It is precisely 3:00 a.m. Detective Toni Rome's cell chirps, waking her from a recurring nightmare. "I've been bad again, Detective," the voice on the other end tells her. It is the voice of the Rosary Reaper, christened so by Toronto's media and members of the force. At each crime scene, a black rosary is found around the throats of his victims. It is the fourth call she has received in the past month, and as always, a brutalized body waits to be discovered. No trace and no clues other than the early hour whispers and the bloody taunts Catch me, carved into the victim's torsos. With a grandmother deep in the clutches of dementia to care for and a reawakened passion for the man who has just moved in next door, Toni and her partner Detective Sid Tillman find themselves pitted against a ruthless killer. A mind gone wrong. A vendetta long overdue. * You, my darlings, are my confidants, my audience, spying while I exact my vengeance. Together we will wait in the woods, scheming, planning. Our hands are treacherous, glorious, guilty weapons. And so the vine ripens. Each of its sacrosanct thorns exacting another prick of blood owed. I am a master of disguise. I am wealthy beyond your imagination. I am thirty-four and will not celebrate my thirty-fifth birthday. My name is Nathan. I am a killer.