œSo you dumped him.”
    â€œDamn right.”
    Mindy nodded emphatically. She was a small, dark-haired woman given to quick, rather startled movements, and she did most things emphatically. She was just the same in a courtroom,