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fourteen years to go in between,” he spat out as one rapid-fire sentence, eyes blinking furiously. “I could use two more bodies to help scan lists if anyone finds himself with free time. ’Course we also need the forensic anthropologist’s report for cross-reference. And then you gotta wonder if the bodies are all from Mass. or do we need to broaden out to the greater New England area—Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine. Really hard to do, you know, without a victim profile; I don’t even know if we’re barking up the right tree, that’s all I have to report.”
    D.D. stared at him. “Jesus, Jerry. Lay off the coffee for an hour, will you? You’re gonna need a blood transfusion the rate you’re going.”
    “Can’t,” he said, twitching. “Will get a headache.”
    “Can you even hear through the ringing in your ears?”
    “Huh?”
    “Oh boy.” D.D. sighed, stared out at the wider table. “Well, Jerry has a point. Hard to know how good any of our research is going without the victimology report. I spoke with Christie Callahan two hours ago. Bad news is, we probably get to wait at least two weeks.”
    The detectives groaned. D.D. held up her hand. “I know, I know. You guys think you’re overloaded? She’s even more screwed than we are. She’s got six mummified remains that all have to be processed properly, and not even a brilliant—and might I add charming—task force to assist. Of course, she’s also doing this by the book. Which means the remains first had to be fumigated for prints. Then they had to be sent to Mass General for X-rays, and are just now returning to her lab.
    “Apparently, wet mummification is its own peculiar thing. It occurs naturally in the peat bogs of Europe, and there’ve been a few cases in Florida. But this is a first for New England, meaning Christie is learning as she goes. She’s guessing three or four days to process each mummy. Given six mummies, you do the math.”
    “Can she give us results one at a time, as she gets each corpse processed?” Detective Sinkus asked. He was the one with the new baby, which probably explained the state of his clothing.
    “She’s considering it. There’s archaeological protocol, or some shit like that, which argues for treating the remains as a group. Individually, we may not see what is implied by the group as a whole.”
    “What?” Detective Sinkus asked.
    “I’ll work on her,” D.D. said. She switched gears to Detective Rock, who was handling the Crime Stoppers reports. “Tell us the truth: Anyone confess yet?”
    “Only about three dozen. Bad news, most of ’em have recently gone off their meds.” Rock picked up an impressive stack of papers and started passing it around. Rock had been on the Boston PD roughly forever. Even Bobby had heard stories of the veteran detective’s legendary abilities to zoom straight from hideous crime A to random bit of evidence B to evil perpetrator C. Tonight, however, the detective’s hearty boom carried a forced undercurrent. His buzz-cut black hair seemed to have picked up extra highlights of gray, while shadows had gathered beneath his eyes. Given his mother’s rapidly deteriorating health, working a massive investigation had to be difficult. Still, he was getting things done.
    “You only have to pay attention to the top sheet,” Rock was explaining. “The detailed logs are just for those of you with time to kill.”
    That elicited a few tired chuckles.
    “So, we’re averaging a call every few minutes, and that’s before the media went ballistic tonight. Kind of sad about the leak.” He looked at D.D. as if she might comment.
    She merely shook her head. “Don’t know how it happened, Tony. Don’t have time or energy to care. Frankly, I’m impressed we made it as long as we did.”
    Rock shrugged philosophically at that. Fifty-six hours under the radar had been a minor miracle. “Well, before the leak, we had a pretty easy time eliminating the