 
INVITATION TO DIE

(The Killing Game--Book 1)

JULIAN STARR

Smashwords edition
Julian Starr

Julian Starr, an award winning author and psychologist, has worked with those in hardship and pain for many years. Her unique understanding of human nature, coupled with her relentless determination to find justice, has inspired her to write this series featuring a female criminal profiler. Julian's work strives to focus upon a deeper and unusual understanding of the human mind and heart. Please visit me at www.julianstarrauthor.com to get exclusive news, giveaways, to join the email list, to stay in touch on facebook and to receive free books!
Books by Julian Starr

THE KILLING GAME

INVITATION TO DIE (Book #1)

INVITATION TO MADNESS (Book #2)
Copyright © 2015 by Julian Starr

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Jacket image ©iStock.com/leminuit

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

# Prologue

On a beautiful Sunday in May, families drifted to the Boston Public Garden to take their children for a Swan Boat ride along the pond. The irregularly shaped pond wound across four acres, sparkling in the sun from any point in the park. The Swan Boats, historic foot-pedaled vessels guided by drivers, glided along in the mild spring breeze, deepening the peace and tranquility of the park, providing the sense that all was right with the world, and always would be.

This morning, however, as soon as the ride opened, a loud shriek suddenly sounded  mercilessly from one of the boats, echoing over the pond. The terrified driver stood tall on the boat's edge, frantically waving his hands for help. Other boats stopped moving, and a crowd started to gather, as clouds of fear descended over the families who had come to revel in the beautiful day. They all wanted to get close, to see what the commotion was, what could possibly ruin their perfect harmony.

And as the crowds thickened, pressing in on the boat, people jockeying for position, finally, the sight revealed itself. A child on the boat had tripped. And as he stood, he looked down in terror.

It was the corpse of a young, beautiful woman, mangled beyond recognition. She lay on the floor of the boat, staring up at the sky, as if to ask one simple question: how could this ever happen here?

# Chapter 1

Tracy Wrenn stood at the podium, talking to a standing-room only crowd at John Jay College for Criminal Justice. They were transfixed. At thirty-three, Tracy's reputation as a brilliant criminal profiler and forensic psychologist had already spread far and wide. Everyone in the field was talking about her stunning success at finding killers, her daring insights, her unusual point of view. Her amazing talent was even surpassed by her startling good looks: incredibly beautiful, with long, silky chestnut hair and huge green eyes, Tracy's looks were known to stop men in their tracks. But she never paid attention to that. It was the work that she lived for. And now, standing before that podium, she was exhilarated.

"It's always a mistake to assume there's ever a simple or single motive for murder," Tracy started, looking straight into the audience's eyes. "An act such as murder is always over-determined. Many causes must interact, and if they're not all present, it is entirely possible that the victim will live to see another day and that the killing will not take place, ever. The would-be murderer may spend his or her entire life hiding under the fragile cloak of respectability, never daring to take the cloak off and reveal the darkness hovering within."

The silence in the room deepened. The audience sat on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear more, and Tracy spoke without pausing, barely glancing down at her copious notes.

 "Even in the most rabid killer there are many inbuilt inhibitions," she continued. "That is why it's such a great shock when we discover that our kind, charitable neighbor is the one who has committed such heinous crimes. How is it possible? How could we not have recognized what was really going on? Great question. A question that must be answered if we are to understand the true workings of a killer's psyche and if we are to track him or her down. Don't be mistaken: there are deep forces we are up against. These forces are fierce and willful. They disguise themselves in devious ways. Yet we must discover and expose them."

Little beads of perspiration broke out on Tracy's forehead. It was early May and warmer than usual for this time of year.  She was dressed in an especially well-fitting orange linen spring suit that added to the overall effect of her talk.  She knew she had to look especially good today. After the lecture was over she was meeting Wess, who had a special day planned. Tracy knew he was going to propose. Wess wasn't one for surprises; he'd let her know in so many ways. The time had come, and she could hardly wait.

 Bolstered now by the audience's rapt attention, Tracy went on.

"Some say a murder is predetermined by genes, family history, circumstances, or conditioning. But stop a moment and ask yourself, is a killer destined to kill? Is it their fate? Can they be spotted and stopped before they start? Although many disagree, I say Yes! A killer can definitely be stopped if we can see through their camouflage and realize who they truly are. And that insight will also help us catch culprits who have already let loose and wreaked their damage on the world."

Tracy had the audience in the palm of her hand, and there was nothing she enjoyed more. Her work was vital, her message crucial. She'd spent so many years studying the psychology of the murderous mind, and desperately needed to share her views with those who cared. Precious lives were at stake, after all. So much unnecessary suffering could be avoided if even a few truly understood. There had to be a band of individuals trained in finding, spotting, and preventing those who killed.

Tracy brushed her hair back from her face with the flick of her hand and plunged onward.

"So, when does a killer start to kill? There are different key points to be aware of. One is when circumstances change abruptly and the balance tips, disrupting the killer's equilibrium. Suddenly a path opens where no path existed before. Murder can seem easy or natural then. The killer wonders what stopped him before. Another key point of danger is when a random thought takes hold of the killer, one he never gave much attention to before. Now the deranged thought assumes front row center. It grips the killer, haunts him, and leads him to the edge of the cliff. If you can find out what the thought is, exactly what has obsessed the killer, that knowledge will lead you straight to him."

Tracy paused and took a drink of cool water from the glass on the podium.

 "Another crucial factor is a small, four-letter word: hope. Can we live without hope? Without hope can we remain human? Some killers become activated in a sudden flash when all hope disappears, when a long-cherished dream vanishes, for example. Then the whole point of living fades away and killing becomes the point of living. The killing replaces the frustrated hopes and dreams. The act of killing itself gives meaning to a life turned hollow. The murderer now feels powerful and worthwhile.

"Our job as professionals is to look at every factor in a killer's life; their environment, thoughts, motivations, and dreams. Nothing is to be discounted. We must examine every corner of their lives."

Tracy saw some members of the audience taking rabid notes. Pleased, she went forward.

"We have more to do as criminal profilers and forensic psychologists than we realize. Our most basic job is to provide a profile of the killer, to help law enforcement focus their search. We examine the crime scene and specific nature of the murder. We look at the killer's MO and signature. But an additional question remains for us. How can we help stop the killing before it takes place? How can we know when an individual has been pulled down to the depths and is about to resurface into a life of crime? These are important questions that must also be attended to. Once out in the field, working with real human beings, you will find that it is never black or white. Textbook categories and diagnoses are helpful, but ultimately limited. You are always up against real human beings who can change from day to day. These are human beings who most likely live their lives in camouflage, hiding even from themselves. Remember that. You must find the core that drives them, the heartbeat of what has made them kill."

Tracy flinched as her cellphone rang abruptly, interrupting her flow of thought. She blushed, embarrassed; she thought she'd turned it off.

"So sorry," she said, reaching for her phone. She was about to shut it off when she saw the caller ID and took a sharp breath. The FBI. Hunter Jordan, head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He never called her unless it was urgent. She knew she could not ignore it.

 "I'm so sorry," she said to the audience. "Let's take a short break and pick up where we left off in a few minutes."

People rustled in their seats and began to get up while Tracy quickly stepped down from the podium and walked to the private alcove behind the lecture hall.

"Thanks for picking up," Hunter started in a brisk, no-nonsense tone.

Tracy heard the strained edge in his voice and immediately knew there was big trouble. She'd worked with Hunter on two other cases and he'd always been calm and balanced, the consummate professional. But he wasn't so calm and balanced now.

"What's wrong?" she asked swiftly.

"You've been keeping up with the news, right?" he asked succinctly.

"Of course," said Tracy. She knew what he was referring to. That very day she'd read again about the frantic search for  the second young woman who'd gone missing in Boston about two weeks ago. So far everything had come up cold.

"The second victim's body was found a couple of hours ago," Hunter continued without waiting. "The killer left her twisted and mangled, on the floor of a Swan Boat Ride."

Tracy gasped.

"A Swan Boat Ride?"

She'd been on one as a young child, whenever her family visited Boston. She'd always loved them. They'd seemed like the safest place in the world.

Hunter's voice grew gravelly.

"A kid taking the ride on the boat spotted the body." Then he paused. It obviously got to him. It was always harder to take when children were involved. "Police found the same note the killer left with the first victim's body. Find Me."

A wave of nausea rose up in Tracy.

 "Police think we've got a serial killer loose," Hunter went on. "Could also be a spree killer on a rampage. We've been called in to help."

"Good idea," breathed Tracy.

 "I'm pulling our resources together," Hunter continued, "and I want you on the case right away." He spoke in no uncertain terms, as if it were unimaginable that Tracy would ever think of saying no. Tracy knew Hunter respected her, that he appreciated her dedication and the long hours she'd put in on the other cases they'd worked on. Tracy had made a real difference in the two other cases, too. Of course, those cases were much lower profile than this one.

"Will you do it?" Hunter's voice became clipped and hurried.

Tracy hesitated; she thought of her big night coming up with Wess, her promise to be there. The idea of letting him down killed her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Of course," she heard herself say.

"Good."  Hunter relaxed. "Can you catch the next plane up?"

"Next train out," she responded. She didn't want to jump on a plane; she enjoyed train rides, and needed the time to gather her thoughts and come up with a plan of attack as she transitioned from what she was doing to the world of the crime.

"Okay." Hunter sounded relieved. "And thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down. Meet me at the FBI offices in Boston. I'll email you the files we've got on the case so far."

Tracy hung up the phone, her heart beating. It was incredible to be called in as a consultant by the head of the BAU at the FBI for a third time. The college would be thrilled about it, pleased to give her time off again. Her assistant would take over her classes and everyone would win. She was also finishing up a residency at Granges, a hospital for the criminally insane, and they, too, would be pleased to hear that she was on a case of this magnitude.

She had to call Wess immediately, though, to cancel their plans. She had a pit in her gut as she dialed him, looking out at the crowd eagerly awaiting her return.

"Lecture over already?" he asked, excited. "We can meet earlier than planned."

"Wess, I've just had a phone call," Tracy interrupted breathlessly.

"What kind of call?" he responded, unsettled.

"You've heard about the search for the second woman who went missing in Boston? Well, her body has just been found. The FBI called and asked me to come immediately. They could be up against a spree killer and everyone's terrified he'll strike again. They need all the help they can get, including me."

Wess was clearly taken aback. There followed a long, disapproving pause.

"What's a spree killer?" he mumbled.

 "It's a killer on a rampage," Tracy spoke heatedly. "They don't leave much time between murders. With a serial killer, there's a cooling off period."

"Spare me the details," he interrupted. "I don't need a lecture." His voice rose. "What are you telling me, Tracy?"

"I have to catch the train right away," she said. "I'm cancelling our plans for tonight."

"Cancelling?" Wess balked.

"I know it's important," Tracy's voice caught for a moment.

"It's beyond important," Wess insisted. "We talked about it. You know what's happening. You can't spoil our plans. Leave later."

"I can't," Tracy gathered her wits quickly.  "How can I enjoy our evening when he could kill again at any moment?"

"Is leaving a few hours later going to make the difference between life and death?" he demanded.

"It could," Tracy started to feel uneasy. "It's possible I could quickly spot something that no one else has realized."

"Possible, but what are the chances?" Wess wasn't backing down. Tracy knew he could be incredibly single-minded. That's why he was so successful at work.

"Wess"--Tracy wanted to make him understand--"this is an emergency and there's no time to lose. People's lives are at stake. I have to go now. We'll reschedule as soon as possible."

Taut silence greeted Tracy on the other end of the phone.

"Please tell me you understand," Tracy managed, uneasy.

"I don't understand and I don't like it, either," Wess replied. "We'll reschedule soon? That's all you have to say?"

Tracy took a sharp breath. She knew Wess could be stubborn, but thankfully this didn't happen often.

"We have to postpone our plans," Tracy repeated firmly. "I'm sorry, but I can't take a chance."

"So go, if you have to." Wess began smoldering. "But you're taking a chance anyway, aren't you?"

"What chance?" Tracy asked, startled.

"With us," he said, and suddenly hung up the phone.

# Chapter 2

It was good being alone on the train. Tracy put her head on the back of the seat, glad to rest before she took out her laptop to go over the files. The train whizzed by and she glanced out the window, watching the passing streets blur into one another. Dressed in brown linen slacks, loafers, and an oversized shirt, Tracy had pulled her hair back from her face and tied it in a no-nonsense manner. Wess's reaction had surprised her, but she had to put it out of her mind now. She was on her way to the scene of the crimes, and all kinds of surprises would await her there; they always did. She had to be ready.

Spree killers were tricky; you had no idea when they would strike again, thought Tracy. For all she knew, their culprit was out there stalking his next victim right now. There could be some young woman just living her life, unaware of the footsteps close behind her. She had no idea her days were numbered, that she was about to be grabbed and thrown into a world of terror, pain, and death.

Tracy realized it, though. She had to get there quickly and stop it from happening. And she would.

Hunter had made the right call telling her to get there immediately. Tracy couldn't understand why Wess didn't get it. Wess was tremendously smart and successful. He ran the department at the hedge fund where he worked, did more business than all of his colleagues, too. Tracy had tried to explain the urgency of her work to him several times. He always said he got it, but never really did.

Most of the time that didn't bother Tracy. Right from the start she'd felt comfortable and at home with Wess. There'd been a strong connection between them and that was important to her. They laughed at little things, enjoyed being together, and had similar rhythms at work.  Wess also liked it that Tracy was so busy. She never bothered him about spending late nights at work or being out with clients. It was a strange kind of freedom for him. Wess was proud of Tracy, too, she knew. She had seen him boast to his co-workers that his girlfriend was a criminal profiler, and enjoy their startled reactions. It seemed he thought that it enhanced his image somehow.

Tracy flipped open her computer and forced Wess from her mind. He'll understand someday, she thought, as she began to scroll through the files.

Along with photos of the two victims, both before and after their murders, the files included investigative reports and a careful list of evidence they'd found. There were summaries of the victims' lives and a few rough crime scene sketches. Forensic results, of course, were not yet complete.

After reading about the victims, Tracy looked at their photos. Each young woman was beautiful in her own way. They were both the same age, slender with ash-blonde hair. Beyond that, what was the connection? What had they done to attract the killer's attention and rage?

Tracy thought about the killer's MO. Both victims had gone missing before they turned up dead. The killer only held the first victim a couple of days before killing her. How long had he kept the second victim alive after her kidnapping? Did he torture both of them? Forensic evidence would make that clear. Who was the last to see them both alive?

Tracy made notes of her questions. She knew from the looks of things that law enforcement would guess they were up against a psychopathic sadist. But Tracy wasn't sure. Right now, though, it seemed more complex than that to her. Each woman had been killed differently and dumped in a very different place as well.

Tracy scrolled down and read the summary of their lives again, slowly this time.

Case 1: Tina Drew, went missing April 19th.

Tina Drew, Caucasian female, was twenty-nine, medium height, slim with ash-blonde hair. She lived on the edge of town in a neighborhood overrun with drug dealers, dance clubs, and prostitutes. Tracy looked at her picture closely, feeling a pang of sorrow for her. She would have been very pretty if she weren't so drawn, with sunken cheekbones and a rough bruise on her jaw.

Tracy read more about her. Tina had two arrests for prostitution. The oldest child in a lower-class Catholic family, she had twin brothers. One of them, Kirk, had stayed in touch. In her late teens Tina started working as a hostess at a local dance club while trying to put herself through beauty school. It didn't happen. By her early twenties, a full-fledged heroin addict, she became a dancer at the club. Probably did it to support her habit, thought Tracy. The tips were far better, for sure.

 Tina was forced into rehab by her brother, but ran away a few days later, the report went on. When they finally found her she was on the streets, hooking. A guy named Salty Flannigan was her pimp. That's someone I need to talk to right away, Tracy noted. Where the heck did he get a name like Salty, anyway?

 Tina's body was found two days after she went missing, before anyone had a chance to fully realize she was gone. A neighborhood vendor found her in the corner of a dark alley a few blocks from where she lived. Someone started to notice the stench in the alley, told him about it, and from there it was easy to spot her.

Forensics descended on the alley and found a message beside her body, left by the killer, in blood. FIND ME! Tina's brother Kirk went nuts, vowed revenge, and started prowling the neighborhood like a madman, looking for the killer. So far he'd come up with nothing. Neither had the police, for that matter.

 Tracy looked at the photos taken at the crime scene where Tina's body had been found. She'd been mutilated, her breasts and belly slashed. Naked, she was positioned in a vulgar, taunting pose. Tracy flinched. This was hideous. Tracy would never get used to looking at crime scene photos. But she forced herself to look closely anyway. The horror kept her going, made her determined to smoke out the killer no matter how long it took. How dare someone grab a person and leave them like a heap of garbage in an alley? Tracy shivered. This was personal. She knew the pain and horror of it all too well herself. It could not and would not be endured.

Case 2 - Shannon Glaze, went missing April 28.

This case is more alarming than the first, Hunter commented in his tiny handwriting in the margins. Why in hell did he grab her? How did she even run into the killer?

Shannon Glaze was a lovely thirty-year-old ash-blonde mother of two young children. A nursery school teacher at the local church, she was married to a well-known lawyer, Jeffrey Glaze. The two of them lived in an upper-middle-class residential neighborhood, surrounded by friends. Shannon's home was a few blocks from the church she worked at.

Tracy took a deep breath. On the surface the two victims couldn't be more different. But if Tina knew anything by now it was that surface impressions meant nothing. It was up to her to find the connections between the victims. She also had to discover the connection between the killer and these women. What in the world had drawn him to them? Shannon's body was newly discovered and there was still a lot of information to gather. Hunter would have more for Tracy when she arrived.

 Tracy then looked at the photo of Shannon lying on the floor of the Swan Boat ride. She looked grotesque, twisted and mangled like an old cleaning cloth. Killed by strangulation, Tracy guessed. Unlike Tina, Shannon's clothes were still on, though barely. But it was the expression in her eyes that was most horrifying. They were staring coldly, filled with terror, up at the empty sky. And, like Tina, a message in blood was left beside her on the bottom of the boat. FIND ME. The killer was practically pleading, taunting them.

None of it sat well with Tracy. In both cases the killer left his victims in disarray out in public. He obviously wanted to shock and revolt those who found them, terrify the public, and let them know a killer was on the loose. She looked more closely at the notes he'd left behind and began drumming her fingers on the edge of her seat.

Find Me, Find Me, the notes demanded.

Okay, I got your message, buddy, Tracy murmured back at him. You want me to find you? Be ready, my friend. You have no idea what you're asking for.

*

The train seemed to speed up as Tracy flipped her computer shut. There was a lot more to know about both cases, of course, but she needed time to absorb and digest the information she had. She had to discover who the women really were and what they were after. She had to go over the victims' social media and talk to those who knew them, to separate fact from rumor.

Most of the time a criminal profiler took the information investigators gave them and put together a picture of the killer. Before she did that, Tracy wanted to go to the crime scene herself and let it speak to her. Every crime scene had a strong atmosphere. When you steeped yourself in it, it had a lot to say. In this case, they had no idea where the killings took place, only where the bodies had been found. For now those were their crime scenes. Tracy planned to get to them as soon as possible.

After visiting the crime scenes, Tracy planned to go to the victims' neighborhoods and speak to people who knew them. In this way she'd find out not only more about the women, but about the killer himself. Sometimes he was even one of the people she was interviewing. She might be looking right into the killer's eyes and have no idea it was him.

But he couldn't stay hidden forever. Whether he knew it or not, the killer had chosen his victims for a reason. Something about them drew him to them. Tracy didn't believe in random killings. She believed that people were drawn to each other for a reason and that everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be at a certain moment. Tracy often thought that in a deep, unconscious way, victims drew their killers to them. Not purposely, of course. This was not at all to blame the victim. But the longer she did this work, the more Tracy felt that something in the way the victims moved about in their world, something they needed or longed for, sent out signals and subtly invited this person into their lives.

It was essential to probe the depths of the unconscious not only of the killer but of the victims as well. What were the hidden motives that linked them in this awful dance?

Tracy looked at her watch now and was amazed to realize her train would arrive in Boston in about fifteen minutes. After gathering her things together, she went to the bathroom to freshen up.

Once in the bathroom, Tracy untied her long hair, brushed it gently, then put on new makeup. To her surprise, the young woman looking back at her in the mirror appeared oddly rested, and raring to go. Ready for whatever came next.

Tracy smiled at herself approvingly. She'd come a long way and she was proud of it. She hadn't succumbed to devastation when her own mother had gone missing when she was fourteen years old. Actually, in one way or another, Tracy had been searching for her mother for years. And she still believed in her heart that her mother was alive, somewhere. She'd find her someday. She was sure of it.

Tracy looked around the tiny bathroom as she smoothed out her slacks. Of course, Boston was the last place she'd expected to be tonight. She thought of her plans with Wess and wondered how he was doing. She knew he'd probably made all kinds of arrangements to celebrate their engagement, including a ring he had waiting for her. Tracy had been excited about it too, ready to take the next step with Wess. There was no reason she shouldn't. He was a good man and was there for her--most of the time, anyway. She hated that she had to disappoint him today, but that was part of the job. She'd talked to him about it several times and Wess had said  it would be okay if she had to leave abruptly from time to time. Of course it was one thing to say it and another to face the situation directly. Especially on a day like today.

Tracy put on lip gloss and then smoothed her lips together gently. She didn't like it that Wess hadn't called her back to see how she was doing. He was probably still nursing his wounds. Tracy shook her head lightly. It was really strange that this had happened on the day they were planning to get engaged. For all she knew this was a testing period for both of them.

Tracy left the bathroom and went back to her seat. Once the train arrived, she would grab a cab and be at the FBI offices in no time at all. Hunter would be there waiting, along with others on staff. Tracy was excited to get there and hear what else they'd found.

As she exited the train, her eye caught a headline blasted across the front of a newspaper. Boston Frozen with Terror; Serial Killer on the Loose! Could Be Anywhere!

Tracy threw back her head. She was not frozen with terror, and never would be. She would find him, stop the killings.

# Chapter 3

As soon as she got off the train, Tracy grabbed the first cab she saw. "Plaza Square," she told the driver, "as fast as you can."

The cab wound its way quickly through the half-empty streets to the tall building in Plaza Square where the FBI offices were located. Grateful to be there, she gave the driver an extra-large tip, jumped out of the cab, and made her way through the large revolving doors to the security desk in the lobby. Security people always looked twice when Tracy showed them her ID. No one expected a striking, hip, well dressed young woman to be doing a job like this. She flashed her ID.

"FBI are expecting me," Tracy said as the security officers looked over her identification.

"Go right up," the guy replied, looking a little nervous. Of course he had a right to be nervous, thought Tracy. The whole city was on edge. Don't worry, it's fine, Tracy wanted to say to him. I'm going to get the killer. We're all safe.

Tracy took her ID and walked a few steps quickly onto the elevator.. As it rose she was excited, t, waiting for it to land on the eleventh floor. Hunter would be glad to see her. She wondered who else would be waiting for her there? Probably Clay or Dan, or some former colleagues she'd worked with before. Even though they were older than her, these guys treated her as one of them, and Tracy was grateful for it.

The elevator stopped and Tracy walked briskly down the empty hall straight to the FBI offices. It was after hours, and they were locked. She rang the buzzer and to her surprise, in a few seconds Hunter himself appeared at the door, opening it for her.

As usual, and despite the emergency they were facing, Hunter Jordan looked flawless and buttoned up. In his early forties, and extremely good looking with dark brown hair, he was impeccably dressed in a tailored summer suit and cream-colored shirt. Tracy noticed a quick glint in his eyes when he saw her. He must be relieved to have all the help he can get, she thought, pleased.

"Come in, you made good time." Hunter held the door open.

"I'm relieved to be here," Tracy nodded, as she walked past him into the long, corridor with offices lined up on both sides. Tracy felt comfortable with Hunter, although they'd never spent personal time together. It was all business from start to finish, but they trusted each other and worked together beautifully. Tracy had given Hunter leads he needed to break open the past cases they'd worked on. Hunter liked her and listened to her perspective. He also reined Tracy in when he felt she went too far, or her imagination got the better of her. Of course Tracy never felt that her imagination got the better of her. She used it and relied on it to the max.  It was a great tool to help her understand people better.

Tracy walked with Hunter into his office, where another agent, Clay, was seated near the desk.

"Great to see you, Tracy," Clay stood up and extended his hand, a warm smile on his face. Clay was a little older than Hunter, married with kids, and loved his job with the FBI. He was steady and smart, one of the most dependable agents on the force.

"Clay's a rising star," Hunter had once told Tracy happy about it. Hunter wasn't threatened by anyone, wanted good people around him, was truly dedicated to solving crimes. Clay thought the world of Hunter, too, was protective of him. Last time she'd seen him, Clay told Tracy that Hunter was involved in a bitter divorce. It was so hard on him, Hunter said he had no intention of dating or marrying again. Tracy had been surprised to hear it. She also felt that Hunter's decision could serve him well in his career. It was easy to get distracted and pulled off course, way too easy.

"I'm so glad you're here, Clay," Tracy said to him now.

"I was thrilled when Hunter told me he'd gotten you on board," Clay responded.  "We'll close in on the killer, fast, now."

Tracy smiled. "Thanks." Clay was always positive about whatever went on. Positive, but not stupid. He didn't take chances he shouldn't take. Tracy had noticed that about him before. She liked him and could learn a lot from him, too.

Hunter interrupted the banter. "Okay, enough, let's get to work. We've got more information now than when I spoke to you, Tracy. I want to go over it and let you know what we think. Naturally, I'm also interested in anything you might want to add."

"Let's go for it." Tracy tossed her dark red leather bag on the small couch in the corner. Then she pulled out a chair opposite Hunter at his desk.

 "Wait a minute, just a second," Clay interrupted. "You just had a long trip. Want a cup of coffee or Danish?"

Hunter looked disconcerted, but Tracy appreciated Clay's concern. "Thanks so much, but I'm fine, Clay." She smiled at him.

"Just checking," said Clay. "We've got a long road to go."

Hunter took the seat opposite Tracy, opened his computer forcefully, and stared at it unblinkingly. Then he rubbed his forehead slowly. It was an old habit of his that Tracy remembered.

"You saw the crime scene photos of both women?" he started.

"I saw the location the bodies turned up in," Tracy quickly corrected him. "The women could have been killed anywhere and dumped."

"I know, I know." Hunter tossed her comment to the side. "We take what we get. For now this is what we have to work with. This is the crime scene."

"Okay." Tracy let him continue. But if a crime scene wasn't the place where the victim had been killed, it had different implications for understanding the mind of the killer. Tracy had to know exactly where they'd been killed, along with how. It made a difference. She would deal with that later on. Right now she needed to hear what they had.

"From the looks of it, the second victim, Shannon Glaze, was strangled to death," Hunter started. "There was a thin ligature around her neck. After that, the killer twisted and mangled her. Of course we have to wait for corroboration by the medical examiner, but that's the early take on it. Agree?"

Tracy nodded. She'd thought as much from seeing the photos.

"Shannon's body was placed on the boat before the rides opened. So the killer had access to the Gardens. Does he work there? Hang around regularly? Did someone at the Garden spot a strange-looking guy?" Hunter continued.

"Good questions," Tracy responded. "Though I doubt he'd present as a strange-looking guy."

"Why?" Hunter was stopped for a moment. "It's obvious we've got a real psychopath on our hands."

"Not so obvious yet," Tracy corrected him. "There are all kinds of possibilities to be explored. I'm not ready to discount anything yet. Give me a little time to check out the crime scenes first and conduct some interviews. How long was the second victim dead before you found her?"

"Not sure yet, but again from the early look of it, her death was recent," said Hunter.

"That makes a difference," Tracy mused. "He kept her alive awhile then, and tortured her."

"No direct signs on her body of her having been tortured," Hunter filled in. "We have about two weeks between the time she went missing and when her body turned up dead. Anything could have gone on."

"What?" asked Tracy. "That's crucial. I have to know the time of death exactly. The exact length of time he kept her alive is important. It will tell us more about what happened between them. Of course, that message he left on the boat is the heart of everything."

"Maybe," Hunter remarked, "but this could also be a copycat crime. Obviously, the killer's crazed for attention, letting the victim be found like that. I'm not sure we have just one killer, though. The two victims lived such different lives and were killed so differently. The first victim's body was dumped right after she was killed. He held the second victim longer. Right now it's hard to see any true links between them. That's why we're thinking there could be more than one killer."

Tracy disagreed. "There's just one killer," she insisted.

"What do you base that on?" Hunter looked put off.

"Along with placing his victims out in the public in pure daylight, the killer's also camouflaging himself with every act," said Tracy.

Clay sat forward. "How's he doing that?"

"His choosing such different victims and killing them in such different ways is not accidental," said Tracy. "He's trying to garble his signature and MO, while taunting us to find him."

 "Either that or he's desperate and wants to be stopped. He wants to be found," Clay chimed in.

"Both can be true at the same time," said Tracy, "but the central point is that this guy is playing a cat-and-mouse game with us. The note he left is just icing on the cake. The police and public are also his victims. He's trying to outsmart us at every turn. The third victim will make it all clearer."

Hunter's head shot up like an arrow. "We're not expecting a third victim. Let's stay positive here."

Tracy was stunned. "You don't truly expect that the killing is over?"

"I don't expect anything, I never expect anything," said Hunter in a steely tone. "I take one day and one fact at a time." Obviously, Tracy's comment had hit a sore spot.

"Right now we're going on the hypothesis that this could definitely be a copycat killer," Clay intervened trying to bolster Hunter.. "The reason for that is that the second body was found in a park filled with families. This particular killer is mocking family life, shaking up kids. The first victim was a prostitute, found in a back alley quickly after she was killed."

Tracy's heart clenched for a moment, hurt for Tina. "She was more than a prostitute, she was a person, Clay."

"Of course, of course, I didn't mean to malign her." Clay looked as though he felt sorry, too. "I'm just pointing to the completely different nature of the victims."

Tracy knew Clay meant well and this certainly wasn't the time to get sidetracked. "I'd love to hear about what you guys got from your interviews with Tina's family and friends," she continued. Most likely they hadn't yet had a chance to speak to many of Shannon's contacts.

"What we have so far is interesting," Hunter intervened. "I sent you a summary of the written reports of interviews in the file."

Tracy had read it, but wanted more. "What else can you tell me?"

"I thought the report spoke for itself," Hunter said. "First victim got hooked on drugs and went downhill from there. Not such an unusual story."

"Each story is unusual," Tracy countered. "Like each person's fingerprints, no two are the same."

Hunter stayed cool. "Right now there's lots of people who could have killed Tina," he went on. "It could be jealous co-workers, a hungry pimp, johns who got wasted, a passing encounter that went too far."

"Tina has a brother Kirk who cared about her," Tracy chimed in.

"Yeah, that's true. So what?" Hunter replied, looking up at Tracy, curious. "He cared about her, and still look how she ended up."

"I want to talk to the brother," Tracy noted. "Also this guy Salty, her pimp."

"We spoke to both of them already," said Hunter.

"I want to do it again," Tracy insisted.

Hunter made a sour face. "Is that the best use of your time here, Tracy?"

"Let her do it. You know how she works," Clay chimed in. "Tracy's a magnet for strange tidbits of information that lead us right where we need to go."

Hunter put both hands on the desk flatly, as if surrendering. "You're right, she is. I know it," he said.

"Have you spoken to anyone who knew Shannon yet?" Tracy asked him. Hunter seemed more high-strung than usual.

"Yeah, sure, we've done initial interviews," he answered looking momentarily distressed. "We've had people she knew coming into the office all day today. She had two little kids, a great husband, and from what we can tell, everyone loved her at work. People are totally freaking. This is the last thing anyone could have imagined."

"Tina's death could easily be imagined," commented Tracy, "but someone like Shannon's could not. What does that tell us about the killer?"

"We need to find out more about both victims first," Clay responded in a low tone.

"You guys find anything in the back alley where Tina was dumped?" Tracy shifted the focus a little bit now.

"The place was combed carefully," Hunter picked up on it. "We found half a footprint that doesn't match anything we have in the records. That's it."  Hunter looked upset. "Nothing was found on the body, nothing! No fingerprints, hairs, DNA, or unexpected presents from the perv."

"We've got a professional on our hands here," murmured Tracy. "This guy knows what he's doing."

"There was no sexual activity either," Hunter added for good measure. "Not with either victim."

"Important point!" Tracy exclaimed.

"Yes, it is," Hunter agreed. "From the nature of the crime we would have expected that both victims would have definitely been raped. They weren't."

"That leaves out a john who got wasted or a passing encounter that went bad," Tracy commented.

"Possibly, but not definitely," Hunter replied. "Could be we're looking at a sadistic perv who gets his thrill from the killing itself and doesn't need the sex that goes with it.. Doesn't mean he doesn't want it other times."

"Possible," said Tracy, but she didn't think so. "Tina was slashed across her breasts and belly. Then she was placed in a sexually degraded position. This pattern's almost always accompanied by rape and torture, either before or after death. The fact that there was no sexual activity here is unusual. We shouldn't minimize it. It's an important clue."

Tina noticed Clay nodding emphatically. Hunter also listened without batting an eye.

"Was the guy impotent, unable to perform?" Tracy continued. "Was he taking out his fury about it on a woman who slept with lots of guys? Or, is this a guy who hates sex, a moralist who's cleaning up the neighborhood? For him Tina could just have been filth."

Clay balked a moment and then settled back down. Tracy knew it was hard to hear her talk this way. She didn't care.

"These points have to be kept in mind," Tracy insisted. "They narrow the field."

"Good points, good thinking." Hunter tapped his hands on the desk formidably.

Tracy sensed that he wanted her to stop a minute. But the image of Tina stuck in the back alley haunted her. She couldn't stop. "Did Tina have some weird encounters online, maybe?" Tracy continued. "Did you check her social media?"

"We checked it," Clay joined in. "There was nothing out of the order. And, believe it or not, I even found some emails from her girlfriends back home."

