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directions from a coed in a very tight sweater, Monk led the way down to the basement level. The underground passageway was easy enough to find.
    As they approached the tunnel entrance, a middle-aged woman waved to them from the other side. Monk waved back. She hurried over, out of breath, holding out her hand.
    “Andrea Solderitch,” she introduced herself.
    After the introductions, she led them down a neighboring hallway. She talked almost nonstop, plainly nervous.
    “There are only a few labs down here. So it’s easy to get lost. Most everything else is storage rooms, mechanical spaces … oh, and the building’s vivarium, where they house the lab animals. The genomics department keeps its microarray facility down here to keep it ozone free. It’s right over here.”
    She lifted the keycard in her hand and approached a closed door.
    “The department administrator tried calling the lab,” she explained. “No answer. I’ll just pop a look inside. I’m sure he wouldn’t have left the campus.”
    She waved the card and pulled the handle. As the door whooshed open, Monk immediately smelled smoke, electrical from the tang to it—and beneath it, a stench, like burned hair. He grabbed for Andrea, but he was too slow. She saw what was inside. Her face dissolved into confusion, then horror. A hand rose to cover her mouth.
    Monk pulled her to the side and passed her to Creed. “Keep her here.”
    He dropped his briefcase and reached to the shoulder holster inside his suit jacket. He pulled out his service pistol, a Heckler & Koch .45. The woman’s eyes widened. She turned away, pushing her face into Creed’s shoulder.
    “Do you have a weapon?” Monk asked him. “No … I thought this was just an interview.”
    Monk shook his head. “Let me guess, Doogie. You were never a Boy Scout.”
    Not waiting for an answer, Monk entered the lab, sweeping the blind spots. He was sure whoever had been here had come and gone, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Dr. Henry Malloy was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His head hung to his chest. Blood pooled under the chair.
    A computer station behind him was a charred ruin.
    Monk glanced around. They’d disabled the smoke detectors.
    He crossed to the man and checked for a pulse. Nothing. But the body was still warm. The murderers hadn’t been gone long. Monk noted the doctor’s broken fingers. He’d been tortured. Most likely for information.
    The killing blow had been a knife to the chest, one strike, expertly done. From the swift death, Malloy must have talked.
    Monk sniffed. The burning stench was stronger by the body. He recognized the smell of charred flesh. With a finger, he gently lifted the man’s chin. The head lolled back, revealing the source of the smell. In the center of the man’s forehead, a raw burn, still blistering at the edges, marked his flesh, all the way down to the bone.
    A circle and a cross.
    A ringing chime drew his attention back to the doorway. It came froma cell phone. Not wanting to contaminate the scene any further, Monk retreated to the hall.
    Andrea had her cell phone to her ear. Her eyes were damp, her nose running. She sniffed as she listened. “What?” she asked, less a question than an expression of shock. “No! Why?”
    She fell against the wall and slumped to the floor. The phone tumbled from her fingers. Monk dropped to a knee beside her.
    “What’s wrong?”
    She shook her head in disbelief. “Someone …” She pointed at the phone. “That was my neighbor. She heard my dogs barking, saw someone leaving my house. She went over. Door was open. They … they killed my dogs.” She covered her face with her hands. “Why didn’t I go straight home like I told Dr. Malloy?”
    Monk glanced at Creed. His brows were pinched together, not understanding.
    Monk did. He reached over and pulled the woman to her feet. “How long ago did your neighbor see the intruder?”
    She shook her head, struggling for words. “I … I