The second Detective Fog came back to the office, just as the sun was setting, Jimmy was on her case.

"You have some serious explaining to do," said Jimmy. There was emotion in his voice, but he didn't even know what emotion it was: anger, desperation . . . fear. Since the first moment a particular conclusion entered his mind, he'd been on the edge of his desk chair, pulling his hair out and clenching his fists until the skin on his palms bled from the cuts made from his trimmed nails. He had hardly heard the detective when she called to tell him that the first generation Glock 19 in Jen's possession, registered in her name, had been used to shoot Nick Minardos at some time in the very recent past, in the same warehouse in which he was killed.

Okay, he got the details, but it wasn't enough of a distraction. Once this mind-bending thought had occurred to him, nothing could convince him otherwise.

Fog seemed to be in a hurry. She didn't take her hat off, and when she passed him, all she said was, "Hmmm?" before retreating into her office.

Jimmy followed her in, breathless, a little bit shaky, and when he looked around her office, where Athena had been killed on the very carpet he stood on, that's when he lost his temper. "You moved your desk," he said, the first of many accusations flying like bullets before he knew what he was talking about.

"What?" said Detective Fog. She didn't look up at him but was rifling through the piles of junk on her desk next to her laptop, occasionally looking at the folders and files she found and filling a folder with the pages she needed.

"I can't believe it," Jimmy said and shook his head. He really couldn't. "What the . . . Why did you move your desk to the other side of the office, facing away from the window?"

"Huh? I move it like weeks ago. What are you talking about, Jimmy?" She opened her laptop and started to search for something, typing and clicking away.

"Like weeks before Athena Rex was murdered. Right here." He moved to the center of the office and stood where Athena's body had fallen. When she didn't look at him, he let out a laugh that was pretty much a growl.

"Had the desk been on the other side, by the window," he pointed across the room, "the body would have fallen closer to the corner where the camera was. The angle wouldn't have been right, would it? To get a good, dramatic shot.

"You asked me to follow the leads; they'll take me to the real killer, do some detective work like a good little boy. The ring and the hair fibers, the security footage. I called Detective Roussos today. The DNA results came back. He must have been in a good mood after you brought in Jennifer Makris with this smoking Glock 19. Because he opened right up, told me the DNA on the hair belongs to Thalia Zane. She's fairly high up, a woman who made her bones and whose info the authorities only have in their database from like a decade ago, when she did two years for a real nasty assault. Never been so much as sniffed at by the police since that one.

"They know full well she made her bones, but no one has proof. The assault was a multiple stabbing — the victim only survived because Thalia's cronies pulled her off before she could keep slashing, but she sure was trying. A friend of hers got a nice big scar down his jaw for the trouble he went to. He kept her out of prison. After that, she smartened up, learned to control her temper, never committed a murder she couldn't get away with. No one has been able to touch her. So I tell Inspector Roussos the wedding ring on Athena's dead hand is not her own, and he's going to check that out. The figure on the video could be Thalia Zane. Cassandra was sure it was a woman, though at the time I assumed it was a man."

Detective Fog had looked up and listened for most of the story. "Holy moly, nice sleuthing, James. Let's see if the DNA on the ring comes back as a match. Do you think Thalia Zane did it?"

"No," said Jimmy. "I think you did it."

He drew closer but didn't give her a chance to speak, and when she started to jibber, "Me?—" he said over her, "Thalia Zane has never stepped foot in this office. Officers Savalas and Amavia pointed out the shooter on the security video knew precisely where the camera was positioned. The murderer tilted his or her hat brim at all times to cover his or her face. The shooter on the security video knew the camera had audio and knew not to speak or make any sound that might identify who he or she was.

"The ring, the long red hairs just lying on top of the body — this broad, Thalia Zane, she's like a ghost as far as the police are concerned. She walks right through their bars because she does not make mistakes, and the only signature Thalia Zane leaves behind is brutality and violence. There are seven bodies in the morgue this year alone with dozens of stab wounds, not unlike what was done to Cassandra Aniston in her cell. Just like in the picture on your phone. No one can pin the bodies on a killer, but there are rumors around the police department.