That surprised Tracy. Usually most ties to home dissolved when someone became a prostitute. The streets were a world of their own. The fact that Tina got emails from old friends said something about her.

"Did Tina actually go back home to visit?" Tracy asked.

"I don't know that," said Clay, "but her emails to her friends didn't sound so different from other young women's."

Clay always looked for and found the best in everyone. That touched Tracy. "It's important information," she responded. "Tina's killer could have been someone from back home. What about her other brother or the rest of her family?"

"I doubt that very much," Hunter interrupted. "This is a normal family that attends church regularly."

"She must have been a tremendous shame to them," Tracy noted.

"I'm sure she was," snapped Hunter, "but to assume they killed her? Far afield."

"Law enforcement has interviewed lots of people in Tina's life," Clay went on methodically. "She was a dancer at the club and they've spoken to people who knew her there. She was also attending recovery meetings for drugs. The police talked to people who attended the meetings. Nobody noticed anything peculiar, or knew of anyone in her life who bothered or stalked her in any way."

The fact that she attended recovery meetings struck Tracy. "How long had she been going to those meetings?" she asked. "I know she ran away from rehab a few years ago. What got her to go back? Did someone go with her? Could the killer have been someone she met at the meetings?"

 "Keep speculating, Tracy," Clay was excited.  "Even the most outlandish possibilities could lead somewhere."

"Of course, keep speculating, that's why you're here," Hunter quickly agreed.

Whether or not Hunter agreed, Tracy was on a roll. "You said the second victim was also not sexually assaulted," she went on. "That's important. At least we have one fingerprint of the killer, the same trait in both crimes. No sexual activity."

"I wouldn't go overboard about this," Hunter cautioned. "The second victim's a mom who teaches nursery school. That's about as far away from Tina as you can get."

"Maybe not in the mind of the killer," said Tracy. "We have to know what these women represent to him, why he chose them, what he got out of the killing. Tell me more about Shannon."

"We'll talk more to her friends and family tomorrow. You'll join us," said Hunter.

"Great," Tracy replied, "and I also want to talk to the people who knew Tina and visit both crime scenes personally."

Hunter threw his head back and took a deep breath.

Tracy stood up then and straightened her slacks. "I want to see everything with my own eyes," she insisted.

"You will." Hunter stood up opposite her. "You'll probably see more than you bargained for this time around. Meet us back here at eight sharp tomorrow morning. You need some rest and so do we. We've got you a suite in the same hotel as before, a few blocks away. If you need anything in the meantime, or if something comes up, you've got my cell phone number and I have yours. Keep your phone next to you and keep it on. We have to be ready. Is there anything else you suggest we do so far?"

Tracy slid to the edge of her seat. "Time is of the essence. Let's smoke him out right away. He wants to play cat-and-mouse, so let's play it. He wants to make things public, that's fine with me. Call the news and announce that I'm on the case. Let's scare him a little, up the ante. Once he's off his game, even a little, a guy like this can make an important slip."

# Chapter 4

Tad Warehouse had a good job in Boston. He was pleased with it, it satisfied him. And the people he worked with liked him, too. If you asked any of them they would tell you Tad was one of the most reliable workers on board. Needless to say, that made Tad very happy. It mattered to him what people thought. And it mattered to him how people acted. Mattered to him very much.

After a long day's work, Tad liked coming home and going over his day. He'd sit in a chair and look out the back window at the scraggly field behind his house, remembering everything that happened that day. Tad wouldn't even let even a small detail go by. He liked figuring what he did right and what he did wrong. He'd make a list of every single thing that happened and put them in two columns, one right, one wrong. If there were more rights on the list, it had been a good day. If there were more wrongs, he didn't sleep well that night.

Now it was still light outside, almost seven o'clock. Spring was definitely here, Tad realized. But today had been way too sunny, and Tad felt dizzy. He'd just eaten a dinner which was spoiled, through and through. He knew it was spoiled while he ate it and that he'd feel rotten later, but he couldn't bring himself to waste any food.  Do you know how many poor people there were who went to bed hungry.  It bothered him. The very least he could do to make up for it was to finish what was on his plate, no matter how rancid. Tad wasn't quite sure whether to put that into the right or wrong column. He was right, he finally decided, to do what he could to help the universe.

But there was plenty of stuff today for the wrong column, too. Tad made a mistake doing so many errands in weather like this. It was too much. How dare it get so hot this early in spring anyway? May was just the beginning of everything, the time for planting flowers, wasn't it?

What else did he do wrong? He didn't smile back at that young lady who smiled at him in front of Molly's Deli. He should have, he knew, but she looked too needy. She was definitely someone he'd never get rid of. One smile from him would be all it took. Tad put that encounter in the wrong column and marked it with a star.

There was plenty else to think about, too. Tad let his mind roll back and forth not only over the day, but his whole life. When he did that it gave him a feeling that nothing changed or ever went away. He smiled to himself now, thinking of his mother. Spring never meant much to her. She hardly noticed the seasons, always planted flowers much too early.

Tad always warned her, too. "Ma, if you plant flowers this early, they're not gonna grow."

"Everything grows sooner or later, son," his mama would say to him, smiling her crooked smile, showing her little teeth. Tad didn't like seeing those ugly teeth, but never told her so. Of course she didn't listen to a thing he said, just kept planting anyway, right in the middle of winter, too. Knocking herself out for nothing.

When Tad saw her do that he'd laugh. "Some things die before they're born, Ma," Tad liked to warn. "Look, it's freezing, the wind's blowing, the earth is tough. Give it at least another month."

Do you think she listened? Of course not. Why would she listen to a rotten kid like him, whose father left the family the very day he was born?

"Your dad just took one look at you, son, gritted his teeth, and backed out of here fast." Tad's mother told him that over and over. "Did he even leave us a thank-you note? Nah, he took it all for granted. You gonna go find him for me one day and bring him back home again?"

"Maybe I will," Tad told her, "you never can tell. Maybe one day I'll be beautiful and he'll be happy to see me again." If that ever happened, Tad would put that in the right column for sure.

"Beautiful, you?" His mother rocked with laughter.

When springtime came and her flowers didn't bloom, Tad looked at the scrawny leaves that pushed up through the soil and jeered at her.

"See, I told you," he said, pointing at them.

"Shut yourself  right up," his mom snapped back at him.

"Okay, Mom, I'm shutting up." Tad would grab his school bag and skittle away down the block, looking at all the other yards, where irises, geraniums, and tulips would soon be blooming, flaunting themselves in the warm sunshine, making a fool of her!

Of course that that was years ago. But it was spring again now, wasn't it? Tad wondered if his mother could see him these days, planting flowers everywhere?

# Chapter 5

Tracy had no idea how exhausted and hungry she was until she stepped into her small suite at the Ragoon Hotel, the same place the FBI had set her up in before. The hotel was clean and well located with decent services and food. She could call down for dinner and it would be sent up quickly. This time her suite was in the back. It looked over the roofs of commercial buildings nearby and was dark. There was a little sitting room with a table where she could work, a small bedroom in the rear, and a large bathroom with an oversized bathtub.

Tracy walked in and began unpacking. She was surprised that Hunter let her go so early, but he was right. They all needed some rest. There wasn't much more they could do right now anyway. The search for the second victim was over, the body was found. They were now shifting into the next phase of the investigation, busy collecting forensic evidence and talking to the family. More information would come in during the night. For now, Tracy was glad to be back at the hotel.

She dropped some things on the bed and ran her hands through her hair. Everything in her bones told her to get as much rest as she could now. It would get harder and busier as things got going. Tracy was surprised at Hunter's reaction when she mentioned expecting another victim. Did he truly believe the killings were over? That was a pipe dream. Of course Tracy could understand why Hunter would want to believe that. Clay had been more even-minded about it, though. Tracy liked both of them anyway..

It had been about five months since Tracy had last worked with Hunter and she noticed changes in him. He'd hardened a bit, was somewhat more distant. Probably the effects of his divorce and decision to play it solo, she thought. Bitterness could do that to a person. Tracy had seen it before and she'd see it again.

Tracy picked up the house phone and called down for dinner, ordering a bowl of pasta, house salad, garlic bread, and ginger ale. One thing Tracy had always been thrilled about was that she could eat as much as she wanted and stay shapely and slim. She didn't know why or how exactly, probably because she used so much nervous energy. Her best friend, Carla, had said that to her in the past and it made sense. Even though Carla lived close by, Tracy hadn't seen or spoken to her much this past year. She felt bad about it, but life was taking on a momentum of its own. Teaching at the college, working at the hospital, and preparing one public talk after another scooped up all of Tracy's time. She was definitely on a roll, couldn't even imagine how she'd found time to build a relationship with Wess. Probably because the two of them were so much alike, thought Tracy. They fit each other in whenever they could.

 While waiting for the food to be brought up, Tracy began to hang the few dresses and suits she'd brought in the closet. After dinner she'd take a long shower and then set the alarm for six  in the morning When on a case Tracy got up early, ate, and exercised. Then, before the day had time to take a toll, she'd sometimes write notes, letting all kinds of things float up to mind. Tracy was amazed how many times she'd get a lead from doing that. One time it suddenly hit her where a killer was hiding. She called the police immediately and they were able to flush him out. That was incredibly empowering and fascinating.

Working as a psychologist with patients at the hospital for the criminally insane, Tracy had come to believe that buried deep within each person was all they needed to know about the  crime. She believed that everyone had a radar that could lead them exactly to the culprit, if only they could access it. Most had no idea about how to do it, however, just went around in circles, getting lost and found, again and again. Tracy had been through that herself.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Probably the food, thought Tracy, going over to open up. Tracy's paused at the door, however, and slipped on the latch to make certain. After all, you never knew who was here.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Room service," a man's voice answered.

Tracy opened the door just a little, leaving the latch on. Rom service was standing there with dinner.

"Thanks," said Tracy. "Leave the tray outside and I'll bring it in. Slip the receipt in through the crack in the door and I'll sign it."

The guy slipped a piece of paper and pen in through the crack. It could never hurt being too careful. There were plenty of people out there who would be delighted to get her thrown off the case. After room service left, Tracy opened the door and rolled in the tray. Then she sat down and ate ravenously, as the images of the two women who'd been killed rose in her mind. Their images spoke to her, called her to action, begged her to find the killer. They reminded her of how she felt when her own mother disappeared. She remembered the shock and horror of it and how she'd vowed to find her and bring her home. That vow hadn't dimmed in all these years, either. Tracy felt that all the cases she solved brought her a step closer.

 Tonight the food was surprisingly good and Tracy felt satisfied. She was just about to go take a long bath when her phone rang. Probably Hunter calling to fill her in on something important.

Or maybe, someone else had gone missing already. She wouldn't be surprised.

*

Tracy snatched up the phone, alert. "Yes?" she said.

To Tracy's surprise, it was Wess. "Where are you? Why haven't you called?" he said.

Tracy breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God, Wess. I thought someone else went missing!"

"Went missing?" Wess sounded put off. "I was just calling to check that you got to Boston okay."

"Yes, of course, thanks," said Tracy. "I'm glad you called. Actually, I'm surprised to be hearing from you."

"Surprised?" That didn't sit well with Wess. "What world are you living in, Tracy? We were supposed to be getting engaged tonight! Or don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember." Tracy's voice softened.

"I told you the time was coming to make a commitment and that it would be at our dinner tonight." Wess's voice took on a strange quality.

"I know you said that and I was excited about it," Tracy responded.

"Do you think this decision has been easy for me?" Wess went on.

"Of course not," Tracy replied, "how could it be easy?"

"It's huge," he continued, "and you know not everyone's been in favor of it, either."

Tracy did know that. Wess was from a wealthy family and grew up entitled. All he had to do was reach out for anything he wanted and it was his. That was the opposite of how Tracy had been raised and she knew Wess's family disapproved of his choice. They wanted him to marry someone from their circles in Connecticut. Someone who would make him a gracious and stable home, live near the family, attend all the right events. And there were no lack of candidates, either. Wess was one of the most sought-after bachelors. No one could understand why he'd chosen a forensic psychologist and criminal profiler to be his wife. It disturbed everyone.

But Wess had felt close to Tracy from the first moment they met at an ice skating party. He'd come right over to her, asked her to skate, and as they circled the rink together Tracy felt both of them relax deeply. It felt so good to be together. As if they'd been together for years.

"You're beautiful," Wess had whispered to her. "I never expected to meet someone like you tonight."

Tracy had looked up at him and grinned. "Who knew?" she'd replied. "I'm happy to meet you too."

From that time on, neither had dated anyone else, despite Wess's family's consternation.

Something has to be wrong with Tracy, Wess's mother had suggested to him over and over. What woman would choose to hunt down criminals? Wess's father, saying little, was more gracious, but not thrilled. Wess had mentioned this to Tracy several times. She knew he was going against his family's wishes and that it was hard for him.

Tracy's family consisted only of her father, who'd remarried years ago. He'd had a new family for a long time now and Tracy existed only on the outskirts of his life. The one time Tracy had brought Wess to meet them, her father and stepmother were cordial, but basically uninterested. It didn't seem to matter to them much.

"Do you realize what I'm up against when I propose to you?" Wess's voice now had an edge.

"Of course I realize," said Tracy, her own voice rising as well. "But I haven't pushed you to do this! I never pleaded for marriage."

"No you haven't," Wess relented. Tracy was unlike the other women he knew in that regard and he liked  that about her.

"You felt we were a match, you said so yourself," Tracy continued. "And I felt that way, too."

"How can I believe you feel that way when you're acting like this?" Wess responded flatly.

Wess needed reassurance, Tracy realized it. For all his prowess at work and with women, deep down he was frightened about being with her. Tracy couldn't reassure him right now, though. This very moment she was uncertain herself about what was going on between them.

"How can we know if it's right? How can we?" Wess continued.

Tracy put the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Maybe Wess's mother was right, maybe he belonged with someone from his own circle who would live a totally predictable life. Maybe Wess couldn't handle unexpected challenges, just needed someone he could count on to do what was right.

"You're not answering me, Tracy," Wess continued.

 Tracy wondered if Wess fully knew who she was? He seemed to have no idea what she was up against now. There was no way to make him realize it, either. A pit in Tracy's stomach started to form. Could their relationship make it through the hard times?  The idea of losing Wess was painful. They had become anchors for each other in a chaotic world.

"Let's talk more about this later on." Tracy's voice suddenly had a faltering tone. "I love you, Wess."

"Love me?" Wess sounded startled. It wasn't something they easily said to one another.

"Yes, I love you, I care about you, what we have is good." The words poured out of Tracy. "Let's not mix everything up together. Try to step back a minute, be patient."

Wess grew quieter. "I've never been a patient person, Tracy," he said sadly. "I wasn't raised to be patient."

"So maybe now you can try it?" Tracy responded, gently.

Wess was shaken off his game. "Who knows?" he replied. "Anything is possible."

"I'd appreciate that, Wess, I really would," said Tracy.

"All right, all right, you're important to me, too," he muttered and then quietly hung up the phone.

Tracy was enormously relieved when the call was over. She couldn't deal with everything at once. She did love Wess and care about him. She felt he cared for her as well, so far as they both understood what love was all about. It wasn't something either of them had focused on much, she realized. Both of them just really wanted to find someone, settle down, put dating behind them. Tracy believed that once they built a life together, deep roots of understanding would grow.

She'd seen that possibility in him, too. So many times Wess could be open to all she felt, be understanding and compassionate. But maybe Tracy's work was too much for him? Maybe she was just refusing to see what was in front of her eyes, afraid to reach out for  someone who had lived on the rough side of life, knew the world Tracy moved in  every day?

Tracy went to the bathroom, drew a long bath, and tried to put Wess out of her mind. She submerged herself in the hot water and allowed herself to unwind. She had to have a good sleep to be fresh for what the next day would bring. You never knew.  What Tracy loved so much about the work was the total unpredictability of each day. Tracy loved being in the dark one moment and then suddenly seeing an unexpected connection that hadn't been there before.

By now Tracy realized that ultimately nothing and no one could be hidden forever. It was exciting to realize that again and again. It gave Tracy hope, kept her going. It even made her feel that sooner or later, she would discover who took her mother. She would find her mother, alive and well. What a moment it would be to see her again. That knowledge was a flame smoldering within that never dimmed.

# Chapter 6

Tracy was up at six sharp, rested and ready to go. She called down for breakfast, did her stretches, dressed in a navy blue linen tank dress with a short white jacket, and put on a strand of red beads and comfortable sandals. There was going to be lots of walking today.

Right after dressing, she drank her last drop of her coffee and thought about the day ahead. She was scheduled to meet Hunter and Clay in front of the FBI offices in a few minutes. From then on everything was up for grabs. Could be she'd get some good leads today, maybe the very one needed to stop the next killing. Tracy couldn't wait to see the crime scenes with her own eyes and talk directly to the people involved. There was something important out there waiting for her, she felt it.

She got on the elevator and dropped down to the street floor. As she stepped outside the early morning sun flooded her face. Tracy started walking to the FBI offices wondering when the next victim would go missing. Was the killer lurking in plain sight, maybe only a few steps away?

*

Hunter and Clay were standing outside the FBI building when Tracy arrived.

"You're three minutes early. That's great," Hunter greeted Tracy as Clay motioned for the car that was waiting for them to pull up. "Good morning, Tracy," said Clay as they piled into the car. "Have a good sleep?"

"Very," said Tracy as she slid next to Hunter on the back seat.  Clay sat up front beside the driver who quickly started the car and pulled away.

"We sent out a press notice that you're on the case," Hunter said. "The news will be in the papers and on the air today."

"Good," said Tracy, pleased. She was eager to see what kind of response the announcement would generate. Would the killer hear about it? How would he react? Tracy would love nothing more than a confrontation with him.

"Our tip line's been set up for a while now," Hunter continued. "Hopefully, this news will stir something more up."

 "I hope so," said Tracy as Clay drove through the early morning streets of Boston traffic. "The Swan Boat rides are our first stop for today," Hunter went on. "After that we'll stop in at Shannon's home and have a few words with her family. They're expecting us. Then we'll backtrack, go to the first crime scene, the alley where Tina was found. Once you see that, we can go speak to the people who knew her."

"A busy day," said Tracy impressed as always by their careful work..

The car moved deftly through early morning traffic, in and out of the lanes.  Soon they drove up to the Boston Common, where the Swan Boat rides were located. The day was overcast and it was so early that the gates of the park were not officially opened yet. Someone was going to meet them and let them in.

As they got out of the car and walked toward the entrance, Tracy let the  cool breezes blow over her gently. She remembered the times she'd come here as a child, excited to have a beautiful day. Now as she got closer, Tracy could see the outline of the huge Swan Boats proudly framing the sky. They would never seem the same, not to her or anyone.

Hunter nodded to the police officer stationed at the entrance, who gave Tracy a cursory glance. So many had already been here collecting evidence, the officer probably wondered what was left to find. He opened the gates for them without so much as a word.

Tracy, Hunter, and Clay walked past the guard, into the park, toward the lagoon where the Swan Boats were docked. A crime scene and off limits to the public, the boats were cordoned off by yellow bands. The three of them walked under the bands and straight onto the boat where the body had been found.  In response, the boat rocked gently under their feet as they climbed on.

Tracy stood still a moment, looking at the sky, water, and beautiful trees bordering the lagoon. Standing on the boat, looking out at the world, everything seemed so pristine and innocent. The last place you'd expect to find a crime scene.  Tracy wanted to go over every moment of what had happened here. She looked over the boat carefully. By now it had been thoroughly scanned for evidence, and from what she'd heard, the police hadn't found anything, so far. There was really nothing to see except the sense of a heavy imprint in the corner where the body had been found. Tracy could feel the body lying there, crouched together in the morning sun. The memory of Shannon's death would always linger there, thought Tracy, , haunting everyone. This killer knew what he was doing. Or at least that's what he thought.

Tracy pulled her phone out of her bag and took her own photos, just in case anything later came to mind. The killer had dumped the body here very early, before the park had a chance to open. There was no other way it could have been lying there, waiting, when the rides started up that day.

"What time are the front gates unlocked in the morning?" Tracy asked.

"Ten a.m. sharp, " said Hunter.

"So the killer came in with the body through the back way then," Tracy noted. "There's a little arbor way in the back that you can get to from the street." Tracy remembered it from years ago.

"That's right," Hunter listened. "There is an opening there."

The killer had scanned the grounds carefully, thought Tracy. "There were two weeks between the time Shannon disappeared and when she was found. Do you know yet how long she'd been dead before she turned up?"

"We'll know later today," said Hunter.

"It's important," Tracy murmured. "Did he keep her alive and torture her? Or did he kill her quickly and keep the dead body with him? The place to look for more evidence would be where he'd kept and killed her."

"This is the best we have for now." Hunter breathed heavily. "Hopefully the interviews will also help."

Hunter walked to the edge of the boat and rubbed his hand along it slowly. The breeze, which had grown stronger, rumpled his hair. An air of sadness seemed to overtake him and Tracy had a moment of feeling badly for him. She walked up behind him.

"Don't worry, we'll get him," she whispered.

"You bet we will," he replied gruffly.

Clay stepped over to where both of them were standing. "Heartbreaking to find a dead mother in a place like this," he said. "I wonder if she brought her children here. Was this a place she loved? Did he know it?"

"The killer left her here for shock value," Tracy responded. "He has a need to destroy beauty and innocence. He wants to terrify kids."

"Are you saying his next victim will be a child?" Clay looked rattled.

"No," Tracy replied. "This victim was a mother, though. He's obviously getting to her kids through her, as well."

"Good point," Clay agreed.

"Let's not talk about future victims right now!" Hunter sharply intervened. "We've had two already in a short time. That's more than enough."

Tracy looked down along the empty boat. They actually had almost nothing right now. They didn't even know where Shannon had been killed. Tracy tried to put herself in the killer's shoes, feel what he'd been going through.  As she did, she realized that leaving Shannon's body here was a victory for him. He must loathe the families who came to these rides, badly wanted to spoil it for them. Why? she wondered. Was a happy family something he'd always longed for and could never have? Was he jealous of the happiness of others? Determined to destroy it as best he could? Did it thrill him to leave others as wounded as he was?

"Do you see anything else here, Tracy? Talk to us," Hunter went on.

There was nothing to see on the boat itself, but Tracy  did notice that at the very edge of the boat near where the body had been found the paint was rubbed off. It looked edgy and raw--just like the killer. Tracy looked around at the other beautiful Swan Boats, bobbing in the wind, totally unaware of what had happened. She thought of the excited children who had boarded the boats that day, looking forward to a wonderful ride.

"The killer is most likely re-experiencing some trauma he went through as a child in a playground, camp, or at school, Tracy mused out loud. "He was probably bullied. He must have been different from others even at an early age. Now he's doing to others what was done to him. He's trying to gain power where he once felt powerless."

"We should focus on finding someone who feels powerless?" asked Clay.

"This guy doesn't feel anything." Hunter's lips grew tight. "This is the work of a psychopath if I ever saw one. No one who has the least strain of humanity in them could do something like this."

"He once had feelings, psychopath or not," Tracy asserted. "Something devastating happened to him that he couldn't handle. He crumbled inside, became more and more twisted, and this is the end result."

Hunter turned to Tracy with an odd look on his face. "Where's all this psychologizing leading?  You're not excusing this guy, are you?"

"Of course not," said Tracy. "I'm not blaming or excusing him. I'm a scientist.  It's my job to find out who he is, why he did this, and lead you to him as soon as possible."

Hunter felt satisfied with her answer. "Okay," he said, "let's move on."

# Chapter 7

The next step was to speak to Shannon's family and Tracy was looking forward to it. They'd gotten clearance to go to her home for just half an hour. Needless to say, the entire family was incredibly distressed and Shannon's children were being guarded from the public.

"The family will be interviewed in depth a little later on," said Hunter. "We've already started interviewing Shannon's friends at acquaintances at the office."

"Half an hour is good," said Tracy, eager to step into Shannon's world.

The FBI car drove up to a ranch home in a fine neighborhood, a few blocks away from the local church Shannon had worked at. As they drove along the neighborhood, all seemed to be in perfect order, the manicured lawns well cared for, the spring plantings in bloom.

"Once again, the killer struck disorder in the heart of an orderly world," Tracy speculated. She tried to envision how he had ever run into Shannon. What possible connection could they have had?

Hunter, Tracy, and Clay got out of the car and walked to the front door. Hunter knocked loudly.

A pale young woman in her mid-twenties, wearing an apron over her dress, opened up.

"Please come in," she said graciously, "you're expected." She seemed to work for the family. Obviously ill at ease, the young woman showed them into a simple, traditionally furnished living room and motioned for them to sit down.

"I realize this is a hard time to talk to law enforcement," Tracy offered as she sat on the beautiful formal sofa. Tracy wanted to see if she could get anything out of the young woman.

"Of course it is." The young woman looked straight at Tracy.

"How are the children doing?" Tracy jumped at the slight connection between them.

"They're fine. You can't see them." The young woman became startled.

Just then an attractive man in his early forties walked in. He looked tired, but clean and well groomed. This had to be the victim's husband, Jeffrey Glaze, thought Tracy.

" That's enough, Alba," Jeffrey said to the young woman. "You can go to the children now. They need you."

Alba nodded deferentially and rushed out of the room, not looking back.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak to us at such a terrible moment." Hunter stood up and extended his hand to him.

"You're welcome," said Jeffrey, bypassing the handshake. Instead, he sat down on a dark green upholstered chair and looked them over.

"We wouldn't be here so early on," Tracy spoke, "except that we fear another killing is about to take place. Anything you can tell us could help prevent that from happening."

"I realize that," said Jeffrey. "That's why I'm talking to you now. What can I tell you?"

"How could your wife  have possibly come into contact with  the killer?" Hunter started boldly. "Any ideas at all?"

Jeffrey looked at Hunter coldly. "None at all. Absolutely none. In fact, it's out of the range of my imagination."

Clay picked it up from there. "Can you tell us about your wife's patterns of movement, how she spent her days, where she went, who she spent time with? Who did she inadvertently run into?"

Jeffrey cleared his throat. "There was nothing noteworthy about how Shannon spent her days, nothing at all. She took care of the children, prepared the meals, kept the house in order. She worked half days at the nursery school in the church, a few blocks away. Shannon had many friends, they had lunch occasionally. Other days they arranged play dates for the children. Believe me, the full range of her activities covered a finite number of blocks. She was happy, though, she liked it this way. As my law firm began to grow we hired Alba to help out. It was all going well, no glitches. Nothing to ever warn us of something like this."

Jeffrey spoke in a methodical, lawyerly fashion and as Tracy listened to him she scanned the room they were in. There was nothing unusual or questionable here either. A few toys were scattered in one corner, and framed pictures of the family were everywhere. The home was no different from many others in the neighborhood, Tracy supposed. A large photo of Shannon caught Tracy's eyes. She was lovely to look at, in the bloom of life, with ash-blonde hair..

"Where did Shannon go missing from? Who was the last one to see her?" Tracy asked methodically. It was all in the record, but she wanted to hear it directly from him.

"We don't know who last saw her exactly, yet," Jeffrey replied, looking at Tracy oddly. "Several of the other nursery school teachers mentioned seeing her walk down the hallway and leave school as she did every day after work. Nothing unusual. Shannon walked out the front doors to go home, and that was the last anyone saw her. The search for my wife went on for about two weeks. Everyone's heard about it."

Tracy needed to hear Jeffrey talk about it, see his reaction, get a flavor of their relationship.

"What time did she leave work?" asked Tracy.

"The same as always, about twelve thirty in the afternoon," Jeffrey replied.

The killer had to have grabbed her in plain daylight, thought Tracy. It was unlikely that she was grabbed, though. It had to have been someone she knew and was familiar with. There was no struggle at all. She had gone with him gladly.

"Did Shannon usually get a lift home with someone?" Tracy asked.

"Not that I know of." Jeffrey shrugged. "I suppose she might have, once in a while, but it never came up. Her co-workers and friends would know more about that. They're speaking to the police directly."

"Yes, that's true," Hunter confirmed.

Jeffrey looked at them quizzically. "What else can I add?" he asked. "Shannon was a fine, upright woman, a fabulous mother. She loved kids, all of them. She was a favorite teacher at the nursery school. All the kids wanted to be in her class."

 Being a great mother was one thing, and a great wife another, thought Tracy. "You had a good marriage?" she asked.

"The best," Jeffrey replied, offended. "Are you suggesting otherwise? Has anyone said anything like that?"

"No, not at all," Tracy answered, when suddenly an older woman came into the room. From the look on her face, it had to be Shannon's mother. Although stalwart in appearance, she was now slightly bent over.

"The children need you, Jeffrey," she said in no uncertain terms.

Jeffrey got up quickly and nodded. "I'm going, Agnes," he responded and then turned to Tracy. "That's all I have to say," he continued, before going to the door and leaving Agnes behind with them.

"I'm so sorry for your terrible loss," Tracy said to Agnes.

"For everyone's terrible loss." Agnes's voice cracked. "No one will ever replace my daughter, not for me or her children, ever."

"Of course not," Tracy murmured, feeling the old pit in her stomach. "One person can never replace another."

"How can I help you?" Agnes looked kindly at Tracy, seeming to appreciate her understanding.

"Anything you can tell us about your daughter's life that could have possibly led to her death would be greatly valued," Tracy spoke softly.

"Of course it would," Agnes answered under her breath. "I'm not sure if I knew everything about Shannon's life, though." She looked down at the floor. "I always lived near my daughter, came to help often, but about a year ago, Shannon stopped speaking as freely as she used to. I figured something was going on she might be upset about." Agnes turned her startling gray eyes on Tracy then. "But how would I know? It just thought so."

Tracy took a step closer. "Like what could have been going on?" she asked confidentially, one woman talking to another under the cloak of secrecy.

Agnes took a step closer to Tracy as well, seemingly glad to have the opportunity to talk.

"I actually thought Shannon's husband, Jeffrey, was having an affair," Agnes said in a grating tone. "He was gone a lot more than usual and came home later at night, too. That much Shannon told me. What else should I think?"

Tracy took a deep breath. "Did you ask Shannon why he was out so much?"

"She just said his business was growing," Agnes replied. "Shannon was very proud of Jeffrey's law firm."

Tracy wouldn't let it go at that. "What reason did you have not to believe your daughter? What made you think Jeffrey was having an affair?"

"No reason that I can point to." Agnes's voice grew murky. "Just sometimes mothers feel these things. And how do we know? Maybe the woman Jeffrey was with was jealous of Shannon, wanted her life? That's all I can think of day and night now."

The door opened swiftly then and Jeffrey marched back into the room, right over to Agnes, putting his arm around her.

"There's no reason for you to be upsetting Shannon's mother," he spoke abruptly to Tracy. "She has enough to deal with right now, doesn't she?"

"She's not upsetting me, Jeffrey." Agnes stood straighter. "We're trying to find Shannon's killer! Aren't we? Aren't we?"

"Enough is enough," Jeffrey repeated, overriding her comment. "It's time for law enforcement to leave."

Tracy had no choice but to back off, and Hunter and Clay as well.

"That's fine," Hunter responded. "We appreciate being here at all. Thank you for your time."  "If there's anything else you may think of that can help, please let us know."

"I will," Jeffrey replied as he quickly showed them all to the door.

# Chapter 8

The atmosphere was tense as Tracy, Clay, and Hunter got back into the car. Tracy immediately told them what Agnes had said about Jeffrey which only intensified their emotion.

 "Everyone wants to blame someone after a death," Clay responded, "especially when it's a murder. I'd take what Agnes said with a grain of salt."

"Think she's imagining things?" asked Hunter.

"Most probably," said Clay, "but her daughter's just died. She's trying to make sense out of it."

"We have to look into her claim," Tracy insisted. "Find out if Jeffrey had affairs and who they were."

"In and of itself an affair means nothing," Hunter insisted. "Lots of husbands have affairs. If we're only looking for one killer, the question we have to keep in mind is how any affair Jeffrey had could be connected to Tina's death, too."

"You never know," Tracy went with it. "If Jeffrey wasn't satisfied at home, if he needed sex, for all we know he could have been Tina's customer."

"Please." Hunter bristled. "Why would a man like Jeffrey need a prostitute? There are plenty of women out there who would throw themselves at him in a minute."

"Could be he likes prostitutes," Tracy suggested. "Plenty of successful guys prefer it. All business with no emotional ties."

Hunter flinched.

"Or, if he was having an affair," Clay chimed in, "could be his wife found out about it. Maybe it drove her straight into the arms of the guy who killed her?"

"We have to find out more about Jeffrey's late nights out," Tracy  insisted. "We also have to learn what Shannon did all those nights she was alone."

"As soon as they heard that Shannon went missing, the cops looked into Jeffrey," Hunter said. "He came up as clean as a whistle. Friends said they had a picture book marriage. Jeffrey worked hard, was good to Shannon, and a great dad. Actually, if I remember correctly, when the first victim, Tina, went missing, Jeffrey and Shannon were out of town on vacation.  There's no connection between the cases. I'm sure of it."

Still, Tracy didn't like the way Jeffrey had gotten them out of the house so fast. There was something he was hiding, she was sure of it.

"Let's look harder," Tracy suggested. "Could be that Jeffrey Glaze has a whole different side to him. It's worth exploring."

"I'll put someone on it again if you feel so strongly," Hunter conceded.

Tracy was glad for the time they had together in the car, processing information. It helped to go over it bit by bit. She wanted even more time to go over Shannon's death before they went to the alley where Tina had been found. "How about a quick bite of lunch before our next stop?"  Clay suggested, looking at his watch.

"Not now," Hunter responded. "We can stop, grab a sandwich at the local deli, eat in the car and not lose any time."

"Twenty minutes sitting down in a diner isn't going to make the difference," Clay remarked.

"Everything makes a difference," said Hunter. "I want to get to the back alley where Tina was dumped while we still have enough good light."

The day had suddenly turned cloudy. and Hunter made sense, thought Tracy.

"There's been lots of rain this past week, too, so I don't know what Tracy thinks she'll see there," Hunter continued.

