NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER   With her energies focused on a baffling, vicious gang slaying and her personal life in shambles, Hollywood homicide detective Petra Connor has a full plate. The last thing she needs is a whiz-kid grad student claiming to have stumbled upon a bizarre connection between several unsolved murders.   “An elaborate, tangled web . . . With unsuspected turns at every chapter break . . . this addictive tale . . . is as intricately detailed as it is tantalizingly page-turning.”— Entertainment Weekly   The victims had nothing in common, yet each died by the same method, on the same date—a date that’s rapidly approaching again. And that leaves Petra with little time to unravel the twisted logic of a cunning predator who’s evaded detection for years—and whose terrible hour is once more at hand. “A perfect whodunit—a tale told with gusto . . . a thrilling, engrossing pace from the first page to the last.”— Orlando Sentinel   “Delivers full measures of suspense, humor, and sleuthing.”— Los Angeles Times Jonathan Kellerman  is the #1  New York Times  bestselling author of more than three dozen bestselling crime novels, including the Alex Delaware series,  The Butcher’s Theater, Billy Straight, The Conspiracy Club,   Twisted,  and  True Detectives . With his wife, bestselling novelist Faye Kellerman, he co-authored  Double Homicide  and  Capital Crimes . With his son, bestselling novelist Jesse Kellerman, he co-authored the first book of a new series,  The Golem of Hollywood . He is also the author of two children’s books and numerous nonfiction works, including  Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children  and  With Strings Attached: The Art and Beauty of Vintage Guitars . He has won the Goldwyn, Edgar, and Anthony awards and has been nominated for a Shamus Award. Jonathan and Faye Kellerman live in California, New Mexico, and New York. CHAPTER 1 May brought azure skies and California optimism to Hollywood. Petra Connor worked nights and slept through the blue. She had her own reason to be cheerful: solving two whodunit murders. The first was a dead body at a wedding. The Ito-Park wedding, main ballroom of the Roosevelt Hotel, Japanese-American bride, Korean-American groom, a couple of law students who’d met at the U. Her father, a Glendale-born surgeon; his, an immigrant appliance dealer, barely able to speak English. Petra wondered about culture clash. The body was one of the bride’s cousins, a thirty-two-year-old CPA named Baldwin Yoshimura, found midway through the reception, in an unlocked stall of the hotel men’s room, his neck twisted so hard, he looked like something out of The Exorcist. It took strong hands to do that, the coroner pronounced, but that was where the medical wisdom terminated. Petra, working with no partner once again, talked to every friend and relative and finally unearthed the fact that Baldwin Yoshimura had been a serious lothario who’d made no distinction between married and unmarried conquests. As she continued to probe, she encountered nervous glances on the bride’s side. Finally, a third cousin named Wendy Sakura blurted out the truth: Baldwin had been fooling with his brother Darwin’s wife. The slut. Darwin, a relative black sheep for this highly educated clan, was a martial arts instructor who worked at a studio in Woodland Hills. Petra forced herself to wake up during daylight, dropped in at the dojo, watched him put an advanced judo class through its paces. Stocky little guy, shaved head, pleasant demeanor. When the class was over, he approached Petra, arms extended for cuffing, saying, “I did it. Arrest me.” Back at the station, he refused a lawyer, couldn’t wait to spill: Suspicious for some time, he’d followed his wife and his brother as they left the wedding and entered an unused banquet room. After passing behind a partition, said wife gave said sib enthusiastic head. Darwin allowed her to finish, waited until Baldwin went to the john, confronted his brother, did the deed. “What about your wife?” said Petra. “What about her?” “You didn’t hurt her.” “She’s a woman,” said Darwin Yoshimura. “She’s weak. Baldwin should’ve known better.” The second whodunit started off as bloodstains in Los Feliz and ended up with d.b. out in Angeles Crest National Forest. This victim was a grocer named Bedros Kashigian. The blood was found in the parking lot behind his market on Edgemont. Kashigian and his five-year-old Cadillac were missing. Two days later, forest rangers found the Caddy pulled to the side of the road in the forest, Kashigian’s body slumped behind the wheel. Dried blood had streamed out of his left ear, run onto his face and shirt, but no obvious wounds. Maggot analysis said he’d been dead the entire two days, or close to it. Meaning, instead of driving home from work, he’d made his way thirty miles east. Or had been taken there. As far as Petra could tell, the grocer was a solid citizen, married, three kids, nice house, no ou