"Thalia Zane is the phantom slasher. She didn't waltz into your office — a space theatrically orchestrated to catch her red-handed — trade her wedding band like it was a less preferred flavor of ring pop for Athena's wedding ring, direct Athena Rex into the spot in your office with the best camera angle — you know, silently, using sign language or something — all the while keeping her face hidden, and then shoot her to death using the mafia signature that's the calling card for every single member of the Sigler Mafia. Except for the phantom slasher.

"But you . . . you could have waltzed in here and framed Thalia Zane for the murder of Athena Rex."

Malyssa waited until he was done, then laughed. Smiling with her eyes, but looking away, she said, "Come on, I did it? I just killed my friend in cold blood? I've been hiding it from you and pretending not to know who done it? Jimmy, I appreciate that you're thinking outside the box. That's what good sleuthing is all about. But it is not me on that video, and you're forgetting my rock-solid alibi. It's not impossible for Thalia to have been inside this office before, actually. I've got a theory I've been working on. I don't have time to hash it out right now, though; I want to get back to the Public Safety building. So please, just calm down, and we'll talk this through later. There's no need to freak out. I didn't murder Athena."

She laughed, not at all innocently. The whole time her hands were up in front of her, waving placatingly. Now she put them down and, with a half-turn, grabbed her saddlebag, which she had filled with files — and a novel to read if things were slow. Then she headed for the door.

"Tell me the theory," said Jimmy.

She sighed, hesitated, and slowly turned back. Without knowing how he knew, Jimmy was filled with an overwhelming sense that the hesitation was fake. She wanted to tell him.

"I found out where Cassandra was murdered," she said.

"Where?"

"There's a ladies room by the holding cells — no stalls, just a toilet, sink, four walls. Did you say phantom? Because no one saw anyone except Cassandra Aniston enter the bathroom. She locked the door. Big solid bolt. It's a staff bathroom, not usually used by prisoners, but the guard told me Cassandra was polite. Half a second passes, and there's a shout. The guard knocks on the door, asks if she's okay. Then the screaming begins. Screaming for her life, screaming to death, screams reverberating off ceramic tile walls, and echoing through the police station. The guard tries the handle, a dozen officers look up, there's no time to get the key, wherever it is. He starts trying to break the door down. The screams get quieter as he slams against the door, bashing over and over. By the time thirteen officers broke the door in, all they hear is the gurgle of Cassandra drowning in the blood in her slashed throat. Twenty-one stab wounds in under a minute. She's alone in a locked room with no windows. No murder weapon. No DNA left on her. Even if there was, how did anyone get into the locked bathroom in the police headquarters with her? How do you explain that to a jury?

"They cracked her phone. The dumb girl had it set to no passcode, so by cracked, I mean that they turned it on. It was waterlogged from rain, found on the sidewalk outside after the downpour, but it worked for about a minute, long enough for police I.T. to download her data. The last message she received asked whether she wanted to go the easy way or the hard way. The second last told her to turn herself in for illegal magic use and admit to the murder of her husband. Before that, Cassandra had been sent two pictures. The first was the picture sent to me — you were right, it was a photoshop. It showed the hard way — death by dozens of stab wounds. The second was of Cassandra — in the arms of David Andreou.

"My sense is that the affair with the rival gang member considered responsible for the murder of the Sigler Mafia's interim puppet mayor George Pavlou didn't go over well. The mob is in a transitionary period, making it an excellent time to take out the trash. The overkill leads me to believe that Thalia assumed that Cassandra was passing information told to her by Paul to David Andreou — the makeup of the mob, their strengths, their weaknesses. That would make the slasher angry.

"After they sent that picture, they told her to get herself into the staff restroom at 9:06 a.m. if she wanted the easy way. She was too trusting.

"I figure Thalia Zane got into that restroom the same way Jennifer Makris got out the warehouse that night when I had her cornered."

"Just how was that?" said Jimmy.

"Teleportation. I think they — the mafia, some of them or all of them — know how to teleport."

Thank you for reading Detective Fog. I am so grateful for your support and your stars!