"It's the feel of being there that's important," said Tracy. "Each place talks to you in its own way. Let's stop for a bite after we finish up there."

The car turned off the next exit then and made straight toward a road that led directly to Dorchester. The streets got smaller and darker as they drove closer to the dark alley where Tina had been found.

"Look at it down here," Hunter couldn't help comment as they drove along. "Even if Jeffrey went to prostitutes, why would he come down here? It doesn't make sense."

"Nothing makes sense until it does," said Tracy. "It will for us soon, too. I'm sure of it."

*

They all became silent then as the car drove through dark, dirty streets, deep into the neighborhood that seemed more and more dilapidated with each passing block. Tracy took it all in. Shannon was left in daylight in a normative setting, much the way she lived. Tina was found in darkness, in a world where killings were common. Even with her mutilation, she wouldn't stand out particularly, or make waves here.

The car stopped. They got out and walked gingerly into the back alley, which was dingy, empty, and bare. A few empty beer cans lay scattered around and against all odds, a lone tree in the back was trying to grow.

Hunter led them to the very back of the alleyway. Then he pointed to a corner Tina had been stuffed into. "Here, this is where he dumped her," he said.

Tracy took a moment to experience it. Tina had been thrown here, like a piece of garbage. Before he was done with her, though, he needed to mutilate her. A final statement from a beast filled with hate, rage, and jealousy. What had she done to infuriate him so? Was it just who she was, or had they interacted? Had he been incapable of performing and then blamed her for it? There was a mustiness in the alley that made Tracy's head spin.

"Tina lived and worked a few blocks from here," Hunter commented. "From the amount of blood found with the body it seems this is definitely the place where she was killed."

Tracy had a stronger sense of Tina's death than she had of Shannon's. She slowly walked deep into the corner Tina had been stuffed in and bent down, wanting to experience what Tina had gone through. Crouching there in the darkness, Tracy felt like an animal who'd been suddenly cornered, without even the time to call out for help.

"Did she die quickly?" Tracy murmured. "Did she even know what hit her?"

"Autopsy said the death was immediate," Clay responded. "The killer slashed her throat, got the jugular, and the rest went fast. The mutilation was done postmortem."

Tracy winced, imagining it all. "No, that's not what happened," she finally said. "I believe Tina knew what hit her. It took her time to bleed out. She also knew the guy who killed her, or else it would never have happened."

"Could be he brought her here for quick sex," Clay suggested.

"Sounds reasonable," Hunter remarked, "even though sex never happened. And, like Shannon, there were no defensive wounds on the body or any signs that Tina put up a fight."

It was the joy of pure torture, thought Tracy. He got off on seeing the terror in the victim's eyes while he kept her and then killed her. Suddenly Tracy's eye caught the edge of a little object on the ground. It stuck out under a crack at the bottom of the back wall.

"What's this?" Tracy asked, taken aback.

Hunter stepped closer to take a look. "Just an old piece of wood, nothing much."

"No, it's something." Tracy was sure of it.

She turned towards the sliver of wood which was tightly embedded under the wall and pulled gently, so as not to break it. It stayed where it was.

"Pull harder," said Clay as he came closer.

Tracy pulled harder, and in a moment a little wooden crucifix, drenched from the rain and crusted with dirt, slipped out into her hands. This was the last thing she ever expected.

They all looked at it, startled.

 "Let's bring it in for fingerprinting and a general workup," Tracy suggested.

Hunter looked doubtful. "It's been two weeks since Tina was found. Lots of people have inspected the alley. This could belong to anyone," he said.

Tracy cradled the strange little crucifix. "No, it belonged to Tina," she said. "This is the wall she was stuffed against. It must have fallen out of her pocket when he pinned her down. It got stuck under the wall and nobody saw it. Finally, the rain dislodged a little piece it. Did Tina carry a crucifix with her? That's important it's amazing."

Hunter bit his lip. Tracy knew he thought she went off on a tangent from time to time and this could be one of them.

"It's not a bad idea to check it," Clay intervened on Tracy's behalf.

"Okay, we'll examine it," Hunter acquiesced. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"More information about Tina, and maybe someone else's fingerprints or DNA?"

Hunter looked at the crucifix skeptically. "I'd say it's a long shot."

"Long shot or close shot, we need any shot that comes our way. Don't we?" Tracy reminded him.

*

The clouds of the day turned into rain as they walked back to the car and drove to a diner for sandwiches and soup. It was good being indoors and a bowl of warm soup would hit the spot right now.

The waiter came and Hunter ordered for them all. "After this, we'll go talk to Tina's pimp, Salty. I know it's turning into a long day but we can't waste any time," Clay said as he looked at Tina. "It's great having you here with us."

"Thank you," said Tracy, "it's great being here with you, too." She appreciated the fact that Hunter and Clay had taken time to accompany her on the rounds today. It was good for them too, though. They got a chance to see things through her eyes. And there was no way Tracy could start on her profile without being in the actual places the women had been found and talking to people who knew them. A sudden glance, an offhand remark, a tiny object left unnoticed could lead straight to the killer. Tracy had experienced it many times.

The waiter brought the soups and sandwiches quickly and they all ate in relative silence.

After he finished eating, Hunter looked up at Tracy. "Knowing you, you'll enjoy talking to Salty," he said.

Tina looked at him curious. "Knowing me?"

Hunter suddenly flashed his wonderful grin. "You like people who live on the fringe, and they like you, Tracy. You do well with them. I've noticed it both times we've worked together."

Tracy was taken aback by Hunter's beautiful smile. She wasn't sure if his remark was a compliment or not. "Who did I talk to who's on the fringe? I just got Agnes to say what she really thought."

"I wasn't thinking of the people's at Shannon's," Hunter responded. "I was just thinking that I feel better with you around when we go to the fringes. You get the people there. They get you. It's interesting. I've wondered how come you're so comfortable around them."

Tracy was silenced. What Hunter said was true. She didn't know why it was, however. She'd lived most of her life in the mainstream, studying at good schools and working in prestigious places. She even had a boyfriend who was about as mainstream as you could get.

"Maybe so." Tracy smiled. "But that's not how I live my life."

Clay smiled at her comment. "Hunter didn't mean that you're a fringe type," he corrected. "There's just a part of you that's a real maverick, Tracy. It's good. It's helpful. We value it."

Tracy took the compliment as it was offered, although it made her uneasy. It made her think about Wess for a moment, too. Was that part of the trouble between them? Did he sense an edgy side to her that didn't match his lifestyle?

"Well, one thing I'm not is a wilting lily," Tracy commented. "All kinds of people fascinate me."

Hunter paid for the dinner quickly and they all piled back into the car. The rain had gotten stronger and they huddled together a moment as the car drove further down into Tina's neighborhood,--where Salty, the pimp was waiting for them.

# Chapter 9

When Tad finished work he had plenty of time on his hands. After buying a few fresh flowers, he'd walk home every night and then first thing he'd do was check the news. Tad didn't have anyone to give the flowers to, so he'd put them in a blue vase that was chipped at the edges after so many years of use. In fact, his whole life long Tad had only had one girlfriend, and that didn't turn out well. It wasn't because he wasn't attractive though.. He wasn't bad looking for a guy in his late forties. He had wavy, messy brown hair, nice blue eyes, and thin lips that grew drier as the years went by. Otherwise, he was tall and strong, with a solid, square frame.

When people asked Tad if he'd like them to introduce him to a woman, he'd always say thank you, but no. There were too many things he had to do with his time that were more important. He didn't want to spend night after night after work trying to please someone who could never be pleased. When he met someone, he wanted it to happen on its own. He wanted it to be destiny calling. So, the first thing he did after putting his flowers into the blue vase was to flip on the TV and turn to the news.

 These days the TV and papers were filled with stories about that killer on the loose. They always had to find something to suck you in, didn't they? Why not focus on something worthwhile, like the people at the homeless shelter he lived in before he got his job? Why not write about how badly they needed housing? There were kids who lived there, too. That was the real crime. This killer was just a freak that probably wandered into town from nowhere and needed to get some steam off his chest.. He needed someone to notice him and the papers were obliging.

Even though it pissed Tad off that the guy got so much attention, still he enjoyed reading about the killer's antics. The more he read, the sicker he got, though. Boy, was this fella out of his mind. Why in hell would be grab two women, kill them, and leave them both to be found in broad daylight? Tad shuddered. The world was slowly going to hell and he was watching it happen. If he ever met the killer, he'd give him a good shaking. He'd say, Wake up, buddy! There are more important things to do with your time.

The cops weren't doing so well finding him either. They never did, did they? All that money spent to pay the cops wasted. Better to give it to kids at the homeless shelters. Tad kept reading anyway. The papers said they'd brought someone in from New York to help with the case. A woman, no less. That was stupid. What could a woman add to a case like this? She'd only make the killer more angry, make him want to get her too. And of course, he could do it in a second. From the looks of it in the paper, this killer was playing the cops for fools. He could do anything he set his mind to. Tad chortled, curious to see how it would all go. He wondered if he should write a letter to the editor about it, let them know what was on his mind. Seemed like the police could sure use some guidance.

After he finished reading, Tad crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor near the small cot he slept on. He didn't feel right having a nice, soft bed, when so many in the shelters slept on cots just like this, the one he was sleeping on.

Tad looked down at the crumpled newspaper. He didn't know why he even bothered wasting his time, reading rubbish like that. He knew he should be sitting here reading the bible instead, like his mom always did before she died. Tad remembered watching her turn the pages slowly, mouthing the words as she read. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."

 But no matter how much she read that, it didn't keep her alive anyway, did it? And besides, if the Lord was her shepherd, it meant his mom was a sheep. But she wasn't a sheep, she was a tiger. She mauled people and hurt them. How could she explain that?

Of course he never said anything like that to her. He just promised her that after she was gone he'd be a good boy and read the bible like she did each day. In fact, there was a bible lying here right now on the floor right next to Tad's cot. He seldom picked it up though. It just lay there reminding him of the promise to his mother that he never would keep.

# Chapter 10

Salty was waiting in a small, ramshackle house behind a deli on a winding street. He knew they were coming and was ready to talk. In fact, he told the police he was happy the FBI were on their way over. Tina had been one of his favorites and Salty wasn't taking the situation lying down.

As soon as they got to his house, Hunter walked quickly to the door and rang the bell. A big, heavy guy, with tattoos on his arm, a shaved head, and small red printed scarf tied around his throat opened up. He and Hunter looked at each other.

"Come right in," Salty grunted, stepping to the side.

Hunter, Tracy, and Clay walked into a low, narrow living room filled with half-broken furniture. The rug had stains on it and narrow, ripped blinds covered the windows. The room smelled of stale beer and cigarettes and had obviously seen better days.

Tracy took a deep breath and held her head high, as if there were no other place she'd rather be. Guys like Salty were sensitive to people's reactions and she didn't want him to feel that his place didn't cut the mustard..

"Thanks for having us here." Tracy was the first one to speak. This was obviously Salty's home. Had Tina lived here with him? If so, there were no signs of it. Had he gotten rid of her belongings to save himself?

As Hunter predicted, Salty was at ease with Tracy, giving her a surprising smile.

"Sit down," he offered,  as if they were old friends. "We got a lot to talk about. Nice to see you."

Grateful, Tracy took a seat and Hunter and Clay followed suit.

"Okay, so everything we say here is off the record, right?" Salty had to be certain.

"Absolutely," said Tracy. "Good," Salty replied. "The police already talked to plenty of people in Tina's life and nothing's come of it." He shrugged sadly. "Girls down here die and it's not such a big deal. But it's different since the second dame turned up dead. Now everyone's running scared."

"Let's go over it all from the beginning," Hunter suggested. "Maybe we can pick up something they missed."

"Sure thing." Salty licked his lips. "What do you want to know? Tina used to be a dancer, and now she had customers."  He looked at them slyly. "She went twice a week to recovery meetings for drugs. She was doing good."

 "Heroine?" asked Tracy.

"Yeah." Salty didn't seem to want to get into particulars. "The police interviewed the other dancers, some of her regulars, and even a few of the girls here. They also talked to people at the meetings she attended. Everyone they spoke to had only good things to say. No one had a thing against her. No one!"

"Did they speak to the drug dealers?" asked Tracy.

Salty's eyes narrowed. "I heard they did," he said.

Tracy noticed that Salty said nothing about him being Tina's pimp. That was still staying off the record, she assumed.

"You were close to Tina, Salty?" Tracy asked him then.

Salty stopped cold. "She was my girl," he spoke intensely.

"Who killed her?" Hunter barged in.

Salty's eyes grew thin and slippery. "You think if I knew who killed my girl the guy would still be alive today?"  Some spittle dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. "There's honor on these streets, believe it or not."

"I believe it," Clay chimed in.

"Could it have been one of her customers?" Tracy wanted to move deeper into Tina's life.

"Nah, not a chance." Salty shook his head vigorously. "I know her johns inside out. You think just anyone can come along, hang out here, and then get rid of one of our girls? It doesn't work like that, and they know it."

"How about a casual encounter she had late at night?" asked Hunter. "Someone she just happened to pick up?"

"No such thing as a casual encounter here." Salty's face turned sour. "Tina didn't work the streets. I knew everyone she had contact with." Salty slammed his foot on the floor. "Everyone who booked her got my okay first. They also knew that if they started up with her, they started up with me!"

Tracy was struck by Salty's pride. He obviously saw himself as Tina's protector. Tracy wondered how many girls he had in his stable, but didn't want to ask right now. Things were going smoothly between them and she wanted to keep it that way.

"How do you know Tina didn't work the streets behind your back?" Clay asked, trying to goad him into saying more.

Salty rubbed his bald head. "Tina never did anything behind my back," he repeated. "She was a good girl. The best. Once I find out who this guy is, he's last night's newspaper."

"Unless we find him first," Hunter inserted, uncomfortable.

"We need to work together on this, Salty!"  Tracy was emphatic. She didn't want Salty doing the job on his own. "He didn't just kill Tina, there's another victim now."

"I heard that," Salty mumbled, looking at Tracy appreciatively. "But that's a different lady in a different place. If you ask me, there definitely could be more than one killer on the loose."

Hunter nodded in agreement. "Possible, for sure."

"No, I don't think so," Tracy interrupted. "There's a connection between the killings."

"Like what?" Salty looked confounded.

"Tell me more and I'll let you know," said Tracy. "Who was the last to see Tina alive?"

"I've been asked that question at last ten times by now," Salty grumbled. "I don't know. It had to be one of her johns. It wasn't until the morning that we realized she was gone."

"Which john? You know who she was seeing that day?" Tracy insisted.

"I don't have her exact schedule," Salty grumbled. "I don't know which was her last. If I knew who it was he'd be dead by now."

"Did you give the police a list of her customers?" Hunter looked disdainful.

Salty dropped his head. "I did. I had to. I know who she usually saw that night. The cops spoke to them. Each guy had an alibi."

"Who would want Tina dead, Salty, who?" Clay joined in.

Salty looked at Clay with  painful eyes. "If I only knew that."

Tracy thought about the crucifix she'd found in the alleyway. If it didn't belong to Tina, who did it belong to? Who else might have dropped it there?

"I'm wondering if the killer could be someone from Tina's neighborhood?" Tracy took a new track. "I hear she was still in touch with people back home."

"Ridiculous," Salty said quickly, but then stopped to wonder if Tracy might have something there.  "Tina stayed in touch with a couple of high school friends and her brother Kirk," he added. "No one else would have anything to do with her at all. Except for Kirk, she was as good as dead to her family. Sometimes she'd go home for some stupid occasion or other, even though I told her not to."

"That's unusual, isn't it, going home?" Tracy piped up.

"Yeah, it is," Salty conceded. "But in the long run, I didn't see any harm in it."

"What kind of occasions did she go home for?" Hunter asked, interested.

"She went back for a graduation once, then a baby shower." Salty tossed it off lightly. "She also went back when the baby was born. When she returned she was always glad to see me. I saw it in her face."

"Why?" asked Tracy, deeply fascinated. "Didn't she want a better life for herself?"

""She had a good life here." Salty's voice grew gravelly. "Tina loved me. That made her life here very good."

"Loved you?" The disdain Hunter was feeling intensified all over his face.

"Yeah, she loved me." Salty turned to Hunter and flushed. "there's all kinds of love in this world, dude. People like you don't know what that means, but people like us, we understand."

Tracy took a long breath. She understood what Salty was saying and also knew that Hunter did not.

Clay quickly jumped in, getting the conversation back on track. "Who do you think killed her, Salty, and why?" he repeated.

"Damned if I know." Salty jumped up off his chair and went over to a table in the corner. Then he flipped open a photo album that was on it and brought it over to them. "I sit here looking over these photos day after day, thinking about it. These are the people she was close to and also some she just ran into. Tina liked taking pictures. Take a look for yourself. Tell me what you think."

Tracy, Hunter, and Clay converged on the album like a flock of birds hunting for a crumb. Tracy flipped the pages, as they all stared at each photo. Most of them were pictures of street types, prostitutes and probably a few pimps. There was also a string of respectable-looking, well-dressed guys. Probably Tina's customers, Tracy figured.

"Do these guys know you have their photos?" Tracy asked, amazed.

"No, they don't." Salty chuckled. "Tina wanted them, though, and I said okay."

Hunter looked over at Salty for a second. "You know a guy named Jeffrey Glaze?" he asked abruptly. "Did he come down here looking for Tina? Is he somewhere in the book?"

"The guys who come down here don't give their real names," Salty shot back at him, "and we don't ask for them.  Look for Glaze in the album. You'll see for yourself if she took a picture of him."

Tracy flipped back to the beginning and they looked at the pictures once again. There was no photo of any guy who resembled Jeffrey Glaze and Tracy didn't think there would be. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't come down here. As Tracy looked through the photos she was struck by an odd-looking woman in her early fifties who appeared in the background of many pictures. The woman was tall with a square frame and stiff red hair. She definitely looked out of place.

"Who's this?" Tracy asked.

Salty laughed. "That's Lollipop. She's a regular down here on Sundays. Doesn't say much to anyone, just walks around. There's plenty others like her, too. They enjoy the life, want to be part of it. Most of them are usually wannabes or has-beens."

"Why is she in Tina's album?" Tracy felt unsettled by her.

Salty shrugged it away. "No reason. She must have been around when Tina was taking pictures. Doesn't mean a thing."

"She looks peculiar," Tracy mentioned, noticing her flowered dress and pink pearl bracelet.

Salty laughed harder. "No one's peculiar down here. Anyone can come and look any way they feel like. They can walk up and down all day long if they want to."

"Could she be looking for customers?" Tracy wondered.

 Salty laughed harder. "Who would pick up someone like that? I doubt it."

Tracy felt disconcerted, but she didn't want to get sidetracked by the scenery. And there was plenty of scenery down here.

"Give us one lead, Salty," Hunter said directly then.

Salty became silent a moment. "Someone in this album knows something," he finally mumbled. "I'm sure of it. That's all I can say for now."

# Chapter 11

By the time they left and got into the car, it was late afternoon and the rain was falling harder. The windshield wipers tossing back and forth created a forbidding rhythm. They rode for a while lost in their thoughts, not saying anything to one another.. Suddenly, Tracy's phone rang, startling everybody.

She picked up immediately. "Hello?"

It was Wess. I'm jumping a shuttle plane to Boston after work," he started. "Can you pick me up at the airport?"

Tracy was startled. "Of course I can't, Wess, how can I?"

A strained silence fell on the other end. "You can't give me an hour? I'm just coming for a quick dinner and then I'll fly back," Wess continued.. "I need to see you. We need to talk."

"About what?" Tracy felt disconcerted.

"About us," Wess replied. "I can't sleep, this is making me nervous. I'm worried about you and about us."

"Please don't worry, Wess." Tracy's voice grew softer. "I'm safe, I'm well cared for. This is all part of the job."

"I can't do my work, Tracy," he continued. "Let me come for a few hours."

"Not in the middle of this." Tracy felt her voice rising. "I can't."

 A strained silence fell on the other end. "You can't give me an hour? I'm just coming for a quick dinner and then I'll fly back," Wess continued. "I need to see you. We need to talk."

"About what" Tracy felt disconcerted.

"About us," Wess continued. "I can't sleep, this is making me nervous. I'm worried about you and me."

"Please don't worry, Wess," Tracy's voice grew softer. "I'm safe, I'm well cared for. This is all part of the job."

"I can't do my work, Tracy," he continued. "Let me come for a few hours."

"Not in the middle of this," Tracy felt her voice rising. "I can't."

"You're having dinner with someone tonight, though, aren't you?" Wess wasn't stopping.

"Wess, I'm on the case," Tracy repeated and saw both Hunter and Clay looking at her intently. "I'll call you later when I get a minute."

"Who are you having dinner with, Tracy?" he plunged on.

This wasn't the man Tracy knew. Wess had never been jealous or insecure. He'd never doubted or questioned her.

"I need to know who you're having dinner with tonight," he demanded.

"It's not like that, believe me," Tracy broke in.

"It's hard to believe you, though," Wess mumbled. "You're not yourself, not the woman I know."

"I'm on a high-profile case, Wess," Tracy repeated, as he mumbled something and hung up the phone.

Tracy took a quick breath and shoved her phone back into her bag.

"Who was that?" Hunter asked pointedly,, concerned.

"My boyfriend," Tracy tried to make light of it. "He can't stand being away from me."  Clay laughed.

Hunter didn't laugh though. "He's not thinking of coming here now in the middle of the case?" he asked, irritated.

Of course that would be an unwelcome intrusion and Tracy realized it. "He can think whatever he wants," she replied. "I told him not to."

Hunter looked at Tracy more clearly than he'd done since she arrived. "When you do work like this," he said softly, "it's important who you let into your life."

Tracy felt a sharp pain go through her heart. "I realize that only too well," she replied. She didn't like hearing Wess criticized, but also knew that Hunter was right.

"Let's not make a federal case out of nothing," Clay interrupted. "I can definitely see why Tracy would have guys falling all over themselves for her."

Tracy smiled at Clay's unexpected comment. It felt strange. "Thanks," she said lightly. Tracy knew she was attractive, but never thought of herself as someone who guys fell over themselves for. It wasn't something she aspired to.

"That's not the point," Hunter continued. "Of course Tracy's a beautiful woman. Coupled with her brains, she's the total package. Any guy would be lucky to have her. I only made that point for her sake. She needs all the support she can get. She doesn't need calls from a boyfriend who upsets her when she's working this hard."

Tracy was both touched and unnerved by Hunter's reaction. "Thank you," she said looking back at him directly. "I appreciate your understanding my needs."

"Well, they're obvious, aren't they?" Hunter replied, quickly looking away.

*

 As soon as they got back to the offices, Hunter had a meeting to get to and Clay insisted on walking Tracy back to her hotel. They could grab a quick bite on the way, if she wanted. She agreed, wanting to eat quickly, as she had a lot to do that night. Tracy planned to spend the evening going over today's impressions and preparing an initial profile to present to the FBI first thing in the morning. Other agents would be coming to hear it, including special agent August Lane. Sergeant John Harding from the Boston police department would also be there.

Tracy was actually delighted to be walking back to the hotel with Clay. It had been a long day and she was interested in finding out what he'd thought about it. It would round out her picture before she started the profile.

They grabbed some quick hot dogs and two large Cokes at a local stop on the way and ate as they walked.

"What do you think, Clay?" Tracy asked, taking a big bite of the hot dog, which had too much ketchup on it.

"I think it's possible you'll have to create a profile for two different guys," Clay responded. "I still don't see any connections between the killings, except that both women had ash-blonde hair."

Clay took a bite of his hot dog as well. Tracy listened to him munching and suddenly felt sad. She thought about Wess's invitation for dinner and wished he could see her now, working and eating on the run. She wished he could understand.  Her leaving so suddenly and canceling the engagement dinner must have been a shock. It brought out a whole new side to Wess, an uncertainty that Tracy hadn't known was there.

 "We don't have any clear motives yet, either," Clay continued. "Neither victim was raped, nothing was stolen. What the hell did this perv get out of it? A joy ride? A quick high? A sadistic thrill? You let us know. That's your department."

"For starters, he got the thrill of taunting the police and terrifying the public," Tracy commented, "that much is certain. This is no wilting lily."

 "That's a funny expression, but you can say that again," Clay agreed. "A wilting lily, he's not."

"Some of them commit a crime, get frightened and hide. Others crave public attention," said Tracy.

"That's why we let everyone know that you're on the case," Clay reminded her. "Let's bring whatever we find out into the open! The killer will get off on it, won't he?"

"I hope so," said Tracy. "I can't wait to hear if the announcement brought in any special tips or strange responses."

"We'll have that information for you at the morning meeting," said Clay.

"I'm betting the announcement unnerves him and make him careless," Tracy mused.

"Or, it could turn his attention on you instead." Clay backed away, watching her response. "Could make him come after you next."

Tracy grimaced. "Good, let him try, I'll welcome it." Tracy's eyes narrowed. She was ready for whatever came next.

"You welcome it, really?" Clay stared at Tracy.

"Yes, in fact, I can't wait," Tracy stared right back at Clay. "I'm not afraid of facing the killer. In fact I want to look him straight in the face."

Clay took a deep breath, ruffled. "That's why you're here  on the case with us," he said. "You're brave, you're smart, you're fearless. You'll give us a better picture of him tomorrow.  Show us how to find him. You can do it, Tracy, I have faith in you."

# Chapter 12

As soon as she got to her hotel Tracy went to her room to go over the day's impressions. She'd have to present preliminary impressions of the killer first thing in the morning and wanted to gather her thoughts. At this early stage, before all the evidence was in,  Tracy had to rely on the crime scene, reports of those interviewed, and the killer's MO and signature behavior. She also had to rely on her gut.

There were certain questions that had to be answered though before she started. What kind of  mass murderer were they up against? Tracy plopped down in a comfortable chair, grabbed a long yellow pad and pen, and began to take notes. There were two types of mass murderers. The first chose specific people he or she had something against. The second killed someone who was part of a group they hated. The second type knew nothing about the particular victim. The person was just an object to them, a representation of something they loathed.

Did the killer they were now hunting have something against the particular women, or was it what they represented to him? There were no defensive wounds found on either victim. The fact that they never fought back implied that the women felt safe with him, might have even liked him. This killer had to have known both victims, even had a personal connection with them. Most likely, he'd charmed them, put them at ease with his false demeanor. That was normal behavior for a psychopath, who lured his victims in with smiles, to soften them up before the kill.

It was important for Tracy to know what kind of killer she was up against so she could predict his next action. Was he a spree killer, a serial murderer, or something else entirely?  Spree killers were on the move, went from victim to victim in rapid succession. Usually they were motivated by hatred that simmered until a sudden event brought it all to a boil. Spree killing was rare, though, and these killers typically committed suicide or were killed by the police.

Their killer didn't feel suicidal to Tracy. She also did not feel he was out of control. It seemed as though he were thoroughly enjoying himself each step of the way. The way he left Shannon was too well thought out, placing her in an idyllic spot on a beautiful day. But of course, who knew how the killing took place? He could have been in a wild rage at that moment. But given the condition of Shannon's body, Tracy didn't think so.

The condition of Tina's body said something different, of course. But even that was odd. Despite the horrible mutilation, no sexual activity had taken place. Again, Tina's killing and mutilation seemed more like a message he was sending than an impulsive act of rage.

Serial killers were different from spree killers in that there was usually a cooling-off period between murders, a time to reflect, reap the fruits of their efforts and then move along. Also, most serial killings involved sexual activity. There was no sexual activity here, however, with either woman. This put their killer in a different category. Tracy found the contradictions both perplexing and fascinating.

They would have to dig deeper to find him. What kind of motivation was fueling their guy? Tracy thought about the motivations of those who killed. What were they after? Some killers were compelled to kill by visions or dark voices in their head. They were taken over by them. Others felt it to be their life mission to kill certain kinds of people. Their behavior was noble in their eyes. They thought they were helping the world become a better place

Hedonistic killers killed for the pure thrill and joy of it. The majority of serial killers were hedonistic. Many were also sadistic. Sadistic murderers gained satisfaction from exercising power and control over their victims, seeing them suffer. Sexual activity was almost always involved with sadistic killers. As there was no sexual activity in these killings, this category did not fit their case, either. Their killer was a mixed breed, an anomaly. He would be harder to track, but worth finding. Tracy loved the moment when she stood eye to eye with the culprit. She loved watching him exposed, his cover being torn apart. It strengthened her to know that she was saving other lives. It was a need that had lived inside her since her mother had been snatched away.

 But right now, Tracy was far from that moment. There were a lot of steps she had to take. And tomorrow morning, she had to offer some definite ideas about their killer's motivation. That question was always uppermost in everyone's mind. Most profilers answered by talking about how serial killers had been abused and neglected in childhood. To this day they longed for mothering and acceptance they never got and developed a rich fantasy life to make up for it, In their fantasies the killers received all the recognition and nourishment they craved. Their grandiose fantasies also soothed the feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness that plagued them every day. The act of killing gave them a sense of power and control they would never have any other way.

 Of course these psychological theories had truth to them, but they only scratched the surface. Tracy was convinced there was a deeper reason why people killed, much deeper.  Many people never had decent mothering or acceptance and yet they did not stalk others and tear them limb from limb. Some devoted their lives to helping. Others lived on the fringes of society and became artists or healers. These theories didn't answer the question of what truly caused a killer to break with the bonds of humanity and wreak havoc on the world. They didn't begin to touch the true cause of darkness. For Tracy, profiling murderers was a direct road into the heart of darkness, to understanding and vanquishing it.

Tracy thought of the places her victims had been found. They couldn't be more different. One place was dark, forlorn, and filthy, with a hidden crucifix buried under the earth. The other was filled with sun, sky, family, and light. The places represented different aspects of the killer himself, thought Tracy. She felt that he was someone who lived on the fringes of a world where he longed to be accepted, but was not. And never would be.

Of course this was only a preliminary presentation coming up. Tracy would have more ideas in the morning. She decided to go to bed early, sleep on it, and see what else came to mind. Something always did. She was known for that.

After a quick shower Tracy fell into bed. But rather than sleep soundly, she tossed restlessly all night long, with one dream after another.  Tracy woke from each dream quickly and then fell back to sleep. But just before morning, Tracy was gripped by a nightmare she could not shake off. In the dream she was walking alone on a country field that was overrun by wildflowers. Suddenly she saw a shadow behind her and began walking faster to get away. The faster she walked, the closer it came. The shadow wobbled at first and then grew stronger. As Tracy broke into a run it began spinning around her, holding her in its grip.

 Tracy cried out for help but no one could hear her. She raised her arms to the sky and so did the shadow. "Run, run, run all you like," it shouted to her. "Trample the flowers under your feet. You'll never get away from me, never!"

With a sharp jolt, Tracy threw her pillow on the floor and woke up, rumpled and drenched with perspiration. The early morning light  rose as she sprinted out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and splashed cold water over her face. It was a dream, just a dream, she kept telling herself, opening and shutting her eyes. The dream unnerved her, though, shook her to the core. Was it a foreboding of something out there, waiting for her?

Tracy dressed quickly, ordered breakfast up to the room, and drank the whole pot of hot, steaming coffee. She wished there was someone she could call to talk the dream over with. Of course Wess was off limits right now. But at least when they were together at night, Tracy was never gripped by these kinds of dreams. She felt safe and cared for nestled deep inside his arms.

 For a moment Tracy thought about calling Clay, but he was home with his wife and young children. And of course, Hunter wasn't a possibility. He kept his distance carefully, as well he should.

Tracy dressed quickly, brushed her hair for a long time, and took extra care with her makeup. By the time she was ready to leave for the FBI office, she looked fresh, lovely, and well rested. Exactly the way she wanted to appear.

*

When Tracy walked into the office, Special Agent August Lane stood beside Sergeant John Harding.

"Here she comes," August commented, walking over and extending his hand. August was a few years older than Tracy, nice looking, with dark hair, strong eyes, a scar on his left cheek, and a well-toned body. They'd worked together on the other two cases and there'd been a rough edge between them both times.

"Hi, August, nice to see you again," said Tracy, hoping things would be smoother this time.

Sgt. Harding came over and joined them while Hunter and Clay stayed in front of the room, sorting through papers.

"We got quite a few calls after the press announced that you were on the case," Sgt. Harding said to Tracy. "Law enforcement called, reporters, TV, random individuals."

"It's the random individuals I'm interested in," Tracy answered quickly.

"I thought the announcement was premature," August interrupted.

Tracy disagreed. "This is a killer who needs to be smoked out as quickly as possible."

"What makes you think this announcement will do it?" August's eyes got steely. "It's just going to stir up nuts jobs of all kinds. They'll get in our way. Who needs them?"

"That's possible," said Tracy, "but if we make the killer nervous enough, I believe he'll show his hand."

"Or retreat further," August grumbled. "Just for the record, I was against making this announcement public."

Sgt. Harding shook his head. "I can't help but agree with August. It's a bit of a reach, but let's hope our guy takes the bait. You never know."

"I believe we have to make everything we do as public as possible." Tracy held her ground. "The killer's out there, listening to every word we say."

"Listening and laughing up his sleeve at us," August muttered. "Sick bastard."

Clay walked over and interrupted the conversation. "Good night's sleep?" he asked Tracy, looking at her closely. Clay was incredibly aware, Tracy realized. He noticed things he didn't even realized he noticed.

"I'm ready to start the presentation now." Tracy smiled, bypassing his question.

"Okay, come up to the front of the room," Clay agreed.

"I'll take questions as I go," Tracy offered, smiling at August, who still seemed put off.

A few other officials came into the room then, including Wanda Allen, a beautiful young African-American woman who worked for the FBI, specializing in forensics. Wanda was a link to the medical examiner and had been particularly helpful to Tracy in cases they'd worked on together before. The two of them liked and respected each other. They smiled at each other now.

Hunter tapped on the table then to announce that the meeting was beginning.

"Okay, before we get going, I have some general information," Hunter started. "I have the medical examiner's report, which shows that, as we suspected, Shannon Glaze, the second victim, was killed by strangulation. But most importantly, when the body was found she'd only been dead for about eight hours."

