He knocked on the glass and waited. This was the kind of investigation he hated the most because it made no sense. utter, tragic waste. with only sketchy details about the scene, he began to conjure up likely scenarios, tossing in a couple of intangibles, careful also to apply a dose of pure luck. This exercise had plugged some imaginary memory stick into his brain's computer. Words and scenes flashed across the screen of his mind, images of the world in which he was about to enter... entry and exit wound... hilt marks... ligature and laceration... penetration and molestation. The elderly security guard acknowledged him with a wave and took short, choppy steps to meet him at the front lobby doors. After fumbling with a ring of keys, he opened the door with a pronounced twist. I'm lieutenant Dixon, "Clark said displaying his badge. As the guard led him through the center of the plant, he raised his voice, competing with the loud .