“So, Detective, how’s your latest case going?”

I laughed without humor, taking off my hat and crushing it in my hands. “Whaddya think? Got the whole damn police force on the case and we’re still coming up empty.”

Kelly winced sympathetically. “That bad?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, kicking a piece of gravel into the grass. Then I glanced around quickly—it was lucky the park was always deserted this time of the night—before going on.

“Six deaths and still nothing. No leads, no pattern, no motive, different M.O. and location each time.” A long sigh. “Hell, for all you know I could be the next guy dead.”

“Don’t you have anything on him? Witnesses?”

“Yeah,” I said, “but none of the witnesses agree on his appearance. The only thing they can agree on is, guess what, the guy’s socks. Socks, dammit! Of all the—”

I glanced down casually and froze.

Long, purple socks. She never had any other color in her sock drawer.

I looked up into the barrel of a tiny pistol.

“Now you know," I heard her say, from afar. “Sorry, Sam.”