Tracy shivered. This was huge! The killer had kept Shannon alive for almost two weeks. How did he do that and why? Where had he kept her? Did she go with him willingly? hat went on between them during that time? Once Tracy had those answers, she would know exactly where to find him.

"Of course this adds a strange component to the crime." Hunter noted it as well. "So this is a perfect time to hear from Tracy Wrenn, our profiler. Today Tracy will offer an initial sketch."

Then Hunter looked over at Tracy, really taking her in for the first time today. His voice grew softer. "Thanks for being here, Tracy. We'd love to hear what you have for us so far. And to emphasize the point, we're all aware that these are preliminary impressions only."

Tracy smiled at Hunter and went up beside him, in front of the room. She felt shaky for a moment, thinking of Shannon alive with the killer for two weeks. Tracy pushed her hair back from her face and looked out at the audience directly.

"Firstly, thank you for having me," Tracy began. "It's incredible that the killer kept Shannon alive for almost two weeks. What made him decide to finally kill her? We're looking at a volatile character and we don't have a straightforward signature or MO, either. On the surface the two murders and victims are completely different from one another. But let's remember, that's on the surface only."

 Once again, the audience became silent and engrossed by Tracy's delivery. There was something about the way she spoke. They must have sensed Tracy's unrelenting determination to find the culprit, no matter what.

"This killer's need for attention is, of course, obvious," Tracy went on. "That's clear in the message he left behind in both cases, 'Find me,' written in blood. The killer's taunting us, inviting us to the chase. He's testing to see who's smarter. He's taking pleasure in baiting the police, and seeing how long it will take for him to be found. If ever."

Tracy could see this didn't sit well with some of the agents, especially August, who grimaced at the thought of it.. "Not only are the victims in both cases very different," Tracy continued, "but they were killed differently and left in opposite settings. I'd say the killer has a need to create confusion, to keep the public on edge. And the focus of this killer's aggression is not only women, but male authority. He wants to see who's more powerful, him or them? This killer desperately needs to prove himself. Basically, he's a frightened, insecure man."

 "Hold on, hold on, you're going too fast. We can't be absolutely sure those messages were left by the same person," August interrupted. "It's very possible that we have a copycat killer here."

"Well noted." Tracy remained unflustered. "Of course, the possibility of a copycat has to be accepted in cases of this magnitude with so much publicity. The second killer could also be a decoy, working with the first killer and keeping authorities off track. But my contention is that there is only one killer."

"Based on what?" August was rankled.

"If we stay with the killer's signature, both victims had ash-blonde hair, were young women in the same age range, and lived in the same city. There was no effort to conceal either body. Both were left outdoors, in public sight. He wanted the bodies to be found. The killer took deep satisfaction in shocking and disturbing the public. He either has a message to deliver, or a very personal need met by killing these particular women. I believe he knew both of them."

"How did he know them? Where did he meet them, how did he lure them into his world?" Sgt. Harding spoke up forcefully. "What's the connection between them?"

"The only thing similar in his methods," Tracy continued, "was that both women went missing before they were killed, he kidnapped them. Tina was killed quickly, only missing for two days before found. Shannon was missing and kept alive for two weeks. What did he do with Shannon during that time? Did he take delight in using the time to torture her? Her body showed no signs of torture. Did he torture her emotionally or was there something else he needed from her? To me it is clear he was after something else."

"What exactly?" Wanda called out alarmed.

"Company and comfort, for starters," Tracy breathed. "This killer is an incredibly lonely man."

"A lonely man?" Sgt. Harding echoed. "So, should we look for him in bars, on dating sites, hanging around the club scene, just waiting to spot his next victim? Do you know how many lonely men there are in Boston?"

"This is a different kind of loneliness, though," Tracy murmured. "It's a hollowness to the core of his being that cannot be filled."

Wanda closed her eyes and dropped her head.

"This is not a killer on a rampage who can't stop," Tracy went on. He's organized and methodical. Both crimes were carefully executed, and the scene of their discoveries staged carefully. He had a careful plan about where to hold Shannon. These were not crimes of passion. The motivation is much deeper than that."

 "What's the motivation?" August called out.

To fill up his loneliness, thought Tracy, though she couldn't say that yet. She could think it and feel it though. Once he killed the women, they belonged to him. They were part of his inner world, forever.

"Let's think it through together," Tracy said instead, wanting to take it step by step. "The first killing was sexually motivated, although no sex took place. She was a prostitute, slashed sexually and left in a degraded sexual pose. It's easy to think that he was getting revenge on sexual women, particularly those who sold themselves for money. But let's look deeper. His second victim, Shannon, was about as different from Tina as you can get. On the surface anyway. She was soft-spoken, gentle, a loving mother and teacher."

"So?" August stood up from his seat, impatient. "What does this all add up to?"

"This killer doesn't fit into any preconceived notions we might have," Tracy answered, trying to prepare them to look deeper.

"I don't buy it," August insisted. "From the nature of the first crime, I'd say the guy hated sexual women. He was getting his revenge on them."

"The second victim didn't fit that category, though," said Tracy. "And neither will his next one."

"Next one?  "There's not going to be another," August was rankled. "What are you, a prophet of doom?"

"I disagree," said Tracy. Whatever she said upset August, but she had no intention of holding back. "I do believe there will be another victim, and the next victim will move us closer to an understanding of the killer's true motives."

 "You're going too fast and too far." August was adamant. "I'd say the first victim came onto the killer, he couldn't perform, and he killed and slashed her to make up for it. He probably hates sex and wanted to clean the neighborhood of the filth."

Tracy grew quieter, wondering why August was so heated about that point.

 "That's the usual take on a killing of this kind," Tracy responded, "but your theory has no connection to the second victim."

"That's why I believe we have two killers out there." August glared at Tracy.

Tracy ignored August's threatening glance. "We have to find out about the relationship these women had with the killer before they were kidnapped," Tracy challenged him. "How did he even come across these victims and what method did he use to kidnap them? I am certain that they both knew him, and that itself is fascinating." The more she spoke, the more determined Tracy became. "We must find linkages between the victims. Once we do it, we'll know exactly who we're up against. And what his next moves will be."

"You can speculate day and night," August interrupted. "I just want specifics, direct leads, physical evidence."

Oddly enough, the only physical evidence they had so far in both cases was the odd little crucifix Tracy had discovered in the alley, under the back wall.

"So, do you have anything specific for me? Do you?" asked August.

Tracy didn't want to say anything about the crucifix though.. It felt too private and personal to Tina. Tracy wanted to dwell on it alone.

"We had an interesting comment from Shannon's mother," Tracy responded instead. "She suggested that Shannon's husband, Jeffrey, might be having an affair. Could this be the connection? Is it possible Jeffrey was Tina's customer, or that he frequented another prostitute in Tina's neighborhood?"

"You're grabbing at straws!" August's voice grew rougher.

"Are you pointing a finger at Shannon's husband, Jeffrey Glaze?" Sgt. Harding seemed stunned.

"Not pointing a finger, just sharing thoughts," said Tracy.

"Farfetched, very farfetched," August insisted. "Plenty of husbands have affairs. It doesn't mean they go out and kill a couple of women. Besides, why would Jeffrey go down to Tina's lousy neighborhood? There are better places close to where he lived."

Hunter suddenly stepped in, trying to calm things down. "My question is, were these simply crimes of opportunity, did these women just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Is that why there are no real linkages between them? We cannot overlook that possibility."

August made a strange sound. "Good point. It's more than a possibility. The victims are too different from one another."

"Maybe they're only different on the surface," Tracy responded.

The room became quieter, but August was agitated by Tracy's remark again.

"Come on," August burst out, "Shannon lived a respectable family life, taught nursery school in the church. She was left in the park on a beautiful day, on a well-known ride for families. Tina was a dancer at a shady club and a prostitute. She was left sexually mutilated in a dark alley."

"We have to discover what linked them in the mind of the killer though," Tracy continued.

"What do you think linked them, Tracy?" Wanda spoke up. "Of course, it's too early to be certain, but what's your conjecture?"

"Innocence," Tracy replied, without thinking.

# Chapter 13

"Innocence?" Wanda looked amazed.

Tracy startled herself with her comment, but it also resonated deep within.

"The killer needs to destroy innocence," Tracy continued. "He destroyed the innocence of the child who found Shannon in the boat and the joy of a beautiful spring day."

"Nothing innocent about Tina, though!" August could not help blurt out.

"We don't know that," Tracy replied, suddenly thinking of the crucifix again. Had Tina held onto faith, despite what had happened to her life? Did she still have hope that things would turn out differently? "Despite the work Tina did, I heard things that led me to see another side of her."

The room grew strangely silent again.

"Tina was attending recovery meetings and also stayed in touch with a few people back home," Tracy continued. "Did she have other hopes for her future? Did the killer know that other side of her as well? Was he determined to keep her from healing? Is that why he exposed the dark side of her to the world?"

As Tracy was speaking the back door of the room swung open suddenly and two police officers dashed in. They ran over to Hunter, who was at the front, and whispered something to him fervently.

 "What? Oh God," Hunter said, his voice cracking.

The entire room stood up as a look of alarm spread over Hunter's face.

"What is it?" August called out.

"Another victim has gone missing. Reported one hour ago," Hunter proclaimed. "Candace Barclay."

"Kevin Barclay's daughter?" Sgt. Harding was stunned.

"My God," August joined in. "Buckle up. We've got a spree killer on our hands."

*

The entire city froze as the search for the killer intensified. Roadblocks were set up, more helicopters flew overhead, and new search teams with dogs piled out onto the streets. The phone in the FBI offices rang off the book. The park near the third victim's home at the South End was closed and her neighborhood scoured, one café and townhouse at a time.

Hunter was beside himself. "Why her?  If he took Kevin Barclay's daughter he could take anyone."

 "Who's Kevin Barclay," Tracy asked, sitting in the FBI offices, listening to the chatter all around.

"He's a well-known philanthropist with three daughters." Hunter spoke with fear in his voice. "Candace was the oldest, recently engaged to be married. I read about it in the paper a little while ago."

Tracy saw how unnerved he had become, got up, walked over to the desk he was sitting at, and sat down close beside him.

"We'll get him," she whispered. "It's going to be all right. When they're on a rampage, guys like this always slip up."

Hunter looked at Tracy gratefully, his beautiful eyes softening.  "You're sure we'll get him?" he asked with apprehension.

"Of course we will, I know it," Tracy shored him up.

Hunter smiled wanly. "You said there'd be another victim," he murmured, "and you were right. How did you know?"

"The killer's not done yet," Tracy repeated. "Each woman is part of a tapestry he's weaving. When the pieces fit together, he'll suddenly stop."

"We've got to get him before that!" Hunter was horrified. "The killer kept the second victim alive for two weeks. There's no reason to think he's killed Candace yet."

"But he killed Tina in two days," said Tracy. "We don't have an MO we can count on. Let's go to Candace's home immediately and speak to her family. It's imperative."

"Yes, it is," Hunter agreed. "Give me a minute to get Clay."

"Fine," said Tracy, noticing that Hunter never let himself to be alone with her. He always brought Clay along. Probably better that way, she thought.

*

As they drove to Candace's home Tracy wondered if Candace's fiancé would be there. She certainly hoped so. The car edged through Braddock Park and Tracy scrutinized the area. It was typical of many residential squares all over the South End. Three- or four-story red brick town houses lined the squares. Each house had a long, narrow garden and a steep front stoop, which often rose a full story to the second floor. Wrought iron balustrades and railings surrounded the gardens and sometimes crept up over windows and balconies as well. Were these railings protection or just ornamentation? What kind of access to Candace's home could the killer have had? Did he take her from home or somewhere else? Who was the last one to see her alive?

Most streets were cordoned off by police and hard to drive through. Whenever they were stopped by police Hunter flipped open his FBI identification and their car immediately passed through. As they wound through the hip, eclectic enclave, Tracy looked at art galleries lining the streets, the outdoor cafes and chic boutiques. There was also a wide variety of ethnic restaurants. All three victims had obviously lived very different lifestyles. How in the world had Candace run into this killer? How did her life intersect with the other two women who were killed?

As soon as they got to Candace's home, they got out of the car and climbed the steep steps  leading to the entrance. Once there, Hunter lifted the large brass knocker and hit it loudly against the wooden door.

 In no time at all the door swung open and a young woman in her early twenties stood there, trembling. "Come in, come in," she said in a teary voice. "We're all waiting for you in the parlor."

They walked in through a domed vestibule into a parlor with a high, rounded ceiling, large French windows, expensive furnishings, and oil portraits on the walls of national heroes and family members. In the center was a portrait of Candace, a strikingly beautiful, young ash-blonde woman.

Kevin Barclay stood up the moment they walked in and dashed over. He was large, stocky, dressed informally, and totally flushed. Another young woman and an older woman were seated, huddled together on a settee, and did not get up. That was probably Candace's mother and another sister, thought Tracy.

"Okay, there's no time to waste." Kevin's eyes looked glazed, like a man in shock. He spoke under the force of tremendous pressure, his words toppling over one another. "Where is Candace? What happened to her?"

"Is my sister still alive?" the young woman who ushered them in, cried out plaintively.

Hunter turned to her swiftly. "I believe your sister is still alive," he responded quickly. "There is still time."

"Still time?" Kevin exploded.

"How did you know Candace was my sister?" The young woman was beside herself.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Justine," Kevin reprimanded her. "This is the FBI, they know!"

Justine winced and then joined her mother and sister on the settee.

"Come sit down," Kevin said to them, trying his best to collect himself.

Tracy walked further into the room in and sat down on a small sofa near the women. She nodded to greet them, but they did not respond.

"Okay, I know you've got the whole city searching," Kevin started. "People are passing out flyers with pictures of Candace and posting them on every corner. We need a sketch of the kidnapper, too!"

"We don't have that yet, but we will soon." Hunter threw a glance at Tracy.

"Good, and I want to be the first to see it," Kevin growled. "For all we know the damn rotten monster's right here under our nose."

Most likely he is, thought Tracy. The second and third victims only lived a mile apart. Most likely he lived right in the neighborhood, was hovering around.

"Okay, so how can I help?" Kevin continued.

Clay responded calmly. "We have routine questions for you, Mr. Barclay, and naturally anything else you or your family can add will be most appreciated."

"Shoot." Kevin wanted to begin.

"We need to know all about your daughter and the people she interacted with. Our teams at the office are also investigating, of course. But we want to hear about her from you," Clay continued.

Candace's mother started crying and the other young woman on the settee put her arms around her mother's shoulders.

"Candace was headstrong," Kevin started fitfully.

"Oh, come on now, Dad, I wouldn't put it that way." Justine stood up, agitated.

Kevin turned to her nervously. "We're in trouble now and I'm not mincing words. We've got to help them find your sister as fast as possible."

Justine looked at Tracy beseechingly and rolled her eyes. She obviously had another story to tell, but for now they had to listen to Kevin.

"I'd love to hear what you think a little later," Tracy said to her. "Right now we have to hear from your dad."

Kevin was pleased by Tracy's remark. "Both Justine and her other sister, Margaret, adored Candace," he said, looking over at the other young woman on the settee as well. "But adore her or not, Candace was born headstrong and lived her entire life like that. She did what she wanted, chose the people she liked, and just got engaged to Wayne Sholding."

"We heard that," Hunter noted, wanting to be part of the discussion.

"There was an announcement in the papers a couple of weeks ago," Kevin continued. "Candace and Wayne even set a date for the wedding and booked the church nearby. In my opinion, that was premature. I asked them what's the rush? What's the hurry?"

"Where is Wayne now?" Tracy couldn't help asking.

"Good question." Kevin's eyes flashed. "Where was he always? Half the time Candace had no idea and I didn't either."

Tracy was startled. "They had a bad relationship? You were opposed to it?"

Justine could not restrain herself then. She rushed over to Tracy. "Wayne loved Candace very much," she said. "He was gone because he traveled for business."

"What's his business?" Hunter broke in.

"Wayne's a successful art dealer," said Justine. "He travels around the world buying and selling paintings." Obviously, Justine liked and admired him a lot.

 "He buys paintings of naked women! That's the kind of paintings!" The words burst from Kevin as he flushed.

"Not naked women, they were art, Kevin, art!" Candace's mother chimed in, loudly.

"Art or no art, they were naked women, weren't they?" Kevin couldn't be consoled.

"He also bought and sold paintings of flowers, children, animals." Candace's mother stood up. "Kevin doesn't understand art. He's a church man."

"I certainly am and proud of it," Kevin shot back.

"Well, so is Candace," his wife insisted. "She and Wayne are getting married at your church, aren't they? She's doing everything she can to make you happy."

"What church were they getting married at?" asked Tracy.

"What difference does it make?" asked Kevin.

"All Souls Church," Candace's mother said loudly.

"Just curious," said Tracy. "Every little detail counts."

"All souls?" Clay interrupted, rubbing his hand along his thigh.

"What difference does it make? What difference?" Kevin repeated. "Where is my daughter? Bring her home!"

Hunter picked up the conversation quickly. "What about Candace, what work did she do?"

"She opened one of the boutiques in the neighborhood," Justine replied. "Her boutique sold handmade jewelry and pottery, beautiful pottery."

"The two of them sound like a good match," Tracy commented.

"What was so good about it?" asked Kevin, rankled. "Candace graduated from law school, and she never practiced law for one day. She was supposed to work with me in my foundation, but then she met Wayne."

"It was fireworks and romance from the first minute." Justine gave a shaky smile..

 "Wayne convinced her to open the boutique instead," Kevin interrupted. "It was a stupid choice if I ever saw one."

"Her boutique did well," Justine insisted. "She loved it. She and Wayne were planning to open an art gallery together with room for everything."

"Don't say were planning." Candace's mother began wobbling on her feet. "She's still here, she's still alive. Why would someone want to kill her?"

"Has Wayne contacted the family since the news broke out?" Tracy focused in. "He made a quick call," Kevin interrupted. "But you'd think he'd come over, wouldn't you? The guy lives about ten blocks away."

 "Wayne is suffering, Kevin," his wife insisted, "just as we are."

"Who was the last to see Candace alive?" Tracy asked promptly. "When did you realize she was gone?"

Candace's family all stared at each other, somewhat obliviously.

"Did she sleep at home the night before she went missing?" Tracy continued.

Candace's other sister, Margaret, slimmer, with dark hair and silently distraught, finally spoke up. "Candace did not sleep at home last night. She was supposed to and she didn't."

"Was she with Wayne?" Tracy asked startled.

"No," Candace's mother spoke definitively. "I distinctly remember her telling me that Wayne would be out of town and wouldn't get back until the next morning."

Hunter and Clay threw each other a long glance.

"Where was Candace sleeping the last night?" Hunter asked immediately. "How did you find out she'd gone missing?"

"She was supposed to come home for dinner after she'd closed the shop," Margaret spoke in a brittle tone. "But she didn't. I called her cell phone and no one answered. That's highly unusual for my sister. She always answers her cell phone instantly. I waited a little while and called again. Still no answer. I got nervous and called Wayne's place, just to be sure she wasn't there. I even went over and knocked on his door. Nobody was there."

"What else did you do?" Tracy was interested in Margaret.

"I called Candace's friends, her wedding party. I thought maybe we were getting together and planning something and I forgot about it. We weren't. No one knew where she was."

"So, someone at her boutique had to be the last one who saw her then?" Hunter wanted the facts.

"I guess so," said Justine.

"Depends when she actually went missing," Tracy chimed in. "She could have done something else that evening?"

"She would have called us and told us," Margaret insisted.

"Candace went to work yesterday? You saw her go?" Hunter kept at it.

"As far as I know she went to work," Justine said fitfully. "You've got to check at the boutique to be positive."

"Where else would she go, if not to work?" Clay stepped in softly.

"I have no idea, usually she spent the day at the boutique," Justine replied.

"Unless she was with Wayne." Kevin joined the conversation. "There were days I stopped by the shop to speak to her and she wasn't there."

"Where was she?" Clay repeated.

"Darned if I know," Kevin mumbled. "I asked the people who worked there and no one had any idea."

"We have to find out if Candace was at the shop yesterday," Hunter announced, "and if she wasn't, where was she? Who was the last one to see her alive?"

"For all we know it could have been me." Her mother's voice grew dim, sounding like a faraway echo. "I saw her yesterday morning before she left for work. She looked beautiful. I said, dear, you are positively glowing today. She smiled happily. I said why are you so happy, tell me. She said, look outside, Mom, what a beautiful day.  Finally, it's spring."

# Chapter 14

Finally it was spring and the flowers were blooming in the little gardens of the homes Tad walked by every day. Today he stopped and looked at them with admiration. This would have been a beautiful day, except that a third victim had gone missing! It was hard to believe, but the news blared from everywhere. Tad bought as many newspapers as he could on his way back to his house for his lunch. Tad always went home for lunch. He liked checking and making sure everything was still in order. Sometimes when he ate his sandwich, he heard noises somewhere inside the house. In the beginning it used to scare him, but then he realized that the noises were coming from the small animals who slipped in the side door and got trapped in his basement. Tad always promised himself that after work he would go down to the basement and open the side door so the animals could go free. Then he'd sweep the entire basement out.

When he got to his place today, it was quiet. Tad lay down on his cot and began reading the newspapers with bated breath. Three women in a row! This killer was really on the move.  How come the police weren't staying up all night, searching every corner of town? If it were him, he wouldn't give the killer an inch to move in. He'd close in with everything he had. And what about this Tracy lady the police were so proud of? Who was she anyway?

Tad bent over, picked up more newspapers that he'd thrown on the floor, and rustled through them. He wanted to find out what good this Tracy was doing. Could he trust her to keep Boston safe?

Tad finally found a long column describing Tracy Wrenn. It even had her picture at the top of it. Not bad looking, not bad at all, he thought as he began to sweat. But then he changed his mind. Nah, she didn't have what it took to nab the killer. She looked too buttoned up and self-important. She was also too young. Tracy Wrenn definitely needed to learn a few lessons before she could gain Tad's trust.

Someone knocked on Tad's door as he was reading and he quickly stuffed the papers under his cot. He didn't want anyone to know he was reading this garbage, actually devouring every word of it.

"Who is it?" Tad called out in a husky voice.

"Delivery for you, Mr. Warehouse," someone replied outside the door.

"Delivery? Leave the package outside the door and I'll get it later," Tad called back.

"I need you to sign for it, Mr. Warehouse," the voice replied.

Stupid parcel post, always the same thing, Tad thought. He always asked them to come later in the day and they never listened. They just came back at lunch time and bothered him. He wanted to tell them to leave his damn packages at work, but didn't have the guts to do that. Tad couldn't receive any personal items where he worked and he didn't want to ruffle any feathers. His job was important to him and he'd do whatever he could to keep it. It would be stupid to make waves about something like this.

Tad pulled himself up off the cot, flattened down his rumpled hair, opened the door just a sliver, and pulled in the package. Then he grabbed the delivery guy's pencil and scrawled his signature.

"There, you happy? Come later next time."

"Sorry," the delivery guy said as he and Tad met each other's eyes. "I'm lucky to even get here. All the streets are blocked off."

Tad smiled slightly. "Yeah, tell me about it," he mumbled. Tad liked this delivery guy. He was a new one, someone Tad hadn't seen before. He was also conscientious, Tad could tell that in a second.

 "There's a dangerous killer on the loose." The delivery guy looked nervous. "Don't be afraid, friend." Tad looked at him kindly. "Whoever he is, he's just an amateur."

 "Why do you say that?" The guy was startled.

"Who else would grab three women who lived close to each other in such a short time?" Tad felt the need to speak to someone about it. "The killer could have taken his time, picked women spread all over the East, made the police run up and down the coast like little rats."

The delivery guy's eyes got big as he listened.

Tad enjoyed talking to him. "Believe me, the killer doesn't know what he's doing. He's probably a crazed loser on drugs."

"That's a good point, very good." The delivery guy looked fascinated. "Why don't you call that in to law enforcement? They're asking everyone to call in tips."

Tad's smile widened. He liked the idea very much. "Maybe I will," he mumbled, "or maybe I'll write a letter to the editor of the paper and let everyone read it for themselves."

"Do it!" The delivery boy was enthusiastic. "They're giving out flyers with the face of the third victim on it. I have a few extra. You want some?"

Tad held up his hand. "Not now, I'll take a look at her later, tonight maybe. I have a long day ahead of me, need to get back to work."

"Have it your way," the guy answered, "but do it. Write that letter. They need your help."

"Thanks, bud, I will," Tad answered as the delivery guy turned to leave. "What's your name, fella?" Tad asked before he was gone.

"Austin," the guy answered.

"Austin? That's a nice name." Tad rolled it around in his mouth.

"Yeah, well, have a good day." Austin answered as he nodded to Tad and then walked back out onto the street.

Stupid idiot, thought Tad, when he was finally gone. Does he really think I'd just call in a tip over the phone and not get credit for it?

# Chapter 15

It was hard leaving Candace's family, upset as they were, but Hunter promised another team would soon be arriving to scour the place and talk. They had more to do now back at the offices, including creating a probable sketch of the killer to pass around.

Despite the heavy cloud that hung over them as they left, Tracy noticed the flowers in front of Candace's townhouse which were starting to bloom. . She slipped back into the car tense and restless, though.. The clock was ticking for all of them.

"You think the killer is lurking in plain sight?" Hunter asked Tracy as the car rolled away.

"I do," said Tracy, "This kidnapping has upped the ante. He's choosing a high-profile victim here. He definitely wants to be known."

"Could it be one of the people we've run into or heard about so far?" Hunter continued. "Maybe Candace's fiancé?"

"Why him?" Clay asked. "Because of the nude paintings?"

"Maybe," said Hunter. "It's irregular. The guy could be obsessed with sex. And he's buying and selling it, too. Not live women exactly, but paintings. This could be a link to Tina. For all we know they were in touch."

"We have to show Wayne's picture to Salty immediately," Clay agreed. "See if he or anyone down there recognizes him."

Tracy listened carefully. Of course this was a thread to follow, but she didn't think it would lead anywhere. "Selling nude paintings doesn't necessarily mean Wayne's obsessed with sex," Tracy countered. "Maybe he's just obsessed with making money, or being in vogue. Of course, it's a good idea to check everything, but I doubt that Wayne knew Tina." It was too easy to grab at straws and Tracy didn't want to do it. Too much was at stake and time was of the essence. Tracy had to keep them on track. That's why she was here, after all.

"Okay," said Clay, "any other particular points we should check into?"

"It makes more sense to check and see if Wayne might know Shannon's husband, Jeffrey Glaze," Tracy responded. "See if Jeffrey or Shannon ever bought one of Wayne's paintings or frequented Candace's boutique. It's possible. After all, Shannon and Candace only lived a mile apart. That tells us the killer isn't far away."

"We've also got another victim with ash-blonde hair," Clay added forcefully. "That's another solid link between the three of them."

"True," said Tracy. "That points to a killer who could be fixated on the physical characteristics of his victims. He's choosing women in a certain age range and location with the same physical trait."

"So, what does that tell us about him?" Hunter was quick on the draw.

" In and of itself it could say that these victims are physical replications for someone in the killer's life he wanted to settle the score with. Or that his sexual or romantic fantasies about women revolved around a woman with ash-blonde hair. But that's oversimplified. It could also suggest that the women were chosen randomly, that he had no previously knowledge of them or their lives. The people they were meant nothing to him."

"A psychopath," Clay muttered. "Someone without the ability to feel guilt or empathize with anyone. Someone who viewed people simply as objects to meet his needs."

"That could be part of the picture." Tracy was hesitant. "But it's not the whole story here by a long shot. If we just narrow the field of search to psychopathic killers we could easily miss this guy."

"What are we missing?" Hunter slid closer to Tracy on the seat and turned to her directly.

"The killer left a note with both bodies, 'Find me,'" Tracy continued. "That's not typical of a psychopathic sadist who gets his basic joy from torture and killing and from the sexual act. Shannon was held for two weeks and not physically tortured. This guy is after more than that. And notice the progression of his victims. First a prostitute, next a mother, the third a bride-to-be. This points to someone who is obsessed with the different aspects and stages of being a woman."

"Yeah"--Clay's lip curled then--"he wants to stop each one from having the joy that's waiting for them, cut their lives off at the pass."

"Well put," said Tracy. "The killer interrupted Tina's efforts at recovery, Shannon's motherhood, and Candace's wedding. He struck at peak times in their lives."

"So, what do you think?" Hunter turned straight to Tracy. "Analyze the bastard, lead us to him."

Tracy felt pressure to be further along than she was. "Piece by piece," she murmured.

"We also have Candace's family," Clay jumped in. "Talking to them, I see a few possibilities. There's bad blood between Kevin and Wayne, and also, possibly, between Kevin and Candace. Was Candace marrying Wayne to get back at her father?"

"Right now she's not marrying anyone," Tracy murmured. "The truth is her father will be lucky to go to her wedding at all."

Hunter made a strange sound at that. This case had gotten to him as well it should..

"Everything you say is valid and should be explored," Tracy said to Clay, "but we're not looking at a single case. We have three victims, it's the links between them that are vital. We have to zero in on any possible way the victims or people in their lives knew, or interacted with, each other. We also have to find a place or activity where all three might have run into the killer or connected with him. What's the point of intersection?"

"What about the church?" Clay mentioned quickly. "Didn't Shannon work at the nursery school at All Souls Church?"

"Yes, I believe she did," said Tracy.

"And that's where Candace's wedding was going to be held," Clay mused. "There's a linkage for you."

"Good point," Tracy concurred.  "All the people working at the church should be interviewed. See what they saw or heard."

Hunter's face clenched as he looked out the window. Tracy felt a wave of sadness for him, wondering why this case had become so personal.

"We definitely have to speak to the people at the church," Clay continued. "And also the rest of the people in Candace's world.  I also want to talk to Kevin again. The bad blood between him and Wayne is interesting. Let's see where it leads."

"You're not suggesting that Kevin has anything to do with it?" Hunter was disturbed by the suggestion. "Kevin runs two well-known philanthropies, and is extremely close to Boyd Logan, pastor of his church."

"I'm not suggesting anything definite," said Clay, "but it's worth looking into Kevin and Wayne's relationship. It's also a good idea to have someone talk to Pastor Logan. Maybe he can tell us more about the family. There are always hidden secrets."

As Clay spoke, Hunter pressed his hands against his temples.

"How you are you doing, Hunter?" Tracy couldn't help asking.

"I've been better," he said. "This case has gotten to me."

Tracy was glad to hear him speak frankly. There were many feelings coursing through Hunter and Tracy could feel them. Despite the careful distance Hunter kept from her, there was an odd bond between them. He reminded Tracy of herself in so many ways.

 "This case is definitely tough," Tracy agreed. "Anything I can do to make it better?"

Hunter turned to her suddenly. "Just having you here makes it better," he murmured. "I appreciate it. Thanks."

They drove in silence for a few minutes when Tracy's phone rang, startling them all. Tracy picked up immediately.

"Are you safe?" Wess's voice sounded strained on the other end of the phone. "Everyone's heard about the third woman going missing. I don't like you being in the middle of this. All my friends and family are calling. Everyone's upset.

"Yes, I'm safe, I'm fine. Thanks for calling, Wess," Tracy answered, glad to be hearing from him.

"What can I do? I feel helpless," he went on.

"Just your being there means a lot," Tracy said in a soft tone. "You don't have to do anything. You can't."

"Of course I can, and I need to," he answered.

"Wess, you're not listening to me." Tracy's voice got louder. "You're not a part of the case. There's nothing you can do. Just be there for me. That's more than enough."

"It's not enough for me." His voice got louder too. "You can't ask me to sit on the sidelines at a time like this."

Tracy didn't know what Wess hoped to do, but she was both pleased and troubled by his response. At least he cared about her deeply.

"I'm safe, there's no reason to worry," Tracy repeated. "You're not on the sidelines. I'm just out of town doing my job."

"But I want more, much more." Wess grew upset and Tracy was thrown off course. This was definitely the last thing she needed now.

"Cool it, Wess, please," Tracy added.

"Cool it?  What are you telling me? To back off? Drift away?" said Wess.

"Of course not. I'm just saying to take it easy," Tracy answered, when to her consternation, he hung up the phone.

Tracy looked at the phone in her hand a second before she hung up herself.

Somehow the call agitated Hunter even more. "Who the hell was that? Your fantastic boyfriend?"

Tracy felt both saddened and ashamed. "He's my fiancé-to-be," she murmured.

"Oh my God," Hunter exclaimed. "Please, take this relationship easy. Be careful, Tracy."

"Wess is worried about me, naturally," Tracy answered, surprisingly shaky.

"Tracy." Hunter took the phone out of her hand for a second. "This guy is your fiancé-to-be? That's a big step to take. You've got to be careful. He's obviously got some kind of problem. From what I see right now he's upsetting you."

Clay leaned over and took the phone from Hunter and gave it back to Tracy gently.

"We don't know this guy, Hunter," Clay reminded him. "He could be the light of Tracy's life." Then Clay looked at Tracy questioningly.

He used to be the light of my life, thought Tracy. Only a week ago that was true. She and Wess had been happy, planning a life together. But now their equilibrium had been shaken. This didn't bode well, thought Tracy, but she knew she needed to give it time. All couples went through rough patches. She'd asked him to be patient and she had to be patient as well.

Clay looked upset. "It's usual for people in our line of work to have partners who make things rough for us." He quickly cast a glance at Hunter. "Our partners get scared, they get jealous, feel pushed out of our lives. This is a bumpy road we all travel."

The kindness in Clay's voice soothed Tracy greatly, as well as did his words.

"Clay's right," Hunter joined in. "Most of the time when someone gets married to one of us, they have no idea what they're getting into. As time goes on they say they didn't bargain for this, again and again. It happens no matter how much you love them, how hard you try to make them happy." Hunter was on a roll. Tracy assumed he was talking about his own marriage and must be missing his wife.

"It is hard," Tracy answered softly. "But this isn't just a line of work, is it? We don't have a choice, it's a calling."

Hunter's eyes lit up at that. Tracy obviously hit a chord. "That's what I used to tell my wife," Hunter murmured, "those very words."

