that counted for a lot on the streets of a city like Philadelphia.
'What are you talking about?' Byrne asked.
'I was hanging by the bus station, okay? On Filbert. You know the bus station?'
'We know the bus station,' Byrne said. 'Talk. Fast.'
'He started talking to me. He pointed at this girl, maybe sixteen or so. Maybe younger. She looked like a runaway. He said if I would go up to her, give her some shit, and he came in like a white knight, he would pay me fifty bucks.'
'When was this?' Byrne asked.
'I don't know. Two days ago?' The kid touched his cheek. 'He burned my damn face. You should arrest this guy.'
Byrne held up a photograph of the Chinese box. 'How did your fingerprints get on this?'
'I have no idea.'
'Say 'I have no idea' one more fucking time,' Byrne said. 'Go ahead.'
'Wait! Let me think, man. All right. And this is true. When I met the guy I sat in his van for a while.'
'What color was the van?'
'White. When I first got in he asked if I would move some of his things around in the back. This box was in there, I swear to God.'
Byrne paced, kicking clothes and debris out of his way. 'Then what happened?'
'Then I got out of the car, walked up to the corner, started talking to the chick.'
'Then what? He burned your face?'
'Yeah. Like out of nowhere. And for no reason. When it was all over I met him around the corner and he gave me something.'
'What did he give you?'
'A book. He put the fifty inside it.'
'He gave you a book.'
'Yeah,' Pierson said. 'I don't really-'
Byrne lifted the kid off the chair like he was a rag doll. 'Where the fuck is it?'
'I sold it.'
'To who?'
'The Book Nook. It's a used-book store. They're right around the corner.'
EIGHTY-TWO
3:42 AM
The Book Nook was a used-book store on Seventeenth street.
The grimy front window haphazardly displayed comic books, graphic novels, a section of recent best-selling fiction, some vintage board games. There was a single light on inside.
Byrne knocked hard, rocking the glass door. Jessica got on her cell phone. They would find the owner. They did not have that much time, but protocol Byrne threw a bench through the door. He threw Dylan Pierson in afterwards, then followed him.
— was clearly not going to be followed.
'What was the name of the book?' Byrne yelled, flipping the light switch, turning on the fluorescents overhead. His fellow detectives scrambled to keep up.
'I don't remember,' Pierson replied, picking bits of glass out of his hair. 'I think it was something about outer space.'
'You think?'
Dylan Pierson began to pace. He had no shoes on, and he was hotfooting on the glass. 'It… it had a red planet on the cover… it was something about-'
'Mars?' Bontrager asked.
He snapped his fingers. 'Mars. That's it. Mars something. Guy named Hendrix wrote it. I remember the name because I'm really into old school stuff like Jimi-'
Byrne ran down the Science Fiction aisle, found the shelf for authors whose last name begins with H. Heinlein, Herbert, Huxley, Hoban, Hardin. And then he found it. Mars Eclectica. Edited by Raymond Hen- drix. He ran back to the main room. 'Is this it?'
'That's it! That's the one! Dude. You are awesome.'
Byrne handled the book by its edges. He riffled through the pages. Then a second time. There was nothing. No notes inside. Nothing highlighted.
'Are you sure this is the book?' Byrne asked.
'Positive. Although, I gotta say that one looks a lot newer than the book this guy gave me.'
Byrne reached for Dylan Pierson's throat. Josh Bontrager was able to step between them. Byrne then flung the book across the store. His eyes roamed the walls, the shelves, the counters. Behind the front desk were a pair of push carts. One of them had a sticky note pasted to the side, with a handwritten New Books.
Byrne vaulted the counter. He tore the books off the top shelf of the cart. Nothing. He ripped the books from the bottom shelf. And saw it. Mars Eclectica. It was a well-worn copy.
He flipped through the book. It didn't take long. In the table of contents there were two places where something had been cut out with a razor blade. They were sections of author's names.
White, The Retreat to Mars.
Robert Williams, The Red Death of Mars.
Byrne turned the book to Dylan Pierson. 'What's missing here?'
The kid looked. 'I have no-I mean, I don't know. I don't read that much.'
One by one Byrne showed the page to the other detectives. 'Anybody know these people?'
No one knew.
'Fuck!'
'The other copy,' Jessica said. 'Get the other copy of the book.'
In a flash Josh Bontrager was at the back of the store, rummaging through the strewn books. He found the book in seconds, and was back. He put it on the counter next to Byrne's copy. They looked at both versions of the table of contents. With the missing names, the entries read: Cecil B. White, The Retreat to Mars Robert Moore Williams, The Red Death of Mars 'Cecil B. Moore,' Byrne said. He looked at Jessica. 'The baseball field,' she replied. They'd found the diamond.
EIGHTY-THREE
4:03 AM
The Baseball Fields at Cecil B. Moore Avenue and North Eleventh Street were deserted. The mahogany cabinet sat at home plate. Its glossy surface shone in the light thrown from the sodium streetlamps.
Byrne was out of the car before Jessica could stop it.
'Goddamn it!'
Byrne vaulted across the field, reached the box first. There was no hesitation, no stopping him. He opened the box, stared inside. And froze.
Jessica and Bontrager made it across the field. Jessica saw what her partner was looking at. Inside was a girl, wearing an antique white satin dress. It looked to be a wedding gown from the 1920s or 1930s. A veil covered her face. The bodice of the dress was soaked with her blood.
Byrne reached in, put two fingers to the girl's neck.
