CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Riley spread the photos of victims on the coffee table, then took another gulp of scotch. She’d put the bottle and the glass in front of her, and she expected to go on drinking for a while. It felt good. And right now, she was experiencing a familiar buzz of lucidity that she got when she had imbibed just enough but not too much. She knew it wouldn’t last long. Why not take advantage of that feeling to pore over case materials?
She spread the photos of all the murder victims across the table. Again, it struck her as painfully obvious that the corpses’ hands were in clock positions. But not everyone agreed.
She remembered what Walder had said.
“Your theory’s probably wrong, anyway.”
Was it possible that she was only imagining it? Maybe right now was the time to fig