"Our calling isn't their calling, though," Clay continued. "If the relationship is going to work you have to give each other plenty of space. And you have to be ready to go through plenty of tough times."

Tracy couldn't help but wonder about Clay's marriage then. Had he found a wife who could understand what he went through and grant him the space he needed? Tracy wanted to know more, but of course this was neither the time nor the place. They had to find a way to block out their personal issues and focus all their attention on the killer's next steps. Candace's very life was at stake. Was it possible she was still alive? Tracy felt in her gut that she was, and she was determined to keep Candace from dying. No matter how Wess felt, no matter what price Tracy had to pay.

# Chapter 16

It was mid-afternoon by now and Tracy and Hunter sat on opposite sides of his desk, their minds racing, resonating, trying to plot out the next steps. Before Tracy went further with her profile, she absolutely had to know who had last seen Candace alive and where.

"How about my calling in some lunch?" Clay suggested.

"I'm not hungry," Hunter responded in a clipped tone.

"Some coffee and tuna salad would be great," Tracy replied. The pressure she felt from Hunter was tremendous. She needed to pause a moment and have time to reflect. Leads never came during the peak of pressure, but revealed themselves in off moments.

Clay took out his phone. "I'm ordering lunch for you, too, Hunter," he said.

Hunter didn't hear, just sat tapping his fingers on his immovable mahogany desk. The buck ended with him and he knew it. He also knew another young woman's life was in his hands.

"He's not winning, Tracy! I'm not allowing it!" Hunter suddenly looked at her defiantly.

Tracy felt her heart skip a beat. Of course she didn't want to allow it either, but was it entirely in their hands? They would do their best, but more than that wasn't possible. She wanted to tell Hunter it wasn't totally in their hands, but the look on his face stopped her cold. It was a look of fierce determination etched with deep sorrow.

"Let's chart out his possible trajectory," Tracy said then. "We'll make sure every possible road he could take is covered."

"I don't think he's still in Boston," Hunter started. "He's the kind who strikes out in a flash and then recedes like the bumbling coward he is."

"You think he's taken the women out of state and is holding them there?" asked Tracy. "What do you base that on?" She actually disagreed, felt that the killer was just a few blocks away.

"If he was anywhere close, we would have found him," said Hunter. "There are too many cops working this case."

"I think he gets his greatest pleasure from hanging out right under our noses," said Tracy. "That proves to him how stupid we are, and how smart he is. Every minute he's got her alive, he's winning and we're losing."

"But his note said 'Find me.'" Hunter rolled it over in his mind. "That means we've got to search for him."

"It could mean lots of things," said Tracy. "For all we know when he says Find Me, he's issuing an invitation to die."

The idea stunned Hunter. "An invitation for who to die? Us or him? Is this maniac suicidal?"

"Not in the usual sense," said Tracy. "But once a killing spree starts, somewhere the killer knows he's bound to go down. You can't destroy others without destroying yourself."

"But how could he know that?" Hunter looked askance.

"We all know everything deep down," whispered Tracy. "We just live in hiding from ourselves."

"That's an odd theory, very odd," said Hunter.

Clay joined the conversation then, trying to get it back on track. "We're covering all bases."  he interrupted. "Roadblocks are also being set up out of town.  There aren't many places he can run to."

"He's got to have a way of breaking through the roadblocks," Hunter mused. "Could be he's a master at it."

"He's a master of turning our heads inside out," Tracy responded. "All the roadblocks we have to deal with are inside our heads. The minute we get a total, clear picture of him, we'll close in on him in no time."

Hunter suddenly relaxed and gave Tracy an unexpected smile. "I like the way you put things. You make me think."

Tracy was touched by his warmth and appreciation. When Hunter relaxed he was sweet and disarming. A completely different person than when he was all geared up.

"What made you think the guy's a master of roadblocks?" Clay asked, interested.

"August said that to me," Hunter replied. "He's out there with the team that's putting up roadblocks right now. Everyone feels the killer's long gone by now."

"We'll get more information in a few minutes," Clay interrupted. "Candace's sister Margaret is coming in to talk to us. The sister told John she had something important to tell us and he sent her over asap."

"Great," said Tracy, relieved. "Things are opening up."

Hunter's phone rang and he picked up, turning away from the conversation.

Clay came over and sat down next to Tracy. He was always a soothing, calming presence, and that was needed more than ever now.

"We'll get all the information we need before we know it," Clay commented. "This killer is going down. No question about it."

 "How'd you get to be so calm and self-assured?" Tracy asked him.

Clay smiled. "My daddy showed me how," he said. "He was an old Southern gentleman who knew how to live"

Tracy couldn't help but smile in return. She hadn't known Clay came from the South, but it made sense.

"Where did you grow up, Tracy?" Clay asked. Clearly he wanted to know more about her, too.

"In a small town outside of Dallas," Tracy responded, registering Clay's surprise. "We moved around a lot, though. There isn't one place I call home." Tracy's life had certainly taken her on an unexpected trajectory and she knew the journey was far from over yet.

"I would have thought you grew up right in the middle of New York City," Clay replied, "you're so bright and on top of everything."

"I guess I should take that as a compliment." Tracy looked at him and smiled.

Hunter hung up the phone then, looking slightly victorious. "Okay, we've got a glimmer of light, if only a small one," he announced. "I just learned that Candace was last seen alive jogging at about six in the morning before she disappeared. She was seen in a neighborhood a mile away from her home. A neighbor looking out of the window that morning saw her going by. The neighbor identified her immediately from the flyer."

"A mile away? Where? At Wayne's place? Is that where she'd slept?" Tracy was thrilled to have that information.

"I've got the name of the block she was jogging on and the woman who saw her," Hunter said. "This is a perfect time to talk to her sister, who can fill us in on why she was there and what's been going on in Candace's life."

"Perfect," Clay echoed. "Always works that way, doesn't it?"

 "Sometimes it works that way," Tracy murmured, "when we're fortunate, when the stars line up right."

"We're always fortunate, one way or another," Clay repeated.

"Always? Come on, Clay." Hunter looked at him warily. "How fortunate are the victims and their families? The stars can line up anyway they want, when a killer's on the loose all hell breaks out. It's up to us to help then, not the stars."

"Of course we make things better," Clay replied as there was a knock on the door.

Probably lunch, thought Tracy, interested to see this side of Clay and wanting to know more about it.

Clay got up and opened the door. Not only was the delivery guy there, but Candace's sister Margaret stood beside him, looking taut and frightened.

Tracy went right over to greet her. "Come on in," she said. "We're so grateful you're here."

Tracy led Margaret past the delivery guy and into the room. Clay took the food, paid for it, and joined them.

"Would you like some coffee?" Tracy asked Margaret. "You can have mine."

"No, not at all."  Margaret was ill at ease. "But thank you. Actually, I'm glad to see you again," she said in a trembling tone. "I was going to come in anyway, but when I heard that they last saw Candace jogging at six a.m. I wanted to talk to you right away."

 "We heard she was seen about a mile away from your home," said Tracy. "Candace must have slept at Wayne's place after all."

"No, it wasn't Wayne's house." Margaret's voice got shrill.

Hunter's eyes narrowed. "Not at Wayne's place. Whose?"

Margaret plunged in quickly. "Candace must have slept at Andy's house that night. That's the block she was seen jogging on." Then she sighed. "You would have found it out sooner or later anyway," she said.

"Who's Andy?" Hunter took a step closer. Tracy wanted to tell him to step back, give Margaret space to deal with this, but a sense of urgency had come over him once again.

"It's not what you think, none of it," Margaret insisted.

"Who's Andy?" Hunter repeated forcefully.

"Let's go easy on Margaret," Tracy interjected. "She's not the culprit here, she's helping us out."

"You're right, I'm sorry." Hunter backed off. "We're all geared up, as you can imagine."

"Of course, I understand, it's okay," said Margaret, nevertheless throwing Tracy a grateful glance. "Andy was Candace's ex-boyfriend. They'd been together for three years."

"Planning to get married?" Hunter asked.

"No, it was never really right between them," Margaret replied.

"But Candace was still involved with her ex?" Clay sounded surprised.

"Not involved like it seems," Margaret insisted. "Candace cared about Andy, they were always good friends and stayed that way after they broke up. They still got together to talk from time to time. Actually, Candace was helping him get over the breakup. The news of her engagement to Wayne hit Andy like a rocket. Everything happened so fast."

"I can only imagine," Hunter murmured, clenching his jaw. Tracy wondered if this reminded him of what happened with his own marriage. Did his wife fall in love with someone else and leave him? Did he leave her?

"Wayne was out of town that night," Margaret continued, "and Candace must have had dinner with Andy. They had dinner about once a week. It was purely platonic. She told me."

"Doesn't sound so platonic to me if she slept at his place." Hunter stood up, irritated.

Margaret spoke louder. "It was platonic. I know it for a fact. She just slept there because it was convenient. Most likely she slept on the couch."

"Oh, come on," Hunter shook his head. "Why wouldn't she just go home?"

"Things were rough between Candace and my father. And after she made the date for the wedding they got rougher. Candace didn't like being around Dad," said Margaret. "When Wayne was in town, she stayed at his place most of the time. That night he was away on business."

"Convenient, wasn't it?" Hunter murmured.

"What are you suggesting?" Tracy broke in.

"I'm suggesting that Candace may not have slept on the couch that night, as her lovely sister wants us to think," Hunter responded. "I'm thinking Wayne may even have found out about where Candace was staying and got mad about it. Things like this happen all the time, don't they?"

"You're pointing the finger at Wayne?" Tracy was stunned.

"There are already a few things I've heard about him that are jarring," Hunter dove in. "The naked paintings he buys and sells, the quick engagement. And he's in and out of town a great deal. That gives him an opportunity for many things."

"Whoa, slow down," Tracy insisted, but Hunter couldn't. It was disturbing to realize that since Tina had gone missing they really hadn't fixed upon any suspect. Hunter needed someone and now he was honing in on Wayne. He definitely had some cause to be concerned about him, but Tracy felt Hunter was blowing this out of proportion. The danger of that was getting sidetracked, or in a horrible situation like this, letting the real killer slip under the radar.

"We have to talk to Wayne immediately and ask him some tough questions before we go down that road," Tracy broke into the momentum quickly.

 "I want both Wayne and Andy in here, together, as soon as possible," Hunter said to Clay.

"That's not a good idea." Margaret began breathing more quickly. "There's no reason for it. You're stirring up more trouble. Neither of them had anything to do with her disappearance."

Hunter shook his head, returned to his desk, and sat down behind it. "I'm not stirring up anything, sweetheart," he replied. "The trouble's already stirred up in this case. Big time, in case you haven't noticed. Our job is to stop trouble in its tracks."

Margaret turned to Tracy breathlessly. "He's making a mistake to suspect Wayne," she repeated, looking more agitated than when she'd arrived.

"Do you think it could be Andy?" Clay moved in on the conversation then. "Sounds like he was the last one to see her alive."

"Andy, a killer? Absolutely not." Margaret was horrified by the idea. "He's a sweet, gentle man. He always has been. He loves Candace dearly."

"What went wrong between them?" Hunter demanded.

"Nothing went wrong. It was just never really right." Margaret spoke intensely. "When Candace met Wayne, everything changed in a second. She said she knew instantly that he was the one."

"Spare me the details." Hunter wiped his brow. "Love at first sight, electricity."

"How did you know?" Margaret's eyes got wider.

Clay stepped in more strongly then. "It's okay. This kind of scenario happens all the time," he said. "It happens to the best guys too." Then he glanced at Hunter out of the corner of his eye.

"Let's look at the bigger picture for a second," Tracy interrupted. "We need to develop linkages. Did Wayne or Andy even know the other two victims, Shannon or Tina? Was there any way they could have had dealings with each other?"

 "I have no idea." Margaret's voice got lower. "I can't see how."

"Call Sergeant Harding immediately and get Wayne and Andy in here ASAP," Hunter said. "This is no laughing matter."

"No one's laughing, are they?" Margaret flashed Hunter an angry glance.

"He means well." Tracy came closer to Margaret. "He's on a mission to keep your sister alive. The truth is that he cares tremendously."

Tears filled Margaret's eyes. "My family's devastated, my father's in a panic. Do you think my sister's still alive? Do you think you'll find her?"

"I do," Tracy spoke firmly. "The killer kept the second victim alive for almost two weeks."

"Thank God," said Margaret, "thank God."

"That's assuming it's the same killer," Clay interrupted.

 "That's a lot to assume, isn't it?" Margaret's eyes filled with tears again.

"Yes, you're absolutely right there." Hunter's voice softened. "For all we know we could have three different killers on our hands. We can't rule that out yet either."

"We can't rule it out and can't rule it in," Tracy interrupted, taking Margaret's hands and squeezing them. "No matter who took your sister, I promise all of us will do everything in our power to bring her back alive."

"Thank you, thank you," Margaret uttered as she turned and fled from the room.

# Chapter 17

 Within half an hour Wayne and Andy both arrived at the FBI office and were seated opposite Hunter. Wayne was a dashing guy in his late thirties. He had dark, wavy hair, great features, and wore a purple shirt that was unbuttoned at the top. Not surprisingly, he seemed frazzled as he looked nervously around the room. Andy, slim and almost fragile, had light sandy hair and was dressed in jeans and an old shirt. Sitting there, he looked incredibly sad.

Hunter took a deep breath before speaking and Clay pulled up a chair next to Andy.

 "Okay, fill me in," Hunter finally started. "Wayne is engaged to Candace, but she spent the night before she went missing sleeping at her ex-boyfriend's place. What's wrong with this picture? Someone tell me."

Andy swallowed hard and Wayne gave Andy a fierce glance.

"Did you know about this before?" Clay asked Wayne.

"I just heard about it on the way over." Wayne was deeply unsettled.

"Fill us in about this, Andy," Hunter demanded.

Andy closed his eyes slowly. "Candace and I are only friends now. But she still cares about me. We had dinner at times, we wanted to talk."

"About what?" Wayne's face grew nasty.

"She was trying to help me get over things," Andy said softly.

"Get over what? The breakup?" The thought of it was tremendously disturbing to Wayne.

"Does this bother you, Wayne?" Hunter slowly rubbed it in, wanting more of a reaction.

"I knew Candace and Andy stayed friends, talked once in a while," Wayne spoke between gritted teeth. "I had no idea Candace was helping him get over their relationship. That's going too far."

"Why?" asked Andy, almost teary-eyed. "We'd been together a long time. It was a terrible shock when our relationship ended so suddenly."

"This is truly pathetic," Wayne muttered.

"You had no idea that they were still so close, is that right?" Hunter kept at it.

"I had no idea," Wayne replied, "and I don't like it. It sickens me."

Candace usually slept at your place when you were in town, isn't that right?" Clay joined in.

"Absolutely," said Wayne. "She was my fiancée."

"But you were out of town a lot." Tracy entered the conversation now.

"Yes, I was, and so what of it?" Wayne turned to her defiantly. "Is that an excuse for her sleeping at her ex's place?"

"She slept on the couch," Andy insisted. "What's the big deal about it? She didn't like having to deal with her father. Your relationship put a huge wedge between her and her dad."

"Did she talk to you about that too?" Wayne  looked  as if he were about to grab Andy.

"She talked to me about a lot of things," Andy said, petulantly. "We were going to stay friends forever."

Wayne's face turned beet red. "Oh, were you now? I never heard a word about that."

"Candace never told you?" asked Tracy.

"No, she didn't," said Wayne. "And, believe me, that was never going to happen."

Tracy thought this was a perfect moment to take it to the next level.

"What do you think happened to Candace, Wayne? Who do you think took her?"

Wayne stood up from his seat quickly and then sat right down again. "I have no idea, I wish I knew."

"There were hard feelings between her and her father. Could that have had anything to do with it?" Tracy was flailing around, trying to get him to open up.

"Candace's father?" Andy was horrified by the suggestion. "Never, ever," he gasped. "Kevin Barclay is a wonderful man. He's a pillar of the community. Everyone can turn to him for anything."

A sneer crossed Wayne's face.

"How about you, Wayne?" Tracy pushed harder. "Could you turn to Kevin Barclay for anything?"

"As a matter of fact the guy can't stand me," Wayne replied. "He even tried to get his friend Pastor Boyd not to schedule our wedding. Can you believe that? He tried, but failed. You can't interfere with a person's life like that. That really upset Candace, too."

"It must have pissed Kevin off that he couldn't do it," suggested Hunter.

"Sure, it pissed him off, but so what?" Wayne sneered.

"Kevin was upset with you because of the kinds of paintings you bought and sold, wasn't he?" Hunter dug at Wayne deeper.

Wayne glared at Hunter. "My paintings are art," he replied.

"Paintings of naked women," Hunter interjected.

"From your point of view, naked women. From my point of view, art," Wayne retorted.

Hunter refused to let Wayne off the hook, though. "Did you frequent prostitutes, too?" he asked.

Wayne stared at Hunter stonily. "I beg your pardon?" he said a smirk on his face..

"You heard me," said Hunter. "Do you know a woman named Tina Drew?"

Wayne stood up as if he would punch Hunter, but then he sat down. "Wait a minute, that's the first victim, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," said Clay quietly.

"You're asking me if I knew her? Do I need a lawyer? Am I under suspicion now?" Wayne was agitated.

"Guys who buy and sell paintings of naked women might enjoy seeing prostitutes," Hunter continued.

"That's ridiculous. Just shows your own narrow, petty mind. Only someone who knows nothing about art would say that," Wayne retorted.

"Actually my mother was a world famous painter," Hunter replied. "I know a great deal about art. But right now, I'm hunting for a serial killer. And I'm trying to save your fiancée's life."

Wayne calmed down then and looked at the floor. "No, I don't know Tina, I never used prostitutes. Why would I?" he replied. "I have the most amazing woman in the world."

"So what happened to her, Wayne? What happened?" Tracy demanded.

"I don't know. Why ask me? I wasn't there. Ask Andy," Wayne replied, disgusted. "Candace was at his house when it happened. Did he take her somewhere and hide her, so he'll never have to lose her again?"

Andy gasped in horror. "Did you?" he flung back at Wayne, ash white.

The entire room grew silent.

"You're a nut," Andy breathed in Wayne's face. "Candace went jogging this morning. She always did, she loved jogging. Someone who knew her routine must have grabbed her."

"But it wasn't her routine to be sleeping at your place, was it?" Wayne focused hard on him.

 "Did she have any enemies who knew her routines, was anyone after her?" Clay continued.

Both guys looked at Clay as though he were crazy. "Absolutely not," Wayne shot back.

"Definitely not," Andy echoed. "Candace was the most fantastic woman in the world. Everyone only wanted the best for her. Ask her friends, ask the people she worked with."

"We have, we are," Clay jumped in. "And we'll find the link here. I promise. It's only a matter of time."

There was a hard knock on the door then and all of them jumped.

 "Who's that? Who are you expecting?" asked Clay, as he went to the door and opened it quickly.

To everyone's surprise Kevin Barclay stood there, looking even more agitated than before. "Can I come in?" he asked, half reeling.

"Oh my God, what timing," Wayne mumbled.

Kevin charged into the room, looked at Wayne and Andy quickly, and then dropped into a chair.

"Sergeant Harding told me these guys would be here now," Kevin started. "I want to hear what they have to say. And I have plenty to say myself, as well."

Andy walked over to him quietly and put his hand on Kevin's shoulder. "This is just a routine interview, Mr. Barclay," he said, trying to soothe him. "Neither Wayne nor I have the least idea who could have taken Candace."

"I just heard that she spent the night at your place, Andy." Kevin looked over at him.

"Wayne was out of town," Andy said softly. "Candace and I are just friends now. We talked, it got late, and she stayed over. Then she went jogging first thing in the morning."

Kevin nodded fitfully, not so much as throwing a glance at Wayne.

"Yeah, I got it," said Kevin. "You're a good man, Andy. Sorry this happened to you."

"Thank you very much," said Andy.

"Happened to him? How about me? I don't exist?" Wayne's face grew dark.

"Do I exist in your life?" Kevin practically spat back at him. "Did you enjoy grabbing my daughter away from me?"

Wayne looked appalled. "Grabbing her? Candace and I knew we belonged together at first sight. It was mutual, entirely mutual."

"That's true," Andy piped up, trying to calm Kevin. "Candace told me that herself. She said the minute she saw Wayne she knew he was the one."

"And that means she cuts her father out of her life?" Kevin asked.

"It wasn't Candace who cut you out," Wayne interrupted, looking very tired suddenly. "It was you who kept bad-mouthing me to her. You were making her choose between us."

"Wayne comes from somewhere out West," Kevin piped up. "He's an orphan, never had a mother or father of his own. He has no idea what family loyalty means."

Tracy felt punched in the gut when she heard that, instantly protective of Wayne.

"Whether or not someone had parents means nothing about a person's loyalty and ability to love," Tracy spoke up for him. "In fact, some people who've experienced terrible losses can love even more."

Wayne looked over at Tracy, surprised and grateful.

 Tracy thought of the day her own mother went missing and the horrible feeling of emptiness that had gripped her the rest of her life. She'd turned it into something positive though. That loss led straight to this work, helping others who were going through the same kind of hell. It didn't mean she didn't care or was unable to love. In fact, deep down because of that nightmare, Tracy knew she could love even more.

Everyone was taken aback by the intensity of Tracy's remarks, especially Hunter, who looked at her curiously.

 Wayne, however, seemed to understand. "Thank you," he said gratefully. "Kevin made it hard for Candace and me from the very start."

"Now you're blaming me?" Kevin became irate. "In the middle of my horrible suffering, you're blaming me? Is this the man I'm supposed to have for my son-in-law?"

"We're getting off track here." Clay tried to calm matters down.

Hunter stopped him. "No, it's important to hear how everyone feels. We're billiard balls bouncing off one another. One right hit will lead us where we need to go."

"Where we need to go now is to find the person who took Candace," Wayne proclaimed, nervously.

"Do you have any ideas about who that might be?" Hunter zeroed in.

"Absolutely none," Wayne replied. "This is a total shock and nightmare."

"How about you, Mr. Barclay?" Hunter turned to Kevin then. "What was it you wanted to tell us? Would you like to tell us now, or speak to us privately?"

Kevin threw a quick glance at Wayne. "It doesn't matter if Wayne and Andy are here or not when I talk. Nothing matters unless you find my daughter, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," agreed Hunter.

"Okay then, here goes," said Kevin. "My wife and I have been going through this over and over. We know you're searching for a link between the victims and I believe I've got something for you."

# Chapter 18

The room bristled with anticipation.

"There were always rumors going around that the second victim's husband, Jeffrey Glaze, was having affairs," Kevin said. "No one paid much attention to it before. But after Candace went missing, I made some calls to people who would know. It's definite, Jeffrey Glaze was a regular player, he came on to lots of women. For all we know he could have come on to Candace and Tina, too."

Clay stepped in strongly.. "You're sure of this? Positive?"

"Positive," Kevin responded. "I'll give you a list of the people I spoke to. Some even think Jeffrey might have used escorts as well. When I heard that my skin started to crawl."

"This is important." Hunter was all over it. "We're not sure who was the last one to see  Shannon alive, either. For all we know, it could have been Jeffrey Glaze.

"And there's more," Kevin went on, seeming more grounded than when he'd arrived. "Candace was beautiful. Everyone knew she was beautiful, and guys loved her. That shop of hers was a hot spot, too. All kinds of people came in, bought stuff, talked to her. Glaze lived about a mile from her shop. I'd bet you dollars to donuts he dropped in, saw Candace, and made a play for her. Why wouldn't he, she was beautiful."

"She's still beautiful," Andy whispered. "She's still alive."

Wayne spun around on his heel and stared at Andy. "How do you know that?"

"I just know," Andy replied.

"How?" Wayne was horrified. "How do you know more about Candace than I do?"

Kevin ignored both of them and continued. "I believe Candace said no to Glaze and it didn't sit well with him. So he grabbed her. Think about it. "We've got to find out if he had any contact with the first victim.  Tina used to be a dancer. Check and see if Glaze was ever seen at the club where she danced."

"The club's being checked for that as we speak," Hunter replied. "All the venues the victims went to and the people they knew are being thoroughly scoured. Pictures of everyone connected to all of the victims are being circulated."

"Pictures of who? Me too?" Wayne looked horrified.

"Yes, you and Andy," Hunter replied.

"Why me?" Wayne was outraged. "I wasn't even here. I didn't give you my permission to circulate my picture."

"Your permission isn't required in a situation like this," Hunter responded. "You were engaged to the victim. This is routine."

"This will ruin my business and reputation," Wayne  kicked at the bit. "People will recognize me for something sordid."

"Is that all you care about? Candace's life is at stake." Andy looked him in the eye.

"You don't care that they're circulating your photo all over town?" Wayne retorted.

"No, I don't, not at all," said Andy. "They can do anything they want in the world to bring her back alive."

"That's the kind of man I want for my son-in-law," Kevin burst out. "But I don't believe these two guys have anything to do with it. Just focus on Glaze."

"Why just Glaze?" asked Hunter.

"The creep lived under cover. Everyone thought he was an upright citizen, it turns out he had a double life. I don't like that. I checked into the women Glaze had affairs with, and they were all the same age, all ash-blondes."

Hunter was impressed. "Good work," he offered.

 "Move in on Glaze, trail him, make his life a living hell," Kevin insisted.

Andy shuddered, while Wayne leaned over and put his head in his hands, as though he was about to throw up.

"We have a dragnet out, Mr. Barclay," Tracy stepped in, "and it's getting bigger and deeper as we speak. Every possible suspect is being gone over with a fine-tooth comb. And we've posted a huge reward for any lead that takes us to the killer. New tip lines are being set up and we've got more volunteers working them. We're asking for anything, anything anyone saw. And I'm putting the profile together now. We'll catch him, I'm sure of it."

Wayne's head shot up as he listened. Andy just looked over at Tracy and smiled.

# Chapter 19

Tad wouldn't let himself get as upset as everyone else was getting, trying to find the third victim and bring her home alive. What fools they were, running around like mice on steroids, trying to figure out where she was. Fat chance they had of keeping her alive, too. Why should the killer spare this one? He hadn't spared the other two, had he? What did the stupid cops think they could do that would make him change his mind? Tad had some ideas about how to get the killer to change his mind, though, and he had every intention of sharing them. The question was, would the cops brush him off as if he were nothing, or would they finally listen to him this time? Would they see Tad for who he truly was? Smarter than all of them!

If he was going to be perfectly honest with himself, Tad was plenty upset. After all, he wanted to stop the killer as much as anyone else. He just had to keep his cool so when he called the tip line they'd take what he had to say seriously. Tad hated it when people didn't take him seriously. He never understood why they didn't either. He was more patient and thoughtful than most people. He wrote all kinds of letters to the editors and checked them carefully before he sent them out, too. Not only did he check the spelling and grammar, he went over every line he wrote. Tad wasn't the kind to lead people astray.

Tad even had a few of the letters he'd written to the editors about this case right here, in his room. He'd read them again now to see if one might be ready to send along.

Dear Editor,

In the case of the three women who went missing, you're obviously looking in all the wrong places. Nothing of substance has turned up yet, has it? And it's been a while. You've got two women down the tubes and the third one about to go. What a waste for young, beautiful women like these to go down the drain so early in life. Think of what was waiting for them, all the experiences they never had a chance to have. Think of all the happiness that was waiting for them that not one of them ever grabbed. Think about it and it will lead you straight to the killer.

Tad breathed deeply then. He wasn't sure if this was what the editors wanted to hear. Did he sound crazy? That's the last thing he wanted, to sound crazy. He wasn't crazy, he was kind and smart. He was definitely something worth reckoning with. People at his job not only liked him, they counted on him. He saw that in their eyes. But of course, his job was simple and not one person there had any inkling of how smart he really was.  Once his letters to the editor were published, though, everyone would realize who he was the entire world!

Tad had collected a bunch of newspapers describing the search for the killer and lined them up carefully in his room. Now he grabbed one of the papers and started rustling through the pages, wanting to read the other letters to the editor again. He wanted his letter to sound just like theirs so it would get accepted, too. Once it was they'd have a break in the case and it would help the third victim and her pathetic family.

As Tad rustled through the paper, the photo of Tracy Wrenn caught his eye. Tad stopped for a while and gazed at her. Tracy had long, dark, shiny hair and beautiful, intelligent eyes. Tad looked at them a little more closely and wondered why in the world someone like her was running down killers. Tracy looked like someone who should be out having lunch with other young wives who were taken care of by wonderful husbands. She wasn't, though, that was obvious. Why not? Tad wondered. Was anyone taking care of her?

 Tad looked closer, noticing the strange crease between Tracy's eyebrows. This young lady had gone through big trouble, he suddenly realized. That's why no one was taking care of her. When you live through trouble like that, you didn't end up having lunch with other women. Tad suddenly laughed. Tracy was on the prowl, along with the toughest of men. She obviously needed someone like Tad to step into her life and give her a hand. She needed him but she didn't know it. But if everything went well, she'd soon find out.

Tad wanted to turn the page but couldn't put the picture down. He looked at it from all angles. What was it that gripped him about her? Then suddenly, it struck him! The two of them had the same initials, TW, Tad Warehouse and Tracy Wrenn. That was it! They were destined for each other!  It was a sign that Tad should send his letter to the editor immediately. He should also call the tip line right now. Would Tracy answer it? Maybe not the first time, but he'd keep calling until she did.

Tad felt better immediately, almost felt lighthearted. It definitely looked like he had an important part to play in turning the world back in the right direction and helping solve this terrible crime.

# Chapter 20

It was almost seven that evening and the light of day was starting to fade. Tracy was still at the office, waiting for a general meeting with a few agents that was scheduled to be held in the conference room in a few minutes.

As another day went by she couldn't help think of Wess. She hadn't had time to check in with him, and to her surprise he hadn't called again, either. That was okay. If truth be told, Tracy really wasn't able to deal with any more turbulence right now. When this was all over they could go away for a weekend together and she'd explain her work to him again.  She'd let him know how much she loved him. Wess always felt better when she told him that. He needed love more than she realized. There would be plenty of time to work things out. Tracy looked at her watch; she was hungry.

"The meeting won't take long. Hunter noticed Tracy's restlessness. We'll go over whatever we have, then we can grab a bite of dinner."

"We?" asked Tracy, startled.

"Sure, why not?" Hunter said quickly as there was a knock on the door. He went over, opened it, and August, Wanda, Sgt. Harding, and a few others stood there.

"Come on, let's go," said August as they all started walking down the long, empty hallway to the conference room at the end.

The conference room was carefully set up for them. There were bottles of water near every seat and the blinds were drawn tightly shut over the windows. The room had a secretive, no-nonsense atmosphere, as if it were saying you were special to be here, and you'd better do your best.

Hunter walked to the front of the room immediately and took his place. As chief of the behavioral unit it was up to him not only to coordinate efforts but to take charge of briefings like this. Ultimately, the buck stopped with him and everyone knew it.

"I'd like to start by hearing what you guys have for us," Hunter announced, "then we'll get Tracy's impressions and wrap up for the day."

August walked over swiftly and stood beside Hunter.  He looked particularly sharp this evening, in a tweed summer jacket, slacks, and bright blue shirt.

"Okay," August began. "As requested, we've looked into the allegations concerning Jeffrey Glaze's multiple affairs. There's definite evidence to corroborate it, though it seems the women he's been involved with were married women in his social circle."

The room grew quieter. Wanda, sitting next to Tracy, shook her head. "These guys," she murmured, "one is never enough."

"There's no evidence that Jeffrey Glaze availed himself of prostitutes or escorts, or that he had anything to do with Tina," August continued. No linkage there."

Hunter sat there scrawling notes quickly on one of the long, yellow pads. Tracy watched the pressure of his writing, and thought about his off-the-cuff invitation for dinner that night.

"I spoke to one of the women who had a brief affair with Jeffrey," August went on. "She asked that her name not be released for the sake of her marriage and I granted her that privilege. Let us call her Anna, for convenience. Anna was someone who Shannon socialized with regularly. She said that Jeffrey told her that although Shannon was a great mom and teacher, she was cold and distant in the marriage. Shannon left Jeffrey lonely, wanting more."

"Oh please," Wanda couldn't help speak out. "It's an old song guys sing to get a woman to bed."

 "What is the relevance of this argument?" Sgt. Harding joined the discussion. "Whether his wife drove her husband to playing around or not is immaterial. She's dead now. That's what we have to focus on."

"We're looking to see if Jeffrey's a plausible suspect," August responded curtly.

"Did you find any link between him and the third victim, Candace?"  Sgt. Harding stayed on point. "Without that, no matter how many women he slept with, he's not a plausible suspect and we can't waste our time."

"We checked Candace's shop records carefully," August continued. "There's no evidence that Jeffrey was a customer. None of the workers there recognized his picture either. Despite Kevin Barclay's suggestions, there's no evidence that Jeffrey knew Candace at all."

"Good, that's all we need to know."  Sgt. Harding was adamant.

"What about you, Wanda?" Hunter turned toward her. "Were there any forensic fingerprints that would connect Jeffrey Glaze to the other victims?"

"Nothing," said Wanda.

"Let the facts speak for themselves then," Sgt. Harding emphasized.

Hunter and Clay exchanged a quick glance. They needed a suspect and Tracy knew it. She also knew they were too upright to just drag anyone in.

Wanda took a tired breath. "After all this time, they've got nothing," she whispered to Tracy. "This killer's gonna kill again, I feel it."

"The other two possible suspects we've been looking into are Wayne and Andy," August continued. "Andy was the last one to see Candace alive and Wayne was her fiancé. Most say she was happy with Wayne. Only one friend, her maid of honor, suggested that Wayne was pressuring her to tie the knot too fast. She said Candace wondered if she should slow down."

 "Candace's father tried to get in the way of the marriage," Clay commented. "The father's close to Pastor Boyd."

"Yeah, I heard that," August continued, "but it didn't make a difference. Boyd's not the kind of guy who would do anything behind someone's back. He agreed to marry the couple and was going through with it."

