Chapter One

What we've got here this morning, Dr. Howard Baker announced somewhat pompously to the crowd of reporters assembled in the small dental office's waiting room, what we've got here is one dead dentist.

Doc Baker, King County's medical examiner, is a political type who likes to be quotable, no matter what. And Seattle's eager newshounds, packed like so many note taking sardines in the impeccably decorated reception area, were only too happy to oblige. They responded with an enthusiastic clicking and whirring of various audio and video recording devices.

As I pushed my way into the room, the news-gathering sounds annoyed me. I can't help it. My name is J. P Beaumont. As a detective with the Seattle Police Department Homicide Squad, I resent it when reporters manage to beat detectives to a crime scene.

Doc Baker was holding forth and waxing eloquent. He's an irascible old bear of a man with a full head of white hair who enjoys seizing the limelight. He towered over the rowdy group of reporters milling around him. Eventually, though, he caught sight of me standing on the edge of the crowd along with my partner. Detective Allen Lindstrom Big Al, as he's known around homicide on the fifth floor of Seattle's Public Safety Building.

The homicide detectives are here now, Baker informed the reporters. You'll have to excuse us. With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared through a door that led to a short hallway. imperiously motioning for us to follow. Doc Baker can be somewhat overbearing on occasion.

There was a short silence after Baker left the room, a silence punctuated by the sound of a woman crying. The muffled noise originated from behind a closed door just to the right of the receptionist