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ilted girlfriend； a jilted boyfriend。 Nothing seemed to fit。 Sparky was a divorced man with a French poodle named Bambi。 When he dated at all； he dated widows or hookers。 He had been known to get bombed on occasion； but he never made an ass of himself in public。 And he wasn't a gambler； so it was unlikely that the Mafia was into him。
Keyes guessed that whoever killed Harper might not have known him personally； but probably knew who he was。 With garish methodology the killer had seemed to be making a very strong statement； which is why Keyes couldn't dismiss the 〃Nights of December〃 letter； nutsy as it was。
Keyes decided that he needed the autopsy。 He drove to the medical examiner's office and asked for a copy。 Dr。 Joe Allen wasn't in； so Keyes decided to wait。 As he sat in a tiled room that smelled sweetly of formalin； he started to read Allen's report line…by…line。 Halfway through； his curiosity got the best of him and he unsheathed the color slides。 One by one Keyes held them up to the light。
The more he studied the gruesome photographs； the more Keyes was convinced that Ernesto Cabal was telling the truth： he'd had nothing to do with B。 D。 Harper's murder。 It was beyond Ernesto's stunted imagination to have conceived something like this。
〃Don't smudge up my slides！〃 Dr。 Joe Allen stood at the doorway； laden with files。
〃 'Mornin'； Doc。〃
〃Well； Brian。 I hear you've hit the big time。〃 Joe Allen had always liked Brian Keyes。 Keyes had been a solid reporter and it was a damn shame he'd given it up to bee a P。I。 Joe Allen wasn't crazy about private investigators。
〃This was no robbery； Joe。〃
〃I don't know what it was；〃 Dr。 Allen said； 〃except that it was definitely death by asphyxiation。〃
〃Have you ever heard of a B…and…E artist to show such flair？〃 Keyes asked。
〃It seems the police are of that opinion。〃
〃I'm asking for yours； Joe。〃
Dr。 Joe Allen had autopsied 3；712 murder victims during his long career as the Dade County coroner； so he had seen more indescribable carnage than perhaps any other human being in the whole United States。 Throughout the years Joe Allen had charted South Florida's progress by what lay dead on his steel tables； and he was long past the point of ever being shocked or nauseated。 He performed meticulous surgery； kept precise files； took flawless photographs； and piled priceless morbidity data which earned him a national reputation。 For example； it was Dr。 Allen who had determined that Greater Miami had more mutilation…homicides per capita than any other American city； a fact he attributed to the terrific climate。 In warm weather； Allen noted； there were no outdoor elements to deter a lunatic from spending six； seven； eight hours hacking away on a victim； try that in Buffalo and you'd freeze your ass off。 After Dr。 Allen had presented his findings to a big pathologists' convention； several other Sun Belt coroners had conducted their own studies and confirmed what became known as the Allen Mutilation Theorem。
Throughout the years a few spectacular cases stood out vividly in Dr。 Allen's recollections； but the rest were just toe tags。 Brian Keyes hoped Sparky Harper might be different。
The coroner put on his glasses and held up two of the more sickening slides； as if to refresh his memory。 〃Brian；〃 he said； 〃I don't think they've got the right man in jail。〃
〃So how do I get him out？〃
〃Give them a better suspect。〃
〃Swell； Joe。 Anyone in particular？〃
〃In my opinion； Mr。 Harper was the victim of a ritual slaying。 I'd say that several persons were involved。 I would also say that neither robbery nor sexual assault was the motive。 I wouldn't rule out the possibility of an occult ceremony； possibly even human sacrifice。 On the other hand； the body showed no mon signs of torture…no cigarette burns； welts； or bruise patterns。 But you can't ignore what happened to the legs。〃
Keyes asked； 〃What did happen to the legs？〃
〃The legs were removed after death occurred； probably so the body could be concealed in the suitcase。 But it's the way the legs were removed that's so interesting。〃
Keyes said； 〃Joe； are you doing this just to make me sick？〃
〃The legs weren't just hacked off with an ax； which is the most efficient way；〃 said Dr。 Allen； pausing to choose his words。 〃It appears from the wounds that Sparky's legs might have been removed by a large animal。 They might actually have been 。。。 twisted off。〃
〃God！ By what； wild dogs？〃
Dr。 Allen shook his head somberly。 〃Judging from the bite pattern； it was no dog。 It was something much bigger。 Don't ask me what； Brian； because I just don't know。〃
〃Joe； you always brighten my day。〃
〃Happy hunting； my friend。〃
Brian Keyes's office was on the sixth floor of a dreary downtown bank building off SW Second Avenue； near the Miami River。 The consulate of El Salvador was located down the hall； so most of the other tenants lived in perpetual fear of a terrorist attack and behaved accordingly。 They all had chipped in to hire extra security guards for the lobby； but the security men had turned out to be professional burglars who one night looted the entire building of all IBM office machinery。
Brian Keyes was not affected by this crime because the only typewriter in his office was an old Olivetti portable； a leftover from his days of covering politics for the Miami Sun。 The other items of potential value were an antique desk lamp and a telephone tape recorder； but the lamp was broken and the tape recorder was made in Korea so the burglars wanted no part of either。
The highlight of the office was a fifty…gallon salt…water aquarium； a going…away present from his friends at the newspaper。 Keyes had erected it in the foyer； where a secretary ordinarily might have sat； and filled it with whiskered catfish that sucked the algae off the glass。
Except for the aquarium； the place was just as cramped； ratty； and depressing as Keyes had feared it would be。 He was rarely there。 Even when he had nothing to do； he'd find an excuse to leave the bank building and stroll around downtown。 He had an answering service； and an electronic beeper that fit onto his belt。 The beeper didn't make Keyes feel particularly important； every shyster lawyer； dope dealer； and undercover agent in Dade County wore one。 It was mandatory。
On the morning of December 5； Keyes was down at Bayfront Park； munching a sandwich and watching the tugboats； when the beeper on his belt went off loudly enough to wake a derelict two benches away。
Keyes found a pay phone and called his service。 Al Garcia was trying to reach him。 It was important。 Keyes phoned Homicide。
〃Meet me on the beach；〃 Garcia said。 〃The Flamingo Isles； near Sixty…eighth and Collins。 Look for the cop cars out front。〃
The Flamingo Isles was not a classic Miami Beach motel。 There was nothing charming about the color （silt） or the architecture （Early Texaco）。 At this motel there were no striped canvas awnings； no wizened retirees chirping in the lobby； no lawn chairs lined up on the front porch； no front porch whatsoever。 Basically the Flamingo Isles was a dive for pimps； chicken hawks； and hookers。 Rooms cost ten dollars an hour； fifteen with porno cassettes。 It was rum