The phone was a grinding dentist’s drill jammed into the meat of Jenner’s head.

He sat up, disoriented in the pitch black; his eyes swam with stars as the drill bit sank deeper into his brain.

He couldn’t move his legs. He leaned forward, but they wouldn’t move.

He reached out to touch them; he could feel them. Jenner knew he was still drunk. But he had sensation. Why couldn’t he move his legs?

The phone rang again. Jenner tugged at the sheets over his legs in the dark. He was trapped.

His hands, moving slowly now, touched something big and warm lying on him, something warm and wet. With a gasp, he jerked his hand away, rolling away, kicking and struggling to free his legs from the body lying on his.

The phone rang again.

He was trapped by the covers, pulling himself desperately slowly toward the floor, then the dog jumped up, and Jenner slipped off the bed.

The phone rang again.

How much had they drunk? He remembered Rudge having another bottle in his car, remembered standing next to Rudge, bathed in the luminous green glow of the swimming pool, to toast Marty and Bobbie Roburn. Swearing, he clawed his way to his knees and yanked the phone cord until the phone fell from the bedside table with a bang.

The clock radio read 3:00 a.m.

“Hello.”

“Dr. Jenner, sorry, it’s Jeannie from the service. Sorry to bother you, doctor, but we have a caller who insists it’s urgent. Says it’s an emergency, but he won’t speak to anyone but you.”

Jenner turned the light on. The dog heaved itself back up onto the bed with difficulty, wagging its stubby tail. It sat, peering into Jenner’s face.

Jenner turned the light back off again, sank his head into his hands as he cradled the phone to his ear. Jeannie’s voice seemed unnecessarily shrill.

“An emergency? Tell him to call 911.”

“I did, doctor. He says he can’t call the police, and he will only speak with you. Says he needs to report a death, and only to you.”

“Ugh.”

He dragged himself up onto the bed, and pushed the dog aside.

“Move.”

“Excuse me, doctor?”

“Not you.” The dog moved closer, wagging its tail and panting hotly on Jenner as he sat.

“What does this guy want again?”

“To report a death. But, doctor? He’s calling from a New York City cell phone.”

“What? How do you know? What’s the number?” If a friend from home was calling, it was important.

“We got caller ID; it’s a cell phone registered to an Adam Weiss.”

Jenner shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s very persistent, doctor.” She paused. “He’s actually been quite rude.”

“Unh.” Jenner struggled to get in gear.

“Shall I tell him to call back during business hours?”

Jenner wiped his eyes, then winced as he felt the tender swelling of his brow.

“No…No. I’m awake. Put him through, let’s find out what this is about…”

He sat up and turned the light back on. The dog was leaning against him. Its fur was wet, and smelled of Jenner’s Aveda Chamomile conditioner. In the bedside light, Jenner could see soaked towels around the room.

He remembered Rudge saying he should wash the dog if he was going to keep it in his room. But why the hell would Jenner keep it? A dog was the last thing he needed.

“You’re on with Dr. Jenner now.”

“Doctor? Dr. Jenner, from New York?”

“Yes?”

“Is there anyone else on the line?”

“No, just me.”

“Are you sure?”

Christ, he didn’t need this now.

“Jeannie, you still there?”

Silence.

“Yeah, I’m sure. What’s this about?”

The voice was desperate and nervous. “Okay. Look, I’m sorry, but this is way out of my league. I can’t call 911 because these people think the cops are in on it. And I don’t want anyone knowing my name and location.”

“You’re Adam Weiss. From New York City.”

“Wh…What? How?”

“Well, you called on your cell phone, and now you just confirmed it to me a second ago, Einstein. C’mon, this is Florida, not, you know, Biafra or whatever—we have caller ID. If I wanted, I could even have the police triangulate your location.” Jenner wasn’t actually sure about that, but the guy had woken him up and deserved a few lumps.

“Oh God!” The voice was young. Late teens, early twenties, Jenner figured.

“Mr. Weiss, spit it out or let me go back to sleep. I have a bad headache and don’t feel like sitting around bullshitting.”

Weiss spoke in an urgent whisper. “Please, Dr. Jenner, you’ve got to get me out of this. I think my life is in danger…”

“Jesus. What is this, a prank call? Couldn’t you just have some diapers delivered, or order me a pizza?” He looked around the room, and at the dog. “Either would be good.”

“Please, sir. I’m deadly serious. I’m scared.”

Jenner paused. Yes, he could hear that.

He relented a little. “What’s this about?”

There was a sigh, then silence. Then Weiss said, “I’m calling to report several deaths. Murders. I haven’t seen the bodies myself, but I have information about where they are. I can’t tell you who told me about this, but I believe these people are telling me the truth.”

Jenner slumped back against the bed, listening now. The boy kept talking.

“They want you to recover the bodies, sir. They want you to find the people who killed them.”

Jenner said nothing.

“Uh, Dr. Jenner? Are you there?”

“Yes. How many bodies? What’s wrong with going to the police?”

“At least two bodies, migrant workers. These people say the police may be involved. They’re afraid.” He paused. “And I am too.”

“What makes you so sure you can trust me?”

“I go to school in New York. I read about you in the paper today, and remembered you from that serial killer, the Inquisitor thing. I figured you’re new here, so you can’t be a part of whatever’s going on. I figured you’d be better than the feds—the people who came to see me also don’t trust the government, for reasons I can’t say.”

The kid was talking a better game now, pulling himself together.

“Well, I’m assuming they’re illegals,” Jenner said. “Where are the bodies?”

“In the Everglades outside Bel Arbre. I can give you exact directions—you need to write them down…”

“Hold on…Okay, I have a pen. Go.”

“Head north out of Port Fontaine on I-55. Turn off on High Lock Road—that’s, like, twenty-five miles north of town. Follow High Lock Road through the groves until the road ends, about five minutes from the highway. That’s as close as you can get by car. Park, then look east. There’s a big hammock there—that’s kind of an Everglades term for an island of trees. The bodies are in there. The people put a light there so you can see it from the road.”

Jenner was writing. “High Lock Road?”

“Yeah. And bring waterproof clothing—you have to walk from the road to the hammock, and it’s all saw grass there.”

The line went dead.

Christ. He should call Rudge—at the very least, it’d teach the detective a lesson for getting him so drunk.

But what if they showed up and it was all a hoax?

Jenner stood, a little unsteadily; his stomach felt as though it was grinding broken glass, but his thoughts were clear.

No, it was better he handled it himself. See what he found, call Rudge if this was the real deal.

The dog jumped off the bed and followed him, tail wagging, but stopped when he saw Jenner open the bathroom door. He jumped back onto the bed, and when the shower turned on, burrowed halfway under the sheets and gummed one of Jenner’s pillows.