"How about Andy?" Hunter broke in. "Have you been tracking him?"

"Yeah, of course," August answered. "He's a decent guy, a nurse, works at Boston General Hospital. So far there's not one reason to doubt him."

"We have to doubt everyone," Tracy piped up. "Andy was the last to see Candace alive."

An eerie silence filled the room.

"Talk to everyone at the hospital he works with," Tracy continued. "Check his daily routines. He was hit hard by losing Candace, who knows how it's affecting him?"

"What about the other two women, Shannon and Tina?" August spoke condescendingly. "They were killed before Candace disappeared. Would this male nurse grab and kill them, too? Does he secretly hate all women? I doubt it very much."

"We could be looking at a killer who is grabbing his victims randomly," Sgt. Harding piped up. "Young ash-blondes attract him. Could be a waste of time to go through the details of everyone's relationship. It's all circumstantial."

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't?" Tracy shot back. "There's a good chance the killer knew his victims, lived close to them, as a lover or friend. That can't be discounted."

"Tracy is right," Hunter joined in. "What else did you find out about Wayne, the fiancé?" .

"Wayne's from Texas," said August, "was married twice and is making a good living selling these creepy paintings. They're all the rage, I heard. He also sells them on the internet. Wayne's first marriage was when he was in his early twenties.  It only lasted two months. His second marriage lasted three years. She died in a car accident. So far as I can tell he didn't date for a few years after his second wife died."

The room grew quieter. This wasn't a pretty picture, Wayne could end up looking like a sketchy character, but there was no evidence he had motive for killing three women, thought Tracy. She knew that it would be easy to grab on to someone like Wayne and get sidetracked.

"Is there any evidence at all of trouble between Wayne and Candace?" Tracy spoke out.

August looked at her gruffly. "None."

"Any evidence linking him to the other women?" continued Tracy , undaunted by his glance.

 "Unfortunately not," August relented. Seems Wayne was loyal to Tracy. Even though there's nothing to hold on to, there's a smell about this guy, anyway."

The room stared at August. They all knew how it was when a situation had a smell about it and they couldn't pin it anywhere. It usually just took time for the smell to get stronger and take them where they needed to go. They didn't have the luxury of time now, though.

"Keep Wayne in your crosshairs," Hunter said. "Put a trail on him. Where does he spend his time now?"

"Holed up in his apartment," said August.

"Okay," said Hunter, "good work, thanks, August. Now I'd like Tracy to come up here and give us a sense of who this guy could be. Where should we focus our efforts to find him?"

Tracy stood up, smoothed out her blue linen skirt, tossed her hair over her shoulders and walked calmly to the front of the room. The silence in the room deepened as she looked around at the faces eager for that one perfect clue.

Tracy started, "Although it is tempting to believe that we have a random killer here, or the usual sadistic psychopath, I see it differently. In my opinion, the killer not only knew all about them, he knew them personally. They had an opportunity to interact and he'd gained their trust. Then the women were killed suddenly, with no sense of it coming at all. The killer enjoyed their company and then suddenly struck. But, why these women? What does each of them represent to him? Why did he keep Shannon alive for two weeks?"

 "He loved torturing her," August interrupted. "Mental torture is torture too. There's no reason to rule out a sadistic psychopath."

"Let Tracy finish," Hunter interrupted, "then we'll debate it."

"I know it's natural to assume we have a sadistic psychopath on their hands," Tracy went on. "However, we've checked the database for criminals in the area committing these kinds of crimes and nothing has come up so far. That could well be because we're looking for the wrong kind of killer. I believe our killer is consumed by jealousy of women and wants to strike them where it hurts them the most. Tina was a prostitute, her sexuality was the core of her life, and he tore it apart. The second victim, Shannon, was surrounded by children, both her own and her students. The killer strangled and left her on a boat ride in the park where children go all the time. He was also striking out at the families and children who saw her. Was he getting back at a world that would have no part of him, but that he longed to be a part of?

"Candace was engaged to be married, and sleeping that night at her ex-boyfriend's house. Did the killer think she was being unfaithful? Was he disturbed by her wedding plans?  He gets women at the peak of their lives and stops them from going forward, finding fulfillment."

Wanda listened enrapt, smiling at Tracy.

"But there's more," said Tracy. "It's how he lures his victims to him. This killer has an apparent soft side as well. I believe killing these women is something he's dreamt of for a long time, built fantasies about. Somehow, he got the courage to act on his dreams and he's doing it now as quickly as possible. Suddenly he'll run out of steam and fall apart. But before that, his craving to be noticed is increasing. He's demanding his fifteen minutes of fame and time in the sun. He insists on being known." "Okay, so let's get practical. Where should we look for this lunatic then?"  Sgt. Harding spoke up loudly.

"He's close by," Tracy said in a throaty tone.. "This is his grand performance. He would never leave town, he's enjoying the uproar. Don't focus out of town. There's a single point that joins the women together, a place they all went to, maybe? A person they knew? Something they believed in? How about the church? Shannon worked there, and it was the place Candace was getting married. Have you checked everybody there?"

August stood up, obviously restless. "We spoke to everyone who worked at the church and the nursery school. They all came up clean. Had only good things to say about Shannon and Candace and there's no evidence the two women knew each other at all. If you ask me, I prefer tracking guys who've recently been let out of jail."

"It's not either, or. Go ahead, track them," said Hunter. "We've got to keep going after every possible lead. There are plenty of tips coming in with sightings of Candace, too. There are guys out following those as well."

 "And I plan to go to Shannon's nursery school class tomorrow and then go to Candace's shop," Tracy added. "Something will turn up, I'm sure of it."

"It's been done already," August stood up, facing off with Tracy. "You're not satisfied?"

August was threatening, but Tracy wouldn't take the bit. "I like checking things myself," she replied. "Just one unexpected comment or encounter can turn everything around."

"Fine," said Hunter, "and thank you, Tracy. Excellent analysis as usual."

 "Thank you, Hunter," Tracy said. "I'll be able to round out the picture as more evidence comes in."

Everyone in the room stood up then and began talking to one another, breaking the tense atmosphere that had formed.

Wanda came over to Tracy and gave her a warm hug. "You're terrific, honey, I'm proud of you. Listen, I know you're in over your head, but if you ever have time for a cup of coffee or need an ear to talk to, I'm right here, a few steps away."

"Wonderful," said Tracy. "You don't know how much I appreciate that."

"Oh I do," said Wanda, "believe me. It's rough working just with guys."

*

"Good meeting," Clay commented, after everyone left. "You did a great job, Tracy."

"Thanks," she replied, "it's only a beginning, though. I need more input."

Hunter agreed, looked concerned. "We've expanded the tip line and more people are manning it. It's going to be open all night long."

"Speaking of working all night long, I'd better get home now," Clay smiled wanly. "Barbara's been more than patient with me. She's starting to grumble about my late hours these days and I can't say I blame her."

"Absolutely," Hunter agreed. "You go home and eat with your wife and Tracy and I will grab a bite down the street at Café La Mer."

Clay paused a second, surprised, looking back and forth quickly between them. Then a little smile crept over the edges of his mouth.

"Good idea," he said. "You two take your time, relax, enjoy yourselves."

"We're not exactly going to a party." Hunter looked at Clay oddly.

 "Wherever you're going, have a nice evening." Clay's smile broadened as he tossed another glance at Tracy and Hunter before leaving for home.

# Chapter 21

 Café La Mer was well known not only for its world-class gourmet meals but beautiful décor. When Hunter and Tracy arrived they were seated at a choice table near the French windows. It seemed the owners knew Hunter and there was always a fine table available for him.

Tracy looked around at the walls, which were covered by deep burgundy wallpaper. The chairs were upholstered to match and small antique crystal chandeliers hung over each table, providing a soft light. She felt a sense of comfort and ease. It was good to be out of the usual work environment, if only for a short while.

"The lobster bisque is particularly good here," Hunter remarked as both of them picked up the hand-embroidered menus.

"Wonderful," said Tracy, as the waiter came by. They ordered  and the two of them were left together alone. A startled silence rose between them suddenly,  as though they were strangers sitting down to an intimate meal.

"I used to come here all the time." Hunter broke the silence. "Now work doesn't permit it."

 "That's what I tell myself, too," Tracy's voice lowered.

Hunter looked at her quizzically.

"I tell myself I'm on a mission and nothing can get in the way."  It was surprisingly easy and natural to talk to Hunter and Tracy appreciated this moment to unwind in.

Two glasses of wine were brought to the table. As Hunter lifted the glass to his lips, a look of ease crossed his face as well. .

"You don't mince words, Tracy," he said as he drank most of the wine. "I love a person who says what they think and does what they say."

 "Pretty rare these days," Tracy echoed, drinking her wine as well.

"You're a wonderful addition to the team," he added.

"That's good to hear," Tracy was grateful.

Suddenly Hunter's beautiful smile lit up his face, making him seem charming and boyish. Tracy couldn't help suddenly smiling broadly as well.

  "Tell me about you, Tracy," Hunter said as the waiter then brought them their delicious dinners.

 "No, you tell me." Tracy was hungry and wanted to eat. She also wanted to know more about Hunter "I knew I was going to be doing this job since I was young," he started. "It called to me. I had to answer."

Tracy's head shot up. "How well I know," she replied. "And what's the rest of your life like?"

"This is the rest of my life," he answered.

Tracy wondered if she should mention his painful divorce, but quickly thought better of it. It was never a good idea to mix things up. They were definitely getting to know each other better, but this was a strictly professional relationship and it was best to keep it that way.

Hunter felt comfortable with Tracy though, seemed to need to talk.

"I've just been through a rotten divorce," he said then, surprising her. "It's not a secret. The whole department knows about it."

Tracy looked at him softly. "I'm really sorry to hear that," she said.

"I was blindsided in every way," he went on. "My wife cheated on me."

"That's awful," Tracy responded. "You deserve better and you're fortunate you found out early on. This certainly isn't a person you want to live your whole life with."

"That's an odd way to put it." Hunter looked startled. "There was nothing more I ever could have wanted than the marriage I had. I loved my wife and I always will."

 There was something beautiful about that kind of loyalty, thought Tracy. She understood what he was talking about, too. She felt that way about her mother. Tracy's whole life had been driven by the desire to find her and bring the person who'd kidnapped her to justice.

"That kind of loyalty is noble, Hunter," Tracy said softly.

Tracy's response startled Hunter again. "Thank you," he said. "I haven't heard anyone say something like that before. Most people tell me to get over it and just move on."

"Most people don't understand," Tracy responded.

Hunter drew closer to her across the table. "But you do," he mused. "You're different than others, Tracy. You're fascinating."

"Some things you can't move on from," said Tracy, "not ever. And it's okay."

 Tracy's telephone rang. She looked down at it quickly and saw that Wess was calling.. He always found the most inopportune times to call.

 "I'm so sorry, it's Wess," she said. "I haven't spoken to him for a while."

"Please pick it up, talk to him." Hunter backed away.

"I'll make it quick," said Tracy as she picked up the phone.

"Tracy, is it you?" Wess's voice sounded heavy.

"So glad you called, Wess," Tracy said.

"Everyone's upset about what's going on," he started. "I'm hearing from all kinds of friends. A bunch of them have even come to visit."

Tracy was surprised to hear that.

"They've come so I won't be alone at a time like this," he continued.

"Alone?" Tracy was confused.

"No one thinks I should have to go through something like this by myself," Wess didn't sound like himself. "It's awful to have your girlfriend in the middle of danger, tracking down a serial killer in another state. Anxiety producing."

"I realize," Tracy said softly. "I'm glad they're there to support you."

"For all I know you could be next. You could be taken, too! " Wess's words grew slurred. "I couldn't handle something like that. I don't want to."

Tracy felt chilled. "Are you drinking, Wess?" she asked him.

"Come home, Tracy," he said. "Give them your profile and get on a train."

"Wess, I'd love to talk, but I'm at dinner right now. I'll be back in my room in about an hour or so. Can I call you as soon as I return?"

Tracy's answer only upset him further. "I'll be busy in an hour," Wess replied instantly. "Talk to me now or not at all."

"This is an awkward time," Tracy repeated.

"An hour from now is awkward for me," he retorted petulantly.

Tracy's face fell. This was definitely not the Wess she knew.  "I'm at a business dinner right now" she said.

"Yeah, I'm sure of it," he replied. "A business dinner with who? Those FBI agents you work with?" Then he hung up the phone.

Tracy looked at the phone, her heart pounding.

Hunter reached across the table and took the phone out of her hand. "I don't want to get in the way of anything that's not my business," he said, "but every time you talk to this guy you look like you've been hit by a truck. What's wrong between the two of you?"

"Seems like Wess has a hard time with my being away on a case," Tracy replied. "Usually, our relationship is solid. We're happy together. He's never behaved like this before."

"What's different this time?" asked Hunter.

"We're just about to get engaged," Tracy answered in a soft voice.

"Tell me about it," Hunter mumbled. "Everything comes out when you get engaged. Things that never mattered before become hot topics. The whole world starts to get involved in your relationship. If you can survive an engagement, you can survive anything."

"We're not engaged yet," Tracy murmured. "Just about to."

"Pay attention, Tracy," Hunter insisted. "If you're going to marry a guy like that you'll have to kiss your work good-bye."

Hunter's words hit hard, creating a pit in her stomach. Tracy didn't want to kiss either Wess good-bye or the work she loved to do.

"You said I deserve better than what I had," Hunter went on. "Well, how about you? Do you know how many guys would be thrilled to have you at their side?"

That didn't matter. It was Wess Tracy cared about.

"I actually don't like what's going on with you and your boyfriend," Hunter continued. "Things like this can escalate. It's getting on my nerves."

# Chapter 22

Things weren't going well and it was getting on Tad's nerves. He didn't like it. Not one bit. He'd sent the letter to the editor and it hadn't got published. In the letter he'd said it was obvious there was more than one killer loose, but no one contacted him and asked why he thought that.

He called the tip line three times and the person who answered was not only rude to him, she didn't pay any attention to what he'd said. He told her to look for the killer along the Charles River at night. That was the perfect place for him to lie in waiting.. The woman answered as if she were reading a scripted message.

"Thank you for your call, sir. May I have your name?"

Tad stopped a moment before telling her. There was no harm in it though,, he decided. "Tad Warehouse calling," he'd said.

"Are you calling about a sighting, sir?" she'd continued.

"Could be," he'd replied. "If you have someone go and walk near the Charles River, you'll have a sighting yourself in no time at all."

"Have you sighted the victim, sir?" the woman asked again.

This irritated Tad enormously. How the hell did she get a job like this? Someone who didn't even listen.

 "Did you hear what I just told you, lady?" He repeated it again.

"Have you sighted the victim?" the voice repeated.

Tad hung up on her then, furious. Damn idiot, he gave her his name. He gave her valuable guidance. Why didn't she ask him why they should patrol the Charles River? Because she didn't really want to find the killer, that's why. Once they found the killer her job would be over. What kind of woman worked at a job like this anyway, late at night? A poor, lonely woman, that's who. At this speed how could the cops find anyone? They couldn't. There was no one answering the phones who had brains of their own. They were human robots, that's what they were. If Tad hated anything, it was human robots, people who couldn't think for themselves or feel real pain.

Tad got out of the house then to walk off his frustration. He liked taking long walks, but this time it wasn't working. If anything he felt more frustrated than when he started. He wasn't going to let them brush him off like this either, especially in the middle of the investigation. Then, suddenly, he had a brilliant idea. Tad thought of Tracy Wrenn. She wasn't a human robot. He'd bet dollars to donuts on that. Tad suddenly decided to call the hotline again and demand to speak to her. Only her. No one else.

Even though it was late at night, Tad called again. "Put Tracy Wrenn on the phone immediately," he said when another idiot picked up the phone.

"Who's calling?" the other woman answered. "Can you give me your name, sir?"

"This is Tad Warehouse," he said in a gruff tone, "and you'd better listen to me this time."

The person on the other end grew quiet.

"I want to talk to Tracy Wrenn," he demanded.

"Who?" she asked, fearfully.

"Don't tell me you don't know who Tracy Wrenn is." Tad's voice got louder.

"I don't know her personally, sir," the woman spoke up then. "But I will deliver your message and someone will find her for you."

Tad breathed heavily. He couldn't actually believe they would do it, but he felt a little better anyway. At least someone was listening to him. "When will you do it?" he asked.

"Can it wait until the morning?" the woman asked. "There are more people around who can find her then for you."

"Fine," Tad said, "I'll call back first thing in the morning. Make sure someone is expecting my call."

"I will, sir, I will," the woman responded. "Would you like to leave your phone number?"

"No need for that, I'll call back myself," Tad replied and hung up the phone.

 It couldn't wait for morning though, Tad realized. He wanted to talk to Tracy tonight.

*

After Tracy and Hunter finished dinner, they said a quick good night and before she knew it, Tracy was back in her hotel room. The minute she got in Tracy sat down on the edge of the bed and put in a quick call to Wess.  He didn't answer.

Tracy stretched. Then she went to the bathroom and took a long shower, letting the hot water pound on her, relaxing her taut muscles and nerves. She was surprised by what a lovely time she'd had with Hunter and also by what he'd said about the other guys admiring her. Tracy knew men found her appealing, but most of the time she blocked it out. Although she dated a lot in college, none of it ever came to anything. Wess was actually the first relationship that lasted. She was never really sure why. Up to now things had gone well between them. They enjoyed getting together at the end of the day, having dinner, going over what happened, making plans to enjoy their time off. Up to now Wess had always been supportive of Tracy.  Now he was upset and it unnerved her. The last thing she needed in the middle of a case was relationship trouble. It made her more vulnerable, less safe. How come Wess couldn't understand that?

Tracy got out of the shower, dried off slowly, and began brushing her hair. Her cell phone rang then, and delighted, she leapt to the next room to answer. He was calling back. She was relieved.

"Wess?" Tracy said, excited.

"Tracy Wrenn?" an odd male voice responded, instead.

"Who's this?" asked Tracy, startled.

"You know who I am," the voice chortled softly.

"Who?" Tracy was unnerved.

"Stop and think a minute," the voice replied. "Think it over carefully. If you're as smart as everyone says, you'll figure it out in a few minutes." Then he breathed slowly into the phone.

Tracy wanted to draw him into further conversation and keep him on longer, so the call could be traced. "Who says I'm smart?" she asked, her heart starting to pound.

He stopped breathing a second and laughed. "Playing games with me, Tracy? Don't bother. I know you're trying to trace the call." Then he hung up.

For a second Tracy froze. Who was that? A guy who's obviously trying to frighten me, she thought. But he can't. He doesn't have the qualities of the killer. The killer was sweet to his victims, Tracy was sure. He lured them in gently. This caller was just someone on the fringes who wanted to be part of the action. The news of her being on the case drew him in.

Tracy was about to report the call, but thought better of it. Just a crank, she decided. There was more than enough time to report it tomorrow. She'd asked for this, made her presence public. This was probably the first of many crazy calls that would be coming her way.

Tracy double locked the door of the suite, put the phone on her night table, and went to bed.

*

 "Somebody named Tad Warehouse called the tip line and asked to talk to you," Hunter said to Tracy as she walked into the office first thing in the morning, beautifully groomed in a lemon linen dress with matching jacket and sandals.

"Who is he?" asked Tracy offhandedly.

"No one in particular," Clay joined in. "He's just a tipster with nothing specific. Didn't leave a phone number either, so I wouldn't take it seriously. He probably just saw your picture in the paper. This case has hit a nerve and we've got all kinds of people floating around calling in strange comments."

"True," said Tracy, "I got one last night."

"Last night? From who?" Hunter was startled.

"Nobody in particular," said Tracy, "just some guy saying how smart I was. Then he hung up. Wasn't on long enough to trace him."

"How did he get your cell phone number?" Hunter was perturbed.

"Someone in the tip line might have given it to him by mistake," said Tracy. "Things like that happen."

Hunter shook his head. "You should have called that in immediately."

"It wasn't necessary," said Tracy, "believe me." After all that was the basis of her job, knowing which leads to follow and which to throw away.

"Well, this Tad Warehouse has called a few times," Hunter continued. "Usually tipsters don't call and ask to talk to a specific person."

"True," said Tracy, "I'll talk to him later on. Right now I want to go to the nursery school Shannon worked at."

"Good enough," said Hunter. "Go see if anything new turns up."

 "How about Tina's case? Anything going on there?" asked Tracy.

"Nothing," said Hunter. "We have more investigators spreading out in her neighborhood, but so far they have nothing to add."

Tracy felt perplexed. When she felt this way the best thing to do was go directly to a place a victim lived or worked at and just talk to people there. She would sniff around and listen to small talk. Sometimes just an offhanded comment opened up a brand new door.

Clay walked in then and joined the conversation. "Good morning and good news," he started. "More tips are coming in, and they're coming from wider destinations. We got a call from Maine yesterday and also New Hampshire."

"Sightings?" asked Tracy.

"One or two sightings that have led nowhere" he added. "But some are worth exploring."

"Like what?" Tracy was interested.

"When you get back from the nursery school, why not take some calls from the tip line yourself and see," he suggested.

"Good idea," said Tracy. "But first I'm going there."

"Before you go, tell me one thing," Clay said. "Did you and Hunter have a good dinner last night?"

That was the first time Tracy met Hunter's eyes directly that morning. Very nice, she was about to answer, but waited for him to respond first.

"We had a really fantastic dinner," Hunter spoke up immediately. It was great to be back at Café La Mer again. I didn't realize how much I'd missed that place. It's definitely one of the best restaurants in town."

# Chapter 23

The nursery school Shannon had worked at was in a lovely, small building at the end of a winding dirt road behind the church. It seemed like an idyllic place for children, with a large playground under hanging willow trees, sprawled outside.

As soon as Tracy walked in, she was greeted by the head of the school, a slender woman named Marilyn. Dressed in well-fitting slacks and a crisp, pink blouse, Marilyn looked like the picture of civility, the perfect headmistress.

"We're so delighted you've come to visit us yourself," Marilyn said to Tracy immediately. "We can go into Shannon's room as soon as the children go outdoors for playtime."

"Certainly," said Tracy.

"We wouldn't want anyone in the room, of course, while class is going on." Marilyn smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. "The last thing we want to do is disturb the children. They're upset enough about losing their teacher, naturally."

"Do they have any idea what happened to Shannon?" Tracy asked, disturbed by the thought of the children losing someone they'd gotten close to.

"No, of course not," said Marilyn, "except for one little girl who saw the photo of Shannon on the Swan Boats in the paper her mother was looking at."

"That's awful, truly awful," breathed Tracy.

Marilyn agreed. "The child hasn't been back to school since. We just told the other children that their teacher was sick and had to go away for a while to get better. They all wrote her beautiful get well notes. And the teacher who took over the class, Beverly, was Shannon's assistant. Fortunately the children knew her well and it made the transition much smoother." The smile that seemed permanently planted on Marilyn's face faded for a swift moment.

"Terrifying what happened to Shannon, isn't it?" Tracy added, wanting to get beneath Marilyn's façade of perfection.

"Yes it is." Marilyn then leaned over and whispered, "Absolutely terrifying. And I can't tell you how much we miss her. It's hard to believe she's gone."

Tracy looked around the area. Everything was in perfect order, there was no reason not to believe anything Marilyn said.

"Let's sit down in your office a minute while we're waiting for the children's recess," Tracy said. This was a good opportunity to talk to this woman more deeply, try to shake her up a bit, see what else she could find.

"Yes, please, of course, come in," Marilyn offered, leading Tracy to a large, well-appointed office with children's drawings all over the walls.

"Did you know Jeffrey, Shannon's husband?" Tracy asked, sitting down on the chair in front of the desk. She leaned forward, speaking confidentially to Marilyn, one woman to the next.

"Why do you ask?" Marilyn looked startled, a little muscle under her eye starting to twitch.

 "I heard there were problems between them," Tracy went on. "Marital problems have all kinds of repercussions, don't they?"

"What kind of problems?" Marilyn began to look more alarmed than before.

"Did Jeffrey come here often?" Tracy bypassed her question.

"He came once in a while," said Marilyn. "Jeffrey's a lovely man, successful, attentive. He adored the children." Marilyn's face flushed a bit. "He and Shannon always seemed fine together. Absolutely fine," she added for good measure, biting her lower lip.

"Shannon never said anything about her marriage?" Tracy acted as though she didn't believe it.

Marilyn stood up quickly and then sat down. "No, Shannon never said one bad thing about Jeffrey or suggested they were having difficulty."

"Did you hear that Jeffrey Glaze had been having affairs?" Tracy wanted to lay it all out, cull any piece of information she could find.

Marilyn glanced at her office door, checking to see if anyone was listening. "After Shannon disappeared a rumor floated up about that." Her voice lowered. "If it was true, I doubt that Shannon knew a thing about it. Jeffrey was always discreet about everything. I know he would never want to hurt his wife."

"How do you know that?" Tracy looked more closely at Marilyn, who showed no further response. Actually, Tracy's scrutiny seemed to bother her slightly.

"Shannon loved her job, she loved her children, and she had lots of friends." Marilyn was on the defense, speaking fast. "Her life was happy. That is the way we wish to remember her and no one will spoil that for us."

As they talked, Tracy looked out the window and suddenly saw a line of nursery school children trailing, one behind the other, to the playground in back.

"Looks like the classroom is free now," Tracy murmured.

Marilyn turned around, looked at the children, and nodded to Tracy. "Okay, we can go in her room for a little while now, until recess is over."

*

The classroom Shannon taught in was open, spacious, and surprisingly well ordered. With two huge windows on each side of the room, the light of the day shone in beautifully.

"We're proud of our classrooms here," Marilyn said. "We're proud of our teachers and the wonderful way the little ones grow under our care. Shannon did a beautiful job creating an atmosphere of love and safety. You can still feel it here."

"She wasn't safe herself though, was she?" asked Tracy.

"What happened to her had absolutely nothing to do with us," Marilyn breathed.

"She was last seen alive while leaving work, wasn't she?" Tracy dug in.

"Yes, that's right," said Marilyn. "But there was nothing at all unusual about that day. She went outside after work, got into her car, and drove away. Same as every day. That was it."

"Nobody saw her actually get into her car, though, did they?" asked Tracy.

 "Not to my knowledge," she said. "We've gone over that with the police several times."

"Yes, I know," said Tracy. "I just wanted to see the place she worked for myself. Is there anything else at all you can show me that will help me know her better?"

Marilyn paused for a moment, both wanting the interview to be over and to be of help.

"I believe there is," she said abruptly. Marilyn then walked to the far corner of the room where she picked up a huge album that was sitting on a bookcase on the bottom shelf. "Here, come take a look," she said. "I know this is something Shannon prized. There are photos of the children in it, pictures they made, notes they sent her, whatever was particularly important to her. She gathered it all together here."

Tracy took the album, which was heavy, walked over to the desk with it and opened it up. In it was the record of a beautiful life. Photos of young children, drawings, and all kinds of other memorabilia Shannon had loved. Tracy turned the pages slowly, until something out of the ordinary struck her eye. She saw a note written in a scrawly handwriting with a red crayon. Tracy leaned over and tried to read it.

"What's this?" she asked. The note was hard to decipher, written in what seemed like baby talk.

"Let me see," said Marilyn, pulling the album toward herself. "Oh dear, what is this?" she murmured. "I never saw it before. I have no idea." She scrutinized the paper closely.

Tracy put on a glove then and slowly pulled the paper out of the album as she read it out loud.

"Da dum, de do, ha happy na, coming ho ho after se sum you."

"What on earth?" said Marilyn, breathless.

# Chapter 24

"How did she get this note?" Tracy was alerted. "This is more than baby talk. Read carefully. There's a warning here."

"A warning? From who?" Marilyn stared at the paper.

"It's a warning of her death!" Tracy exclaimed. "Forget the baby talk and the note says, coming after you! Someone she knew passed this to her. She held onto it and prized it. Why?"

"She probably had no idea what the note was saying." Marilyn was having a hard time catching her breath.

Or maybe she did, Tracy wondered swiftly. Maybe she knew exactly who this note came from and what was in store.

"It seems to be written by a child." Marilyn was now trembling.

"'Seems to be' is the heart of the matter," said Tracy. "Could be the killer used a child to pass the note to her. And then used the same child as a cover when he grabbed Shannon."

"Oh God, oh God." Marilyn's eyes filled with tears.

"No worries," said Tracy quickly. "I'll get this note to forensics immediately. There have to be fingerprints on it. This could be the link we're looking for."

*

The note was taken to forensics immediately and Wanda called Tracy to thank her.

"Great find," Wanda started. "This is fantastic. We're putting the note through with double speed."

Tracy was relieved and grateful.

"Have time for a bite of lunch today?" Wanda asked.

"Would love to," said Tracy, "but there's too much going on here. I want to work the tip line myself for a while."

"Of course," said Wanda. "If you get a few seconds free, give me a call. Heard you had a great dinner with Hunter last night."

Tracy was shocked. How had Wanda heard that? "What?" she said.

Wanda laughed. "Whatever goes on in the department, everyone hears about it in half second flat. We're nuts like that."

"Hunter and I had a quick bite after work last night," Tracy said matter-of-factly. "It was a business dinner, nothing out of the ordinary."

"A business dinner at Café La Mer?" Wanda chortled. "Listen, we're all happy about it, very happy."

This was on the edge of being intrusive. "Do you know what we ordered for dinner, too?" Tracy asked, trying to stop her.

Wanda laughed louder. "I don't mean anything by it, honey," she said then. "We all love Hunter, he's a fantastic guy who's just gone through the mill. His divorce knocked him for a loop. Now he gets here first thing in the morning and stays way later than he should. Believe me, Tracy, we're all thrilled he had dinner with you."

Tracy's body clenched. This was way more than she bargained for. She didn't like the fact that everyone was talking about their dinner. It was a casual evening, didn't amount to anything.

"I'm about to become engaged, Wanda," Tracy quickly announced.

"No way? Engaged?" Wanda sounded startled. "No one told me that. Now we definitely have to meet for lunch. I want to hear all about him. When's the wedding?"

Tracy fell silent.

"Have you guys set a date yet?" Wanda kept up the chatter.

"Not yet," Tracy finally answered, suddenly wondering if the wedding would ever take place. From the way things looked now, it was up in the air.

*

The note was a gold mine. The killer was crafty, pretending to be an innocent child while   embedding warnings of danger in it.  He was trying to drive his victims crazy, and also the rest of the world. Criminals of this kind thrived on confusion, double messages, and deceit. What they feared most was straight talk and plain truth.

Tracy asked that news of finding the note be made public immediately. The killer had to be feeling that he was gaining the upper hand. She wanted to make him skittish, scare him into that one wrong move. She also wanted to alert any others out there who might have received a note of this kind. Tracy made a public plea to parents to speak to their children and see if anyone told them to pass a note like this to their teachers or anyone else. Obviously, the killer hung around nursery schools and other places with children. Tracy also asked everyone to watch for him at playgrounds.

"Keep your eyes open for anyone at your playground or child's school that doesn't belong there!" she dictated to the press. "Or someone who might be working there who is behaving oddly. We need your help. We need your vigilance."

Her announcement created a stir. When she returned to the offices Hunter, Clay, and August were waiting for her.

"We heard what you found at the nursery school." August seemed nervous. "You've   ratcheted up the fear in town. Now you're going to have everyone suspecting each other. Yeah, the jerk might hang around playgrounds, but he also hangs around prostitutes, so I wouldn't scare parents about him. We're getting calls about it, off the hook."

"Everyone has to be alerted," Tracy insisted. "Playgrounds have to be guarded carefully."

"Hold on, the perv grabbed the third victim while she was jogging on a perfectly normal street. So where's the link between that and a pedophile hanging around kids?" August was pissed. Tracy's suggestions obviously bugged him. Everything about her did.

"There are all kinds of psychological implications for a note of this kind." Tracy brushed off August's objections. "If the note is from the killer, and it looks like it is, then he's reliving traumas he experienced in childhood. He becomes regressed, identifies as a child in his mind, and goes after the teacher. He could have been punished or beaten by teachers and is returning the favor now. Or, maybe, by getting rid of the teacher, he's protecting other children from being hurt the way he was."

"Could be doesn't amount to a thing." August wiped his brow feverishly. "Don't go scaring parents."

"The killer infiltrates places of innocence and safety," Tracy continued. "In one way he feels like a child, but in another he knows what he's doing all the time. In the midst of his childlike patter there's a clear warning in the note he sent. That's important. He gives his victims notice. Are they smart enough to realize it and get away? Not so far. Why did Shannon even save this note? It must have come from someone who was important to her."

"One of the children in her class most likely," Clay commented.

"Most likely," Tracy agreed, "and that is frightening. This killer has access to these children, they know and trust him. He's someone they run into on a regular basis."

"Someone at the school?" Clay was fired up now. "A teacher there?"

"Doubtful, doubtful." Hunter stood up, tapping his knuckles on the edge of the desk. "We talked to everyone who had anything to do with the school. Everyone came up clean. And these killings were definitely not done by a woman."

Tracy paused a moment at the thought of it. "But perhaps a woman was implicated somehow?"

"Women do not sexually mutilate and slash victims the way Tina was killed." Hunter was emphatic.

"True," Tracy agreed. "But perhaps the woman helped the killer? Was she the one to gain the victim's trust?"

"This is definitely not the road to take," the thought agitated Hunter.

"Maybe not," Tracy murmured. "Then let's focus on another important aspect of this note. It tells us that the killer sent warnings. Not only did he leave a message for the police, he left them for his victims. What were the other warnings he sent? We have to go through each victims' possessions with that in mind. Is there something they had around them that let them know what was in store?"

"Farfetched," grumbled August. "What are we going to do, comb through every single thing that belongs to them?"

"That's how I found Shannon's note," Tracy reminded him. "I'll go myself to Candace's boutique," she offered.

"Not right now," said Hunter. "It would be a much better use of your time to answer the phone lines for a while since this news has been made public. Look over all the tips that are coming in. I'll send someone else over to Candace's boutique."

"I'll go back to the boutique again," August offered reluctantly.

