It was November in New York. It was raining, it was cold and the trees all looked like skeleton's hands. And Detective John Stone was having a problem with habeas corpus, because all there was of the body, was two bare arms. Two bare arms that somebody, twelve years ago, had put in a lock up in the East Bronx. What they had done with the rest of the woman, nobody knew. But as Stone and Dehan start to investigate, two things become clear: whoever killed the woman, wanted her arms to be found, as a boast, as a challenge. And that meant they were dealing with a psychopath – a serial killer.
But who –the biker with a taste for beating up women? Or his best pal the Satanist and devotee of Crowley? Or perhaps the neurotic IT freak who spent his leisure hours surfing the net for porn? Or maybe somebody else…?
One thing Stone understands clearly, whoever it is, is a master of misdirection…