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aspects that there was a chance—a chance—they could get lucky and find a documented trail of crimes. The problem was, Garrett wasn’t feeling very lucky.
    The night hush of the detectives’ room settled around him as he called up the VICAP database. Typing the details of the murder into the computerized form made his skin prickle uncomfortably again. Decapitation, removal of the left hand, black candle wax, ritualistic carvings, belladonna . . .
    And consensual sex?
    Garrett frowned at the incongruous piece of the puzzle, and sat, staring past the computer, wondering. Then, only half-aware that he was doing it, he picked up a pen and scribbled notes.
    Not raped? Someone she knew? Willing participant in ritual?
    He paused and looked down at the luminous senior portrait of Erin Carmody on top of his case file . . . then threw down his pen, shaking his head.
    A prom queen like that, involved in black magic? You’re dreaming. Edwards is right—the sex was probably postmortem.
    A hundred and eighty-eight gruesome questions later (
Was the binding excessive, i.e. more than necessary to control the victim? Were objects inserted into body orifices?
) he finished the VICAP report by typing in a request for a profile evaluation and sent the document, then pulled up the NCIC database to generate a list of missing persons. There were twenty-six females between the ages of sixteen and thirty recently reported missing in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Erin Carmody was the logical primary focus of the investigation, but if they could not pick up a trail around Erin, they might be able to find someone else missing under similar circumstances.
    Garrett printed out the Missing Persons list and added it to the murder book, the binder that would hold all the official reports and photos and notes on the Carmody case, then sat back in his creaky chair for a minute, looking down at the enlarged crime-scene photo showing the carvings in Erin’s torso, the numbers. The deep feeling of unease swept over him again.
    He sat abruptly forward toward the computer and called up Google. He typed 333 into the search box and looked over the list of entries that came up:

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The Year 333
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333 BC
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House Resolution 333
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Precinct 333
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The Trans 333 foot race

    He started to scroll, speeding through pages and pages of 333 addresses and phone directory listings interspersed with links to various university classes:

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History 333
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Philosophy 333
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English 333

    In a word: nothing. Garrett clicked back on the search box and tried:

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333 Satanic

    This time the search results were cryptic, but more promising:

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The Use of 333 by Freemasons in American Building
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Illuminati: Satanic Numerological Code
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Satanic Meetup

    Garrett hunched forward and started clicking through links, only to be confronted with a mind-numbing series of Web sites, newsletters, articles, and message board forums, some graphically illustrated with demonic images, pentagrams, borders of crackling flames; some complete with ominous mood music; all laced with unfamiliar terminology:
Chaos Magic, Golden Dawn, Aleister Crowley, Sigils.
Bizarre bits of text jumped out at him as he skimmed the sites:

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Research into Satanic Coven activities has revealed that 333 is being used as a New World Order hypnotic keyword . . .
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WARNING: Can such noble aims and desires be thwarted by Satan? Why would the Abyss then have a gematria number of 333 and the man have a number of . . .
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In certain Black Magick Satanic rituals, a key participant is often heard chanting “333—333” at the end of the ritual . . .
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Satanic 333 Skyscraper Looks Down on Useless Feeders and Slaves
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Erstwhile Satanic Master, I am sent into the 333 current for Choronzon to use against the Paradigm . . .

    Garrett sat back, feeling as if he needed a serious shower.
    A voice above him barked, “Hey. Dreamboy.” Garrett started, looked up to find Laudauer grinning down at