"Great," said Tracy, planning to go herself later on anyway. "Look through everything Candace was selling, and pay careful attention to any paperwork. Check the bills, receipts, look for any notes she received."

"She probably threw plenty of notes out," said August.

"You never know," Clay chimed in. "If the killer knew Candace, if he'd gained her trust, there's every reason to believe she might have held onto something from him that was of value to her. And we have to do the same thing with Tina."

Tracy suddenly thought of the little wooden crucifix she'd found in the alley where Tina had been dumped. Could it have been a warning from the killer, a message of some kind? Who did the crucifix really belong to, though? Forensics hadn't found any fingerprints or DNA on it, so there was no way to be sure.

"It never ends," August mumbled, sighing. He got up and stretched. "All these theories are great, but nothing's coming together." Then he turned and walked to the door. "Dead or alive, the killer's got Candace and I'm going to check receipts at a boutique? Does that make sense?" he said as he left.

# Chapter 25

The room manning the tip line was crowded and warm. People sat at cubicles taking calls as the sun poured in through the closed windows. Tracy was led to a cubicle that was larger than most and given a stack of papers outlining calls and suggestions that were of particular interest. Most of them had been checked through already.

The head of the tip lines, Sandra Bell, a big woman in her early forties, thanked Tracy profusely before leaving her there alone.

"We really appreciate your coming in to help us," Sandra said, looking kindly at Tracy. "If you need anything at all, call me immediately. I'm a few cubicles down."

Tracy liked Sandra very much. "I'll be fine," she said. "Can't wait to get going."

"Oh, by the way." Sandra suddenly seemed to recollect something. "There was some caller asking to talk to you. He called twice already."

 "Really?" Tracy was surprised.

"Yeah, he said something about the note with the baby talk. It bothered him. He wouldn't leave his number though. But he did leave his name, Tad Warehouse."

"If he calls again, put him through," said Tracy.

Sandra smiled and shrugged. "I doubt he'll call again," she said, "but if he does, I'll make sure he's put through. Thanks again." Then she left.

Tracy quickly went over the pages Sandra had given her. Some sightings of Candace had been called in and also a few of Shannon. Didn't these people realize Shannon had been found dead? Probably not. Cases like this stirred up all kinds of people. Some also had called in with the names of some guys they thought could have been Tina's customers. You really had to know how to sort things through.

The tip line rang then and Tracy picked up quickly.

"I heard the news." The caller was a woman who sounded breathless. "There's a man I see all the time when I pick up my son from nursery school. He talks to the kids all the time."

"May I have your name and number?" Tracy asked first, before taking further information. The woman gave Tracy her name and number. Tracy continued, "Where does your son go to nursery school?"

"I'm calling from Philadelphia," said the woman. "The guy has an ice cream truck that he parks outside the school and sells ice cream and soda."

"Thanks so much for calling," said Tracy, "but we're focused in Boston."

"I know, but the guy here could be dangerous, too."  the caller was frightened.

Tracy tried to calm her. "If you're concerned get in touch with the police in your area."

"I will, I will," the caller replied as the tip line rang again.

Many calls from frightened parents came in, as well as someone whose words were slurred. That person told them he knew the killer was going to grab another whore off the streets any day now. They all got it sooner or later anyway. Didn't they?

Most of the calls seemed like a waste of time. A button with a little red light flashed on the intercom then and Tracy pressed it.

It was Sandra. "Hey, Tracy, believe it or not, we've got that caller, Tad Warehouse, back on the line now. He's asking to speak to you again."

"Put him through," said Tracy quickly, glad to be finished with the other calls right now. She picked up the phone immediately.

"Tracy Wrenn?" a male voice came in softly.

"Yes, it's me," said Tracy.

"Well, this is our lucky day," said the caller. "This is Tad Warehouse." Then he waited, as if expecting Tracy to know who he was.

"Yes?" asked Tracy.

"I've been calling and calling, waiting to speak to you," Tad continued.

There was a natural intelligence about the caller's voice that interested Tracy. "Thank you," she said, "how can I be of help?"

"Be of help?" Tad spoke slowly. "That's good to hear. Finally, someone wants to be of help. I had a feeling the minute I saw you in the papers that you were different from the rest."

Tracy's ears perked up. Who was this?

"Actually, I've been calling and calling and no one's really given me the time of day. They're not listening, Tracy."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Tad," said Tracy. She wanted to establish some kind of rapport with this caller so he would go on..

Pleased, Tad continued. "Listen to me and listen good. They're letting the killer slip right through their fingers right in front of our eyes."

"Tell me more," Tracy was mobilized.

"I'm a smart guy, I've been following the case." Tad was emboldened. "There's no reason this should be going on for as long as it has. Two women are dead already."

"And the third?" asked Tracy, wondering if he knew something.

"We don't know yet, do we?" said Tad. "But it's entirely possible that whether she lives or dies could depend on our conversation."

Tracy sat on the edge of her chair and began to record the conversation. This was fascinating. Could it be what they were waiting for.

 "Tell me more, Tad. Who are you, what do you know?"

"I know a lot," Tad answered. "I've lived in this town a long time and when something terrible like this happens, I know how to be of help. And I want to."

"That's commendable of you," said Tracy.

"Commendable?" Tad took a deep breath.

"You know, you're a fantastic woman, Tracy," he breathed. "And I knew you would be. You know who to value and who's a waste of time. Most leads you're getting are a complete waste of time. Do you realize that?"

"Yes, I do," Tracy responded quickly. "You're absolutely right there. Thank you."

 "Thank you?" Tad seemed amazed. "You are the first person who has actually thanked me for jumping in and trying to help."

"Well, I appreciate you, Tad, I really do," said Tracy. "There's nothing more important than a concerned citizen. The public are law enforcement's eyes and ears. We must listen. Please tell me what it is you know."

"It's too much to do over the phone." Tad's voice dropped to a hush. "I have to meet you in person to tell you."

Tracy shivered. Was he closing in? Was she the next intended victim? It wouldn't be the first time that happened in an investigation. Somehow Tracy wasn't frightened by the possibility. She actually felt excited by the chance to meet him face to face.

 "That's not how we usually do things, Tad," she said in a quiet tone.

"But look," Tad went on, excited, "the way you usually do things doesn't mean a damn. It isn't working, is it? The killer's still on the loose. You don't have one solid lead so far either."

"Do you want to come to the FBI offices?" Tracy asked quickly then, probing to see what he really had in mind

"No," Tad answered fitfully. "I'd rather meet you outside at an outdoor café. How about the Bara, three blocks from where you work?"

Tad had done his homework, knew where she was stationed and what was going on in the area, thought Tracy. This was not a casual caller either; the case was obviously important to him. Tracy thought for a moment. She would get the coverage she needed and meet him outside in a public place. If he tried to grab her, she'd have her backup right there. And, if he was just another nut and it was a waste of time, she'd chalk it up to the ins and outs of investigating.

"I can see you for half an hour at three o'clock today," Tracy offered.

"I'll be there," said Tad, delighted. "I'll be standing outside wearing khakis. I'm great looking with sandy hair. See ya."

# Chapter 26

Tracy was alerted. Anything was possible here. The urgency of Tad's call and his focus on Tracy were red flags. Tracy put in a call to Hunter from the tip lines, to let him know her plans.

"We've got a strange caller who's called a few times," Tracy said when Hunter picked up. "His name is Tad Warehouse. He wants to talk to me in person, and this one's worth pursuing."

Tracy felt Hunter lurch to attention. "Why?" he asked.

"He's overly focused on me, the cops, and the case. He's dwelling on it," said Tracy. "Either he has something for us, or is involved himself."

Hunter took a deep breath. "He's helping us find him?" he murmured sarcastically.

"Hey, it could be break of some kind," said Tracy. "Get me some plainclothesmen backup at the café. I'll go see who he is and then signal them if I need them."

"I don't like it," Hunter protested. "He could grab you the minute he sees you."

"In a public place? I doubt it. I get that he wants to talk, to be listened to. I'll listen while the cops are a step away.  I told him I'd meet him for just half an hour outdoors at Café Bara. "

"Okay," Hunter relented, "I'll have a couple of guys posted there ASAP."

Tracy was pleased. "Anything new on your end?" she asked.

"Maybe?" Hunter responded. "It's something simple and I don't really know how it fits. August found a few cartons of pink pearls missing and unaccounted for from Candace's boutique. Some delivery guy picked them up but they had no record of where he delivered them to. We're tracking him down to find out."

 "Pink pearls?" Tracy mulled it over. "Somebody stealing from her?"

"Possibly," answered Hunter. "We've confronted Wayne about it and he said he had no idea about the pearls, but things did go missing in the shop from time to time."

"One of the people working in the shop, maybe?" asked Tracy.

"Could be, but so what?" Hunter replied. "Kevin is all over it though. He's going crazy and now blames the pearls on Wayne."

"It's an old story. He has to blame someone to keep himself sane," said Tracy.

"I guess so," said Hunter. "And one more thing, someone who works at the shop said that Candace was glad Wayne was out of town that night. She was looking forward to spending time with Andy. Kevin just heard about it and now he's pressing us to speak to Pastor Boyd again. He's convinced the pastor knows something we don't."

"So, let's talk to him," said Tracy.

"August plans to," said Hunter, "but I don't feel good about it. Boyd's under so much pressure as it is. The whole town's freaking out and lots of people are going to talk to him." "You never know," said Tracy. "Could these killings be related to money? Was anything else stolen from Shannon's place or Tina's? Was there ever a request for ransom?"

 "Not that we know of," said Hunter, "and we checked for it thoroughly."

There were too many dead ends, and Hunter was beginning to sound complacent about it. Tracy was getting edgy.

"Okay, so we have a lot of dead ends," she said. "It's good that I'm going to talk to this Tad Warehouse guy and see what he has to add."

"Just sounds like some creep wanting to sound off," said Hunter.

 "Could be," said Tracy, "I'll find out. Anything else before I go?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Hunter seemed to just remember. "You got a call here from Wess."

"At the office?" Tracy was taken aback. Why would he do that? Usually he called her directly on her phone.

"He left word that he's on his way to Boston to see you." Hunter sounded more annoyed than interested.

"See me about what?" asked Tracy.

"That's for you to find out," Hunter replied. "I told you how I feel about it. Wess said he's showing up at our offices at around four thirty today."

Tracy was horrified. "Okay, thanks for letting me know," she answered.

"After you get through with your meeting with that caller, come over and be here when Wess arrives," Hunter grumbled. "I have absolutely no desire to meet this guy. This is definitely a distraction we could live without."

Tracy didn't like any of this either. After hanging up with Hunter, she immediately put a call in to Wess. Again, he didn't pick up and she left a hurried message asking what this was all about.

*

Café Bara was a small street café nestled on a narrow block lined with brownstones, a few blocks from the FBI offices. Known for its delicious pastries and coffee, the place was usually full. Tracy walked over slowly, wondering what to expect. As she walked a few guys who were passing by turned and looked at her approvingly.

The afternoon had turned slightly breezy, with the feeling of rain in the air. As Tracy drew closer to the café, she saw a stout middle-aged man with sandy hair, dressed in khakis and a casual shirt. He was standing in the front of the café, looking around. In one sense he seemed entirely ordinary, no one you would give a second glance. In another sense, he captured Tracy's attention immediately.

 As soon as she got closer Tracy checked the café and saw two plainclothesmen seated there, drinking coffee. They noticed her immediately and nodded. Tracy returned the greeting, then walked right over to Tad and extended her hand.

"Tad Warehouse?" she said.

Tad stood very still and looked at her carefully. "Tracy Wrenn," he replied. "You're even better looking than your photos."

"Thanks," said Tracy, "that's nice of you."

"And you actually showed up." Tad looked both pleased and surprised. "You're a maverick. I like that."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Tracy decided to be casual about everything as she glanced into his gray eyes. Although there was a sense of disarray about him, he also seemed   clever. There was a sense of familiarity about him, too, as if he were someone you passed in the street every day.  Of course Tracy couldn't allow herself to be lulled in by his easygoing persona. She had to stay on guard.

 "Let's get some coffee and sit down," Tracy suggested.

"I'll grab the coffee and pastries," said Tad. "You go sit down and hold a spot. This place fills up fast when you're not expecting it. Better take a table where no one can hear us, too, over there in the rear."

Except for the plainclothesmen, the café was nearly empty so the idea of it filling up fast seemed unlikely. Tracy decided to go along with his suggestion anyway, see what he had in mind.

 Tracy walked to a small glass table in the rear, sat down, and waited for Tad to return. It was nice sitting outdoors, taking a few moments to have a coffee. Beyond that Tracy was curious to find out more about him. She wondered how he was connected to the case and why he cared so much.

Tad returned with two coffees and pastries, and placed them carefully in front of Tracy.

"Enjoy yourself," he said, as he sat down beside her, suddenly reminding her of her uncle Rex. For a second Tracy smiled. That was exactly what her uncle would have said.

"You're a generous man, Tad," she remarked.

He grinned, liking that. "If you want more pastries I'll go get them," he said as he took a drink of his coffee.

Tracy picked up a chocolate pastry and nibbled it slowly. "What is it you have to tell me?" she asked.

"Number one," he answered quickly, "you can't let this killer get away. He's on a roll, he'll kill again. Any fool can see that. And after that he'll kill again."

"Tell me more, Tad." Tracy shivered.

Tad plunged in. "The number one problem you've got is that law enforcement doesn't think out of the box. Cops dump suspects into little categories and then stick to them. That's a big mistake, Tracy. Cops refuse to look out of the box or take real chances." He paused and stared into her eyes.

" I agree," Tracy breathed.

"I know you do," Tad seemed pleased. "That's why we're talking, you get it. Most don't even listen when I call on the phone. You're not like that though, Tracy. I knew it right away. You even dared to break protocol and come meet me in person."

"Thanks," Tracy murmured, fascinated. There was truth to what Tad was saying, she'd felt the same way about law enforcement herself. And she liked breaking protocol. Tracy knew she had to steep herself in the world of the crime and honor leads that came unexpectedly from strange places. She had to enter the mind of the killer to get a sense of where he was lurking and why.

"What makes you so different?" Tad asked then, smiling and exposing his tiny, uneven teeth.

Tracy smiled back at him. "I'm not important, this is not about me," she answered. "We don't want to get off track."

Tad liked her answer. "Right on," he said. "We have plenty of time to find out more about everything."

Tracy frowned slightly, wondering what he had in mind. "Later on? How about now?" She wanted to keep him focused.

Tad laughed. "You're smart, too, and you don't pull any punches."

What are we missing, Tad? And who are you? Why are you so involved in this case, anyway?" Tracy enjoyed turning the tables on him now.

Tad didn't hesitate a second. "I'm freelance, a writer," he commented offhandedly. "Nothing escapes my attention. I follow the news, do careful research. Like everyone else I've been tracking these murders from day one. They're bothering me."

Tracy lifted her coffee and let the light breeze blow her hair.  She did not feel endangered speaking to Tad. Most likely he spent most of his life on the sidelines and wanted his chance to now step into the action. She couldn't fault him for that. She also couldn't let him off the hook so easily.

"I'm glad you care," she commented, wanting him to feel at ease with her as well.

"I more than care," Tad muttered, "I have tips for you. Follow them."

"Okay, go on," Tracy insisted.

"If you walk by the Charles River late at night you'll see all kinds of guys hanging around there. They hang in the shadows. It's a good bet he's one of them," said Tad.

Tracy felt startled by the specificity of his comment. "What makes you think that?"

Tad leaned closer to her. "When it's late and it's dark and there's no one around, the lowlifes come roaming. They need company, too. They lurk in the shadows and look at each other then, never coming close."

Tracy took a ragged breath. There were hundreds of amateur detectives out there with ideas about what to do. Was Tad really just a harmless loner, or was there more going on?

"I'm sure the police patrol the Charles River at night," Tracy countered.

"Not the way they should," Tad insisted. "They don't hang out in the shadows, late at night, in plain clothes and talk to whoever they see."

How would he now about these guys in the shadows? Is that where he hung out? Tracy wondered.

"Do you hang out at the Charles River at night?" Tracy decided to confront him directly, shake him off his game.

Tad chuckled at that, though. "Suspecting me?" He suddenly grinned.

"Should I?" asked Tracy, leaning back and catching the eyes of the plainclothesmen close behind.

"Sure you should." Tad laughed louder. "You should suspect everyone. You've got a sneaky guy on the loose. But it's not me. I'm here to help you. I want to find him as bad as you do."

"Where were you when Tina went missing?" Tracy shifted. "How about Shannon and Candace?"

Tad looked at Tracy approvingly. "I was at work all the time and I have names of people who saw me there," he answered quickly. "And I'm glad you asked. You're careful."

"They saw you at work as a freelance reporter?" Tracy pushed further.

"No, along with being freelance, I'm in the food business," Tad remarked.

"You can give me the names of people who saw you at your job?" Tracy asked.

"Yes, I can and I will," Tad answered quickly. "Check them out as soon as you can. Then go tell your boss to put detectives at the Charles River."

Tracy felt more at ease about him then. She doubted she could convince any of the guys in the office to send detectives to the Charles River based on this interview, though.

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting you go yourself," Tad clarified his suggestion.. "This isn't the work for a woman, anyway, is it?"

Tracy finished what was left of her coffee. "Of course it is," she countered quickly. "Women are terrific at tracking down killers. And for all we know, the killer could even be a woman herself."

At that Tad scraped his chair back. "No, never. I assure you. Women are weaker than men, they can't fight off an invader."

"It's possible, though, that a woman's involved in these crimes, isn't it?" Tracy felt driven to make her point strongly. The guys at the office hadn't been willing to consider it either, but Tracy was oddly enjoying the conversation with Tad. She was glad she came. Despite Tad's odd manner, he was a simple and forthright man. She felt his alibi would check out, too. "Isn't it possible that a woman assisted the killer?" Tracy continued. "After all, he kept the second victim alive for almost two weeks. He needed help doing that, didn't he?"

"Not necessarily." Tad's teeth ground together. "A guy who could do something like that knows what he's doing. This killer has everything planned, down to the second the victim's life is going to end. A guy like that is someone who deserves to be killed himself. On the spot. I want to help you find him and be there when he's strung up!"

Tracy felt Tad's fervor. "Do you live close by in Boston?" Tracy asked then.

"What difference does that make?" Tad was put off by the question. "I do, but it's irrelevant. We have to stay relevant, Tracy, we really do."

Tracy tapped her fingers slowly on the table to keep grounded and clear. She decided to change the course of the conversation. Even though Tad seemed odd on the surface, guys like him often had tidbits of information that were helpful. They saw aspects of the case that eluded others.

"Did you know any of the victims personally, Tad?"

Tad gurgled a little, a low laugh. "I read about them in the papers like everyone else. By now I feel as though I know all of them, though."

"What did the killer want with them? Where did he keep them?" Tracy plowed on. "Is this killer a guy who wants power over women? Does he hate all of them?"

"He loves them," Tad whispered then gruffly.

Tracy stared at him, suddenly frightened.

# Chapter 27

 "Loves them?" she whispered.

"The idiot wants to protect them," Tad continued. "He knows they're in for trouble and he wants to grab them before things get worse. But there's something wrong with him, very wrong."

"What is it?" asked Tracy.

"I'm not sure, I don't know," said Tad. "If I knew, believe me, he'd be caught by now."

"Where did you get the idea that the killer loves women?" Tracy was fascinated.

"All men basically love women," Tad continued, flushing. "They just don't feel good enough to get the woman's love back."

"Would that be a reason for them to kill?" Tracy dug in.

"Anything is a reason for a killer to kill," Tad's face had a snarl about it. "He can use any excuse he wants, can't he? But the truth is, a killer needs to kill. And he'll find any opportunity he can to do it." Obviously, Tad had dwelled on this for a long, long time.

Tracy thought about what he was saying. Was it true that deeply lodged within a killer was a basic need to destroy life? Was this need inborn? Some killers came from wonderful backgrounds, others' lives had been hell. Something deeper than their background was definitely at work.

Tracy was interested to know more about Tad and his relationship with women.

"Are you married, Tad?" she asked.

"Let's not get personal, Tracy." Tad pulled back.

Tracy paused for a long moment. She didn't want to offend him. Quite likely he'd been hurt in love, like everyone else. Tad just took it more to heart, thought about it more carefully. His comments were fascinating, though and Tracy wanted to hear more of what he had to say.

"Besides the Charles River at night, where else should we look for the killer, Tad?" Tracy plunged forward.

"I'd look for the killer in places women go, like to get their nails done, their hair colored, where they pick out a baby's layette," he said. "Just look at the victims he chose and you'll figure it out."

"Bridal salons?" Tracy asked, staring at him deeply. Candace had been about to be a bride, and of course that was reported in all the papers.

"Why not a bridal salon?" Tad grinned. "All of that."

"But who should we look for?" asked Tracy.

"Any guy who's hanging around there and doesn't belong. You know the drill." Tad grew heated. "Nab the bastard, bring him in. Question him until he's exhausted. Bring me in to help, if you want. I know how to get the truth of him."

Tad's sudden burst of fury unnerved Tracy.

Tad collected himself quickly though. "Listen, I have a right to be upset, don't I?" This rotten jerk's got all of Boston on edge. Our daughters, our sisters aren't safe anymore."

"Do you have a daughter or sister you're concerned about?" Tracy asked quickly.

"Everyone's my daughter and sister," Tad replied, "I care about them all. Don't I have a right to be upset?"

"Of course you have a right to be upset," murmured Tracy. "And I'm grateful that you care so much. You made some good suggestions, too, Tad. I'm going to mention them to my superiors."

Tad got up swiftly then. "You don't have any superiors," he mumbled. "You're the best there is. No one's better. I'm glad you listened, really glad. We'll talk more later." Then he ran his hands through his sandy hair. "We will talk more later, won't we?"

"Call me anytime you have something to add," Tracy responded carefully. "I'll always be pleased to take your call."

"Take my call? That's it? Aren't we going to meet up like this again?" Tad was jarred.

"Of course we can meet again," said Tracy, uneasy. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel rejected after he'd made such an effort to be of help.

*

When Tracy arrived back at the FBI offices, Hunter was waiting for her.

"Your meeting with the caller lasted more than half an hour," he said. "It's almost four thirty. Wess will be here any minute now."

"Oh my goodness," said Tracy. She hadn't realized how long she'd spent with Tad.

"Who's this caller, anyway?" Hunter seemed nervous. "What did he have to say?"

Tracy went over the content of her interview with Tad and Hunter looked definitely unimpressed.

"Sounds like the garden variety nut job," he finally replied. "There are tons of them out there, each one with a different theory. But what difference does it make?"

"I thought Tad had some interesting suggestions and comments," said Tracy. "I like his idea that the killer loves women, is trying to protect them in his way. That gives me another perspective. He would definitely not be a psychopath then."

Hunter looked discouraged. "Where is all this getting us anyway? So what if he does or doesn't love women? Candace is still missing, two women are dead. And we still don't have a suspect."

"Tad wants to meet with me again," Tracy said softly. "He's on the case, prowling around."

"He's an amateur, and this is a completely ridiculous waste of time." Hunter wasn't going for it. "What's he doing, going out late at night to the Charles River and talking to losers who hang around? There are lots of guys who fantasize that they're helping the police. They think they're smarter than us, better than us. In their imagination! That's all. Don't waste your time with this character. We have to try something really new."

 Time flew by as Tracy and Hunter spoke. Before they realized it, it was almost five thirty.

Hunter suddenly looked at his watch. "Where the hell's your creepy boyfriend? He said he'd be here at four thirty."

Tracy pulled out her phone to call him again, see where he was. He didn't pick up.

"Go have dinner," Tracy said to Hunter then. "I'll stay here and wait for him alone."

"No, you won't." Hunter was irritated. "I'm waiting here with you. There's something wrong with this guy, he's off. You could be in danger with him, for all you know. It wouldn't be the first time someone in law enforcement got involved with a person on the edge. We attract all kinds, don't we?"

Hunter's words landed like a lead ball in Tracy's gut. Was there something wrong with Wess that she'd never realized? How could she have missed something like that?

By seven, Wess still hadn't arrived. "Something could have happened to him," Tracy said, nervous.

"Whatever happened or didn't happen, one way or another he could have gotten in touch," Hunter mumbled. "He stood you up, Tracy, face it. This guy's having a great time playing with

your head."

*

Tracy finally left to return to her hotel to have dinner, unwind, and go over what they had so far. She had no idea what happened to Wess or why he hadn't called. Was Hunter right? Was Wess way off?  Hunter had been lovely to stay and wait for Wess with her, but it was also quite clear that Hunter didn't want to have dinner with her again tonight,

"I've got a lot of work to go over," Hunter had said when they'd decided to call it a day. He was going home to do it alone. Tracy was fine with it. She was tired herself.

She walked the few blocks to the hotel as a light rain started to fall. Tracy loved rain in the springtime. It felt good, soothing, sprinkling her face. Refreshed, Tracy entered her hotel and took the elevator upstairs. The elevator stopped at her floor and Tracy got out and walked down the hallway to her room.

 When she got there, she stopped cold.  A wave of fear came over her. Her door open, left ajar. Someone had been in her room.

# Chapter 28

Tracy walked slowly toward her door. Was the person inside, waiting for her? Has Wess arrived and gotten in? Would he be happy to see her? Was he furious?

Tracy pushed the door open gingerly, went in, and froze. The room had been ransacked. Blankets and pillows were strewn around. The drawers of her bureau were open with bras, panties, and shirts hanging out.  The closet doors were wide open wide and two of her favorite dresses were on the floor. How long ago did this happen?

Tracy gasped and immediately called Hunter on their emergency line.

"Hunter," she cried out.

"What's wrong?" He picked up right away, startled.

"My room has been ransacked. Someone broke in." Tracy had trouble catching her breath. "When I got here the door was open, and my things were thrown around."

Hunter's voice became clipped. "Get out of your room. Get downstairs to the lobby immediately. I'll have security up in a couple of seconds.  Don't touch anything. There could be an explosive planted somewhere."

Tracy looked around. "There's no explosive, it's safe in here now." she felt it. It was over. Whoever had broken in had spent their rage.

"You don't know that for sure. Go downstairs," Hunter commanded. "I'll be right over with Clay. Wait in the lobby."

Tracy couldn't bring herself to move, stood rooted to the spot. Who did this? Her presence on the case had been made very public. Was the killer watching her every move? Was he letting her know she was next on his list?

In a few seconds the door pushed further open and hotel security stormed in. "Are you okay?"  Two of them rushed over to Tracy.

Tracy suddenly let herself feel the terror that had initially raced through her. "I'm fine," she managed to say.

"Why are you still here?" one security guard asked. "We heard you'd be down in the lobby."

 The third guard, a large, muscular guy came over and put his arms around Tracy to steady her. "She's had a shock," he said to the others, "it can be hard to move then."

He was right, thought Tracy. She felt shaken to the core.

"You're gonna be just fine," the security guard continued. "Forensics are on the way over. This could be the best thing that happened for your case. This place has got to be a treasure trove of evidence."

"True," said Tracy slowly, as Hunter and Clay both charged in.

"My God, Tracy." Clay rushed over and grabbed her hands. "Thank God you're okay. You could have just missed the guy by a few seconds. For all we know, you could have been next."

 Tracy looked away, not wanting to get caught up in an undertow of fear.

"I'm arranging for you to stay somewhere else now," Hunter broke in. "Your new lodgings will be secret and secured."

 "It's not necessary," Tracy said slowly.

"Not necessary?" Hunter looked amazed. "Are you crazy?"

"Just the opposite." Tracy was feeling better now, getting back her stride. She pointed to the security guard who'd helped her. "As this wonderful officer suggested, the break-in could be the best thing that's happened to us. Not only will we get evidence, but we should only be so lucky as to have the guy come back for a second try. Let him come. We'll be ready for him."

"Trap the bastard." The security guard grinned.

August walked into the room then, along with forensics. "What happened here? When did it happen?" He looked unnerved.

"Tracy's fine," Hunter said immediately.

"Good." August threw Tracy a quick, distressed glance before scanning the rest of the room.

"We've made Tracy too public, we've attracted this," Clay interrupted.

"Move her out of here, immediately," said August.

"We are, to a secret, safe location," said Hunter.

"I'd rather stay right here," Tracy insisted.

"You'd rather lie in wait for the killer?" August's eyes opened wide.

"There's no way I'm going to let whoever did this get the upper hand. Running away's not an option."

"It's not running away, it's using common sense." Hunter was adamant. "You're not becoming a decoy, Tracy. I'm not allowing it."

August paused a moment, struck by the idea. "It's not a bad idea to use a decoy." He stepped closer as the team from forensics began taking photographs, brushing the walls, collecting assorted objects and placing them in a plastic bag. "In fact, I think this is a great opportunity. We can give Tracy all the protection she needs and at the same time announce on the news that someone ransacked her room, but she's staying in it anyway."

"The killer's not stupid." Clay shook his head adamantly.. "He'll know we're luring him in."

"Can't hurt to try," August insisted. "He wants us to find him anyway, doesn't he? He's drawing closer, taunting us more!"

"It's also possible that someone else did this," Hunter commented as he started to pace around the room, throwing Tracy a backhanded glance. "This break-in could have absolutely nothing to do with the killer. Is there someone in your life who's upset with you, Tracy? Someone who could do something crazy like this?"

"Absolutely not." Tracy caught Hunter's eye and realized he was thinking about Wess. "That's ridiculous," she insisted.

"Are you in a personal fight with someone?" Hunter wouldn't let go. "Is there a problem in a relationship?"

"There's no one I know who would stoop to something like this," Tracy answered firmly. Then she threw Hunter a tough glance, telling him to back off.

Clay looked at both of them, confused. "Who are you thinking of, Hunter?" he asked.

"I know what Hunter is thinking," said Tracy formally, "but there's no basis for it, none at all."

Just then someone from forensics approached, holding something up. "What's this? Belong to you, Tracy?" he asked.

All eyes turned to look at the pink pearl bracelet the officer held in his hand.

"It's not mine," Tracy said as she went over to look at it. "I've never seen it before."

"Don't touch it," warned the officer. "Could a woman have come in here and dropped this?"

Clay came over and looked. "Isn't that one of the bracelets that was stolen from Candace's shop?"

"Looks like it." Hunter looked at it as well. "In fact, a few cartons of these bracelets were taken."

Everyone turned and stared at the simple, gentle bracelet dangling from the officer's hand.

"Make sure you get any fingerprints or DNA on it," Hunter ordered.

"Whoever stole those bracelets was here," August murmured.

"Not necessarily," said Clay. "Whoever was here could have received one of these bracelets from someone. The thief could be passing them around."

"I think someone definitely planted the bracelet in Tracy's room," August disagreed. "The question is why?"

 "The killer is close by, he knows what we're doing," Hunter answered swiftly.

"He's trying to implicate Tracy," Clay joined in. "This is a definite message. The killer is getting desperate to be found."

August had enough at this point. "Listen, we have a ready-made setup here. We have to use Tracy as a decoy to draw the killer closer. We can even offer a big financial reward."

"Invite him to kidnap Tracy and offer a ransom?" Clay seemed horrified.

"The killer's not after money." Tracy was sure of it.

"You don't know that." August spun around, throwing her a nasty glare.

"Yes, I do," said Tracy. "There are simpler ways to get money. And these pearl bracelets, how much are they worth? Not much in money, but psychologically, the value to the killer is great. Listen, we're not up against our usual sadist or psychopath. It's way more complex than that. This guy has aspects to his psyche we know nothing of." Tracy was determined to unravel it though, as soon as she could.

"Let's all step outside for a while and let the officers do their work." Hunter stepped in. "I'll drive Tracy to the place she's staying at."

 "I'm staying right here."  Tracy looked in Hunter's eyes squarely. She liked August's  idea of being a decoy. "Get me protection all around and I'll be okay."

"I'll stay in the adjoining room tonight," Clay offered, "and we can have cops keep watch in rooms close by."

Hunter looked at Tracy sadly. "I don't like the idea," he objected.

"It makes sense," August insisted.

"It doesn't make sense." Hunter was adamant. "The guy will know Tracy's covered. "He'll know everyone's around waiting for him."

 "Maybe he doesn't think that far ahead," August broke in. "If we got a spree killer and he needs another hit, he feels invincible, like no one can touch him. He'll even enjoy it that cops are close by. It'll add to the excitement."

"I don't want Tracy staying here." Hunter was immovable.

"But I'm staying here anyway," Tracy repeated, determined not to leave the place tonight. "August is right. We have an opportunity."

"We can put someone else in the room. The killer won't know it's not you," Hunter insisted.

 "I want to be here, though," Tracy repeated. "I want to catch him myself if he comes."

"Why?" Hunter spun away from Tracy. "Is there something you're trying to prove. Or are you in love with danger and dangerous people?"

Tracy felt hurt. "I'm staying because it's what I signed up for," she answered. "I'm doing my job, and I'm doing it thoroughly. I don't back away."

"It's okay," Clay interrupted. "I'll stay here in the adjoining room, two steps away from Tracy all night long."

"Have it your way then." Irritated, Hunter tossed both of them an odd look before he turned and left the room.

# Chapter 29

Before long the news blared out over the airways. Clay sat close by Tracy in her room as they watched it on TV.

"Possible break in the serial killer case," the reporter announced. "The hotel room of Tracy Wrenn, top profiler brought in to help the FBI, was ransacked tonight. Is the killer coming closer? Does he have an accomplice? Tracy Wrenn will not be frightened off, though. She refuses to leave her room."

Tracy and Clay looked at each other strangely, before he flipped off the TV.

"We're setting the bait, all right," Clay said slowly, "but I don't think the killer will take it. He's too smart for that."

"Depends on his state of mind." Tracy flashed a daring smile.

"Doubt it," Clay repeated, "and besides, we still don't have any links between the pearl bracelets and the other two women who were killed."

"We don't have any links yet at all," Tracy reminded him.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Clay remarked. "This all could just be a wild card, someone completely uninvolved with the case, trying to create a distraction. That's the danger when it's too public and everyone's involved.

Tracy nodded. There were all kinds of psychos out there. She looked over at Clay. Tracy liked Clay, it was nice being with him. She was truly glad he was here, but also concerned about his not being home with his family at this hour.

"How's your wife dealing with your being gone all night long?" Tracy asked, feeling a bit guilty.

Clay laughed lightly. "Well, Barbara's never seen you, so she has no idea I'm holed up for the night with such a gorgeous woman."

"No, I mean it, in all seriousness." Tracy tossed his comment aside.

Clay got up from his chair and stretched. "Barbara's okay with it, I've had to pull all-nighters before. From the way things are these days she's probably even relieved to get rid of me for a while. I can be quite boring, she tells me."

"Boring?" Tracy was surprised. She'd thought Clay was happily married. "Really?"

"Yeah, haven't you noticed? I'm not the most exciting guy," Clay said.

"Boring's the last word I would use." Tracy was disturbed by the direction the conversation had taken. "In fact, I find you soothing to be with."

Clay laughed. "Well, soothing's better than boring," he admitted.

"Are you guys in trouble?" Tracy wondered if she should be asking this, but Clay had opened the topic up.

"Not in trouble," said Clay, "just the doldrums. Barbara's actually been talking about our picking up stakes and moving to California. She wants to start things fresh."

"That's huge." Tracy was startled. "What about your job?"

"I'd transfer there," said Clay, looking down a moment.

"You don't want to, though, do you?" Tracy felt upset for him.

"I don't think moving somewhere else changes anything in the long run," he replied. "At first there'd be the excitement of a new environment and then we'd be stuck with ourselves again."

That was true and Tracy knew it. Her phone rang then and her heart leapt. This had to be Wess, she was sure of it. She needed to know what had happened with him. "I've got to answer this," she said to Clay.

"Of course, please do," he replied.

Tracy picked up eagerly. "Hi," she said, suddenly missing Wess and wishing he were here.

"You're okay?" Wess's voice sounded slurred, as if he'd been drinking.

"I am okay," Tracy answered. "What happened with you? You left a message saying you were coming today. I was expecting you."

"Sorry about that." Wess sounded odd now. "I got sidetracked. My mistake."

"Are you drunk, Wess?" Tracy had to ask.

"No, I'm not, I'm just tired. I went for a few drinks with some friends who came to town."

"Really, who?" asked Tracy, feeling uneasy.

"You remember Jill, don't you?" asked Wess.

Tracy scanned her memory. She didn't remember. "No, who is she?"

"We grew up together," said Wess slowly. "She's been following the case. She wants to support me. I took her for dinner and a couple of drinks."

"You left a message that you were coming here," said Tracy, confused.

"I was, I'm sorry. She suddenly appeared." Wess sounded sad.

"Why didn't you call and say you weren't coming?" Tracy felt upset.

"I kept planning to, and I didn't until now." Wess's voice started slurring again.

What's going on, Wess? Tracy wanted to ask him, but decided to wait until he was sober again.

"When are you coming home, Tracy?" he asked again.

"When the case is over," she replied quietly.

"And what if it's never over, if he's never found?" Wess sounded belligerent now. "Do I count at all? Do I fit into your picture?"

"I beg your pardon?" Tracy was offended.

"Are you wondering whether a life with me can live up to what you've got going on?" Wess's message was clear.

Tracy felt sick. He was obviously threatened by the life she was leading. "Just say what's on your mind directly," she said.

"I'll tell you later," Wess retreated. "I want to talk to you about it in person."

"You can't leave me with a cloud like this hanging over me," Tracy snapped.

"It's not a cloud, it's how I feel," Wess mumbled. "And I can't do this over the phone."

"Do what?" Tracy's heart started beating faster.

"Get into this discussion." Tracy felt him backing away.

"That's all you have to say?" asked Tracy. "Do you miss me, Wess? Do you?"

"We'll talk about it later." Wess's voice got softer. "Of course I miss you. I care for you but this is all I can do for now."

Tracy felt both furious and saddened as they hung up. She'd expected far better from him. This wasn't the Wess she knew. Had this other woman stepped in while she was gone and turned his head around?

"Who was that?" asked Clay, moving closer to her.

"My fiancé-to-be," said Tracy.

 "Yeah, Hunter told me about him." Clay looked concerned.

Tracy wasn't thrilled that they had talked about her. "What did Hunter say?" she asked.

"He said he thought you deserved better," Clay spoke softly. "Hunter doesn't think Wess is good for you."

Tracy was struck with a moment of sadness. "That was nice of Hunter," she remarked. "Of course he's never met Wess, doesn't know the first thing about him."

"He's met you though," Clay insisted, "he knows you. He likes you, too, Tracy. Hunter respects you."

Tracy felt her stomach clench. She respected Hunter too. His opinion was important to her.

"Hunter's a fantastic guy," Clay continued. "I've known him for a long time. Look, this is an occupational hazard. Relationships become rough for lots of people in our line of work. Hunter went through it, too. He also deserved a lot better than what he had."

"We don't always get what we deserve, though, do we?" Tracy flipped her hair off her face.

"Actually, I believe we do," Clay said slowly. "Depends how willing we are to reach for what's best. Most people just stay in familiar patterns their whole life long."

 "Hunter said he was through with relationships now," Tracy challenged Clay.

Clay smiled wanly. "Guys say all kinds of things when they've been hurt. He told me that, too. I told him one day someone really special would come along and turn his life upside down." Clay's eyes smiled at Tracy. "You couldn't do better than with a guy like Hunter."

Tracy flinched. That was kind, it was sweet, but she was about to be engaged to Wess. "Hunter and I have a purely friendly business relationship," Tracy replied.

"I know, I know." Clay started to the door then. "Listen, I'm exhausted and you must be too. Is it okay if I go to the adjoining room now? If anything happens, if there's one thing out of order, you've got that button there. Ring it and I'll be here in two seconds flat."

"That's fine," said Tracy. "I'm really grateful you're here, Clay. You're terrific."

"You're pretty terrific yourself, Tracy. Takes one to know one," Clay tossed back.

Clay left for his room, and Tracy was relieved to be alone. Far more exhausted than she realized, she went to the bathroom and drew a long, hot bath. She would soak in it for as long as she could, letting the steamy waters soothe her and get rid of the day's nasty residue.

As she lay in the bath Tracy went over the day. Oddly enough, she felt safe here, didn't think that whoever had messed up her room would be returning any time soon. It was a scare tactic, that was for sure. Anyone could have done it, someone with a vendetta against Candace, a worker at the hotel, or a lost creature who wanted that fifteen minutes of fame.

Tracy dropped her head back further into the warm water, letting her long hair get wet. As she soaked in it, the image of the pink pearl bracelet kept drifting up in her mind. It was an odd find. Was it left in her room purposely? Often killers took souvenirs of their crimes, but there was no evidence that this bracelet had been part of any murder. Tracy couldn't help but feel that the break-in was just a side show, distracting their attention from what was really going on.

She thought of getting up out of the bath then, but couldn't bring herself to. It was warm and soothing in here. Her mind wandered to Wess then as she wondered what he had to tell her. Whatever it was, it didn't feel good. And she didn't like being put on hold in order to hear it. There was a threat implied and she felt it.

Tracy finally got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel just before her phone rang again. This had to be Wess, she thought. He was probably going to say he loved her and was sorry, didn't know what had come over him. That had happened before.

To Tracy's surprise, though, a different voice answered. It was low, grumbly, and sweet.

"Tracy, this is Tad Warehouse," he said.

"Tad Warehouse?" For a second Tracy didn't remember who he was. Then, of course, she did. Tad was the last person in the world she expected to hear from now.

"I heard what happened over the news," Tad mumbled. "I couldn't sleep, had to call and make sure you're all right."

"That's kind of you, Tad," Tracy murmured.

"It's disgusting that someone broke in," he spoke heavily. "How dare they?"

"I'm fine, Tad," Tracy answered, "nothing bad happened."

"And nothing ever will while I'm around," he said. "We had a great meeting today, didn't we?"

"Very good," Tracy echoed. "By the way, how did you get my cell phone number?"

"You called me once from your phone," Tad answered. Then his voice bristled. "Don't you remember? Are you upset I called so late? Am I intruding on something?"

"No, you're not intruding and I'm not upset," said Tracy. And she wasn't. "I'm grateful for your interest, Tad.

"Take that bracelet they left there, squash it up, and throw it out the window," Tad then said in a strange tone. "Don't keep something like that around you. It was a nasty ploy."

"A ploy by who?" Tracy was interested.

"A ploy by whoever did it," Tad answered. "Don't worry, we'll find out soon."

*

First thing in the morning, even before Tracy had breakfast, Kevin Barclay called, tremendously upset.

"Is that you, Tracy? Are you okay? Did you have a safe night?" Kevin was spluttering.

"I'm good, Kevin," Tracy responded.

"I heard the news and called Hunter immediately," he went on.

"I'm fine, Kevin." Tracy tried to calm him down.

"Maybe you are and maybe not," Kevin answered. "Candace thought she was fine, too, and where is she now?"

Of course that was the question that haunted everyone. Tracy fell silent.

"Listen Tracy," Kevin continued, "when I heard they found the bracelet from Candace's shop in your room I called Pastor Boyd immediately. At first I was sure Jeffrey Glaze was involved and now I'm wondering about Wayne. I want you to talk to the pastor directly. He knows things he hasn't told anyone. Candace and Wayne also talked to him. Between you and me I think he even tried to postpone their marriage. I know he sensed trouble between them."

Tracy listened carefully to what Kevin was saying. He was overwrought and it was understandable, he had no real idea what to do next.

"Will you speak to Pastor Boyd today for me?" Kevin kept pushing.

"Not sure," said Tracy. "I want to go over things with my colleagues first."

"Okay, but don't delay." Kevin had a one-track mind. "That bracelet is telling us something."

"What?" asked Tracy.

"If I knew I wouldn't be sitting here now," Kevin answered fitfully. "I'd have my daughter back again."

*

Just as Tracy and Clay were about to leave the hotel and get to the offices, Tracy's phone rang.

"Take it," Clay urged. "Let's just hope it's not Wess again."

Irritated, Tracy flipped her phone open quickly.

"Tracy," a mild-mannered voice greeted her on the other end, "this is Pastor Boyd. Kevin Barclay called me late last night and also first thing this morning. He's extremely distressed."

"Yes, I realize," said Tracy.

"And with good reason," Pastor Boyd added quietly. "I have some free time this morning and "I'd be most honored if you would meet with me to talk. We can take a long walk before the rain comes."

Tracy hadn't been outdoors yet or noticed the weather.

"I'd be delighted to meet with you," Tracy answered quickly. "Where would you like to go?"

"How about a walk along the Charles River?" Pastor Boyd offered.

Tracy felt a sudden chill.

# Chapter 30

"Why the Charles River?" Tracy asked.

"It's a lovely place to walk in the springtime," the Pastor replied. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, of course not. Not at all," said Tracy. "Text me the exact location to meet you and I'll be there in half an hour."

"Wonderful, excellent," he exclaimed. "And bring along an umbrella. Looks like the skies

are about to open up."

*

Pastor Boyd was waiting under a tree at the exact spot he'd said he'd be. He stood absolutely still, leaning on a long, black umbrella, in anticipation. With cropped gray hair, an angular face, and wearing a dark raincoat, he looked the picture of tranquility. As Tracy drew closer, he waved, beckoning her on.

"How good of you to come precisely on time." He looked delighted to see her. "I've heard wonderful things about you, Tracy, absolutely wonderful."

Tracy was pleased to see him as well. "Thank you," she said.

"Kevin can't speak highly enough of you. He's daunted by your dedication,"  the pastor continued.

Tracy felt the heavy moisture already in the air and noticed the dew still coating the trees.

"Let's walk, shall we?" The pastor started moving slowly toward the banks of the river. "The Charles River is one of the most historic sites in Boston to walk along," he commented as they left the safe haven of the tree.

Tracy thought about what Tad had said about the Charles River. "Do people walk along the banks late at night as well?" she asked.

It was an odd remark and the pastor reacted to it. "Certainly, I imagine they must." He looked at Tracy quizzically. "Why do you ask?"

Tracy had no intention of telling him about Tad or the strange suggestion he'd made. She hadn't told anyone.

"In fact, as I recall, Candace's former boyfriend Andy used to walk along the Charles River at night," the pastor continued. "It soothed him after a long day at the hospital."

Tracy felt startled. "Tell me about him," she asked.

"Andy took the breakup badly," the pastor murmured. "But then who wouldn't? Seems like loyalty's a thing of the past these days. Most don't think anything much of leaving their partners when someone better comes along."

"I heard that Candace tried to help Andy through it." Tracy wanted to know more.

"That's true, she did," the pastor acquiesced. "She's a good person, wonderful. But most of us wondered if it really helped. He truly loved her. This hit him deeply."

Was it possible that Andy was involved? Tracy wondered. "Could  Candace's disappearance have been his doing?" Tracy asked in a low tone.

"Impossible." The Pastor tossed his head back. "Right now Andy's grieving more than anyone."

As Tracy and Pastor Boyd walked, the breezes from the water blew up against them, tossing Tracy's hair in her face.

"I'm concerned about you, Tracy," Pastor Boyd started. "I have a daughter about your age and I certainly wouldn't expose her to this danger. I would never permit it."

Tracy appreciated his concern. "This is the work I do, Pastor," she replied.

He stopped walking a moment and looked at her closely. "Yes, of course, I realize, and that's a different discussion."

It struck Tracy that perhaps he'd called her here to talk about her safety. If that was his purpose, it would be a waste of time. Tracy decided to take charge of the conversation.

"I'm so glad you wanted to talk to me," she said, turning things in another direction. "I'd like to know more about Candace and Wayne's relationship. There's word around that it wasn't entirely a happy one."

The Pastor grimaced. "That's not so," he replied instantly.

"I've heard that Kevin wanted to postpone the wedding and possibly Candace wanted this as well?" Tracy went on.

"They were a fine couple, deeply in love," intoned the pastor as if he were delivering a sermon at this church. "When two come together, we must support the union in every way possible."

"Even if things aren't going well?" asked Tracy.

"Last-minute nerves are normal," the pastor responded in a resonant tone. Tracy felt that he'd said this hundreds of times to all kinds of couples. Last-minute nerves was certainly a common occurrence.

"This isn't exactly at case of last-minute nerves." Tracy tried to go deeper. "Candace is gone, someone could have harmed her."

"I'm aware of that." The pastor's lower lip started to tremble. "Extremely aware. But there's absolutely no chance that it was Wayne, if that is what you're suggesting. Candace's being nervous about the wedding is no proof of that at all. They loved each other, were drawn together by a larger force than we can imagine, or ever control."

"We're desperately seeking linkages between the victims." Tracy wanted to ground him and put their talk on a solid footing. "You've seen the paintings Wayne buys and sells, and he's out of town a great deal."

Pastor Boyd became defensive. He turned and looked out at the river where a beautiful boat passed. "Why do you focus on Wayne?"

"I just can't help wondering if Wayne could possibly have ties to the first victim, Tina?" Tracy was searching for anything he might have for her.

"The prostitute?" Pastor Boyd's back arched. "Why do you ask? Because of the nude women in Wayne's paintings?" He began walking more quickly then, with a little limp.

"Exactly," said Tracy.

"I doubt very much that there's any connection at all between Wayne and Tina." The pastor's face grew ruddy. "Wayne is a fine, upstanding young man. In fact, he was the one who kept urging Candace to set the date quickly. As far as I see, despite the subject matter of his paintings, he has strong family values. That's fairly rare these days, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose it is," Tracy replied. "But what was the rush? Why was he pressuring her?"

"Why do you ask? There's no need to tear down others, is there?" Pastor Boyd stopped walking, and looked distressed. "It's commonplace these days to look for the worse, revel in it."

"I'm not tearing Wayne down," Tracy defended herself. "It's my job to learn everything about a person, good and bad, beautiful and ugly. Whatever I discover helps me save lives."

Pastor Boyd stepped a few feet back. "Oh, I realize that, I truly do," he exclaimed. "I am not admonishing you, far from it. Yours is noble work, righteous, you're sacrificing yourself." Then he stared at Tracy intensely. "How well I realize that people live with contradictions, have many aspects to them. How confusing it is that someone who is fine and upstanding can also sell art like Wayne does. One has to look for the good, though, and nourish it."

Tracy was struck by his remark. "It is confusing," she replied. "It's much easier when someone's just rotten through and through."

"No one is just rotten through and through," the pastor objected. "It is my job to find the kernel of good in every person I meet. And I do. I find it."

And my job, thought Tracy, to find the darkness, bring it to the surface and stop it from doing harm. She appreciated and respected the pastor's remarks, though. In fact, they struck her.

"There is no way I'm suggesting that your work isn't necessary and vital." Pastor Boyd slowed down a bit. The sky grew darker as they walked along together.

"Quite a day, isn't it?" said Tracy, wanting to break the tension that was building between them.

"Heavy rains predicted," Pastor Boyd uttered. "Thunderstorms until midnight."

"This must be very hard for you, Pastor," Tracy went on. "People are frightened, they come to see you about it."

"Everyone is frightened by how long it's taking to find the killer and make the streets in Boston safe again." Pastor Boyd's hands clenched. "We have no idea where he's hiding."

Tracy looked up and down the banks of the river, thinking of what Tad had said. "Maybe he's not hiding?" she remarked. "Maybe he's roaming outdoors right now, just as we are."

That thought was unsettling and Pastor Boyd swallowed quickly a few times. "Maybe, but I doubt it," he remarked. "They usually hide away in darkness, don't they?"

"Not at all," said Tracy. "Sometimes they hide right in plain sight. And sometimes they don't hide at all. Some are pleased and proud of what they've done. There are all kinds of different reasons why people kill."

"Indeed, I suppose." Pastor Boyd turned his face toward the sky, seemingly not wanting to hear more now.

"We have to find the link between the victims," said Tracy. "We have to see how the killer connected with them. That's why I asked if Wayne knew Tina."

"I wish I knew more, I really do," Pastor Boyd exclaimed. "I wish I knew how the killer met them, where he met them, what they said to each other. But I don't." The rain started to fall and he swiftly opened his umbrella. "Didn't you bring an umbrella, Tracy?" he asked.

"No, I just came directly," Tracy replied, "there wasn't time to get one."

"Come step under my umbrella," the pastor offered. "We'll walk back together. I'll keep you dry."

Tracy didn't want to. There was nothing wrong with the soft, warm drops of rain in spring. She didn't have to protect herself from them. Besides, she wanted to stay here alone for a while and think everything over. It was good being out of the offices, near the river that flowed along freely no matter what went right or wrong.

"I'm fine as I am," said Tracy.

"No, you're not, Tracy." Pastor Boyd's voice grew firmer. "You're in danger and you don't even know it! Or you don't seem to care. You've done a wonderful job, people think highly of you, but now, if you asked me, it's time for you to go home."

Tracy was appalled by his suggestion. "Home?"

"Kevin feels responsible and is absolutely horrified at the thought of something happening to you. He begged me last night to insist you go home."

Tracy had absolutely no intention of leaving in the middle of a case. She couldn't if she wanted to.

"You're not a detective anyway, you're a profiler," the pastor continued, "and you've given us your views. Your work is done." He looked worried about her.

"There's not such a big difference between a profiler and a detective." Tracy wanted to set him straight. "One function blends into another."

The pastor didn't want to hear another thing though. "Now go home and take care of yourself. I'm sure your family will be thrilled to see you. They'll be relieved. Where do your parents live?"

His question unnerved her. "My mother is gone," Tracy said warily, not sure why she was telling him this.

"Gone?" Pastor Boyd seemed flummoxed.

"My mother went missing when I was fourteen," Tracy pronounced. "Someone took her." It felt good to be talking about it.

"Oh, dear Lord," the pastor responded. "Your mother was killed?"

"Not necessarily." Tracy stood taller as it began to pour. "Her body was never found. For all we know she could still be alive."

"Doubtful, very doubtful," he muttered.

"I believe she is still alive." Tracy spoke louder, overpowering his despair. "And I believe one day I'll find her."

"Oh dear, my dear." He looked shaken.

"I will not give up hope," Tracy insisted. "Not in this case, or with my mother!"

"How about your father?" Pastor Boyd changed the topic. "Where is he?"

"My father lives with his new wife and children," Tracy filled in. "He's lived with them a long time."

"You are also his child," the pastor insisted. "He must care about you."

"Not really," said Tracy, looking into the pastor's crystal clear blue eyes that suddenly were filling with tears.

This was the last thing Tracy wanted, to make him cry. "I'm fine, believe me, I'm fine, Pastor."

"I wish I could believe that." His voice trembled. "But in all truth, Tracy, I fear you are not fine at all."

*

After Tracy kept insisting she needed to sit under the tree near the river for a while, Pastor Boyd finally agreed to leave. Before he did, though, he let it be clearly known that he was here for Tracy at any time. He invited her to church services and to meet his congregation. Tracy thanked him profusely for his kindness and told him she had work to do now. But she'd be in touch. She had to say that in order for him go.

After the pastor left, the rain kept falling and the delicious smell of moist grass filled the air, relaxing Tracy. The sound of the rain also soothed her and helped her think clearly. The interview with the pastor had been unsettling. She was sorry soon after she'd told him about her mother, but something in his manner had forced her to speak.

Tracy went over their strange conversation. Many things about it struck her, but particularly his comments about finding the good in everyone. That was his job, of course, but the idea of it jarred Tracy. As she sat there dwelling upon it, she thought of the patients she'd worked with at the hospital for the criminally insane. It was true that many of them were likeable and seemed to have good in them. They could be kind to each other, and to her as well. That had always troubled and confused her. She'd even written papers and given talks on the many elements that made up the human psyche. As a forensic psychologist she was always asked to make a clear-cut diagnosis and that bothered her. The diagnosis itself imprisoned the patient in a category they had no way of getting out of. It limited law enforcement as well.

In the distance Tracy heard thunder rumble, preparing to hit. She knew she should get up and go back to the office before it became hard to walk in the storm. She continued to sit on the bench, however, when the memory of a recent patient came to mind. There had been no diagnosis that fit him really. Staff in the hospital had struggled with it for months. This patient had so many parts to him, one never knew when the next one was about to emerge.

As the first clap of thunder smashed over the river,   it hit Tracy like a bolt out of the blue. It was suddenly clear why law enforcement couldn't find any linkages between the crimes.

# Chapter 31

Tracy jumped up from the bench and began running through the rain. She couldn't wait to get back to the offices to tell everyone what she'd discovered. As she ran she put in a quick call to Hunter.

Just like her patient at the hospital, the killer they were searching for was a multiple personality! The victims he chose, the different kinds of murders, all represented different parts of him. He had more than one personality and a different personality had committed each murder.  Tracy broke out into a cold sweat. Oh my God, she thought, why hadn't she seen it sooner? It wasn't that they had different killers in each case. It was that the killer was different people at different times!

 "I've got it. I've got it. I know what's happening," Tracy, soaking wet, breathed over the phone when Hunter answered.

"What's the matter? What are you talking about?" Hunter sounded alarmed.

"Gather everyone together and I'll be in the office in a few minutes." She was gleeful. If they were hunting for a multiple, that would open new doors and put the case on completely different ground.

*

After drying off from the rain Tracy stood in front of those gathered in Hunter's office to hear what she had to say. August came in late, and Clay was seated up at front, next to Wanda. All looked eager.

Tracy's heart pounded with excitement. "We've been going round and round in circles," she started. "We've even checked those in the area recently released from jail, or presently incarcerated based upon similar crimes. All our attempts have come to a dead end. Nothing fits." She paused a moment.

"Okay, we all know this. Go on," Sgt. Harding was impatient.

"Today I've realized something that will put our search on an entirely different basis," Tracy continued, unrattled. "One important factor has eluded us. This one factor changes everything."

Wanda grinned at Tracy. "Let's have it," she called out.

"The killer we're after is not a psychopath," Tracy continued carefully. "He's not a sadist, or a malignant narcissist, either. There's a reason some have thought that we were after more than one killer."

At that, Hunter sat up straighter and stared at her.

"The killer we are after is a multiple personality," Tracy proclaimed. "He's someone who naturally camouflages himself."

"A what?" Clay frowned.

"Oh brother," August said loudly.

Tracy continued, undaunted. She had to give them a full understanding of what they were dealing with. That would take her conclusion out of the realm of crazy conjecture. It wouldn't look as though she'd gone off the deep end.

"Please bear with me a few moments and listen to what I have to say. I want to explain this condition thoroughly," she continued. "Multiple Personality Disorder is now called Dissociative Identity Disorder. This is a condition where memory, awareness, and identity break down.  Strange, confusing symptoms result."

"Let's be specific," said Sgt. Harding. "Do these people forget who they are?"

"That's part of it," said Tracy.

August jumped in. "Isn't that amnesia? Doesn't memory come back?"

"Dissociation is similar to amnesia, but can be far more lethal. It's a severe condition where a person loses a sense of who they basically are," Tracy continued. "The person actually splits into different personalities. One personality is not aware of the other. There can be several people living one person's life."

"Give me a break," August called out then.

"Let Tracy talk, give her a chance," Wanda demanded.

"She's wasting our time with this kind of stuff," August's face was growing red.

Clay intervened calmly. "Tracy deserves to finish her presentation," he insisted. "What causes this condition, Tracy?"

Tracy plunged onwards. She wanted to explain carefully why she believed this was the person they were searching for. "Most of us have experienced mild dissociation. It's like daydreaming or getting lost in the moment and forgetting where or who you are. But Dissociative Identity Disorder is far worse than that. Usually, there's been extreme, repetitive physical, sexual or emotional abuse. The person copes with the trauma by dissociating from it."

Tracy saw August tossing in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. She went forward anyway.

"The disassociation allows the individual to function. It blocks traumatic memories and emotional pain from awareness.  Unfortunately, there's a terrible price to pay. The disassociation also breaks the connection between the person and him or herself. New personalities form to cope with the stresses of everyday life. One personality doesn't know the other, or what they're doing or planning to do. This is truly a case of the enemy that lives within."

 "We've descended to this?" August couldn't stay quiet. "Multiple Personality Disorder is a well-known defense that's rejected by courts all the time."

"It's true, psychologists differ, the diagnosis remains controversial," Tracy agreed. "Understanding the development of multiple personalities is difficult even for highly trained experts. Some professionals believe it's an offshoot of Borderline Personality Disorder. Others point out the profound difficulties in coping these patients have. Multiples aren't able to form trusting emotional relationships with others. You can deny the syndrome all you like, but when you see it in operation, it's impossible to forget.  One personality suddenly turns into the next and forgets who they were a moment ago." Tracy knew the syndrome well. She remembered the talks she'd given on it. They were now on the tip of her tongue.

"We don't have time for this," August interrupted again. "It's pure conjecture."

"We must have time," Tracy continued calmly. "I believe this is what we're up against here.  The different personalities are sometimes referred to as alters. That means Alternate Personality States, or Multiple Personalities."

 "We don't have time for a lecture either." August wouldn't settle down. "How is this related to our case?"

"These different personalities can suddenly take control of a person's behavior." Tracy went to the heart of it fast. She knew it would help them spot their killer. "Each alternate personality has distinct traits, personal histories, and ways of thinking and relating to others. An alternate personality might even be of a different gender, have his or her own name, with different mannerisms or preferences."

"So what?" August was sounding belligerent now.

 "The person with Multiple Personality Disorder can switch on a dime. Anything can cause it. Sometimes it's stress, other times it's a reminder of their original trauma."

 "Okay, okay," said Hunter, becoming distressed as well. "What makes you think this is our man, and how does it change the way we search for him?"

"It depends which of his personalities you are searching for," Tracy proclaimed, feeling triumphant. "We can be talking to someone who seems perfectly fine, and all the while be with the killer. We have to smoke him out, then add to his stress, get him to switch."

"How?" asked Hunter.

 "Patients with this disorder usually take low-level jobs and live in plain view, though below the radar. Sometimes a prominent figure has this disorder as well. They always have complex covers. They know how to hide from others and also themselves. This explains the different victims our killer chose and the different ways he killed them. This explains why there isn't a single MO or signature. It also begins to answer the question of why he kept the second victim alive so long. Once she was kidnapped, a different personality of his could have appeared, one that wanted to spend time with the victim."

"I'm sorry." August rushed to the front of the room then. "I'm not going along with this."

"Let Tracy finish," Clay pleaded, looking sad..

"She's finished, we got it, we've heard her point of view," August insisted.

Wanda was enthralled, though the rest of the faces in the room looked relatively blank.

"We are now searching for one person with multiple personalities," Tracy repeated. "The surface, visible personality will often be a compliant one. The visible personality may be very kind, and often is. Many times it's involved in charitable deeds, to make up for the other personalities living within. Remember, though, the visible personality doesn't run the show forever. The other personalities are lurking in the background, waiting to break through and cause chaos."

"How exactly do we apply this information to our search?" Wanda asked..

 "We have to make this information public, put it out over the news," said Tracy.   
"Ask the public for tips and sightings of someone who is changeable, erratic, and lives a camouflaged life. Tell the public if they know someone like that, someone who changes suddenly, acts very differently from one moment to the next, please let us know immediately."

"I absolutely refuse to go along with this," August repeated. "It will make us look even more incompetent than we do already."

 "Tracy is doing her job." Clay stepped forward. "She's presenting possible scenarios to explore."

But August was on a war path now. "Listen, the cases are going cold. We've got nothing. That's unacceptable. If we put this out, we'll look like idiots. It will make things worse. We'll open the door to more loonies and crazy leads."

Hunter stood up then and walked over to Tracy shaking his head. "I can't help but agree with August," he said solemnly. "You've done a great job, Tracy, but we can't go along with this suggestion. And right now, it's enough."

The room grew silent. Tracy's breath caught.

"I've been discussing our situation with Sergeant Harding and others," Hunter continued, looking down at his papers. "You've given us a great deal of help, and we're grateful. But for now, we're taking you off the case."

# Chapter 32

Tracy felt herself go weak. "Off the case? Why?" She was dumbfounded.

"Don't get me wrong," Hunter spoke professionally, "you've done a great job, gone all out. But right now, you're also in danger. Your presence has become a liability."

Tracy couldn't believe what she was hearing. She refused to believe it and threw a quick glance at Clay. "Did you know about this?" she asked him outright.

Clay looked away, sadly. "I disagree with Hunter's decision," he assured her.

"So do I," Wanda chimed in, looking askance as well.

"But we haven't found the killer," Tracy said. "You want me to leave like this in the middle?"

"It's not the middle," Hunter replied. "Right now, we're nowhere. The case is actually going cold."

"This is not your fault, Tracy," Clay intervened.

 "We're actually telling the press that you're off the case as of today," said Hunter.

Tracy felt faint, but would not give in to it.

"They're doing this to protect you, Tracy," Wanda piped up. "They don't want anyone coming after you again."

 "We're doing what's right, Tracy." Hunter took a step closer to her. "That doesn't mean we haven't benefited from having you with us."

"I'm not going," Tracy answered, suddenly. "Tell the news what you like. You brought me here to do a job and I'm not leaving until it's done."

*

After the announcement of Tracy being let go had been made, the meeting dispersed quickly. Wanda rushed over, gave Tracy a warm hug, and said she had to be back in the labs, pronto. Tracy felt as though they were all deserting a sinking ship.

When she looked around she noticed that Clay had stayed behind. "I've been assigned to go back to the hotel with you and help you pack," he said softy.

"That's kind of you, Clay," Tracy replied, "but I have no intention of leaving."

Clay looked at her oddly. "It's not a matter of choice," he said.

"Everything is a matter of choice," said Tracy.

"You're telling me that you're staying in the same room that was broken into?" Clay couldn't believe it.

"I'm telling you I'm on the case," said Tracy.

"Are you worried that this will make you look bad?" Clay now seemed worried. "Will it affect your job at the college or hospital?"

Tracy hadn't even given that a passing thought. "I'm worried that the killer will strike again," she answered vehemently.

"And how will you staying here stop that?" Clay's voice got louder, almost steely.

"I don't know, but it will," answered Tracy.

Clay shook his head kindly then. "We can't allow it, Tracy."

"Clay, please." Tracy grabbed his hands tightly. "Give me at least a few more days."

"It's not up to me," he whispered.

"I'm on the edge of something, I know it," Tracy insisted.

"You can't stay here!" Clay persisted. "There won't be any protection for you here anymore."

Tracy looked at him strangely. "There's always protection when you do what's right."

Clay backed down. "You spoke to the pastor, didn't you?"

Tracy realized that Pastor Boyd and law enforcement had been working together. The pastor must have known what they decided, that's why he told her to go home. He was trying to break it to her slowly.

"I'm taking a few more days here," Tracy repeated, "whether you like it or not."

Clay started to walk away. Then he stopped abruptly. "I'm always here for you, if you need me, Tracy," he said. "To tell the truth, so is Hunter. He fought this like hell, but he really believed it would be best for you."

"He was wrong," Tracy said definitively.

"Maybe he was," Clay said softly. "It's not a crime to be wrong. Hunter's trying hard."

"He just threw me away publicly," Tracy responded.

"No," Clay insisted, "it wasn't like that. He thanked you, said your work had been valuable. And you have to realize that your presentation didn't help either. If anything, it confirmed that his decision was right."

"My findings sounded off the wall?" asked Tracy.

"Maybe a little too much for this point in the investigation," Clay said slowly. "It was hard to take in."

"I realize that," said Tracy, suddenly feeling better about it all.

*

After Clay left, Tracy stood alone in the office, and despite what had been said, felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. Very likely her presentation had been too complicated. It was better suited to psychologists, Tracy realized. She could understand why it might sound like gibberish, or like a desperate attempt to make sense out of a situation that was deteriorating fast. Tracy resolved not to get caught in upset or anger. It would distract her from what she was here to do. She wanted to trace out the multiple personalities of the killer and figure how she could hunt down each one of them. Clay would help if she asked.

Before she did another thing, Tracy decided to call Wess and tell him what had happened. To her delight, she called at the perfect moment, because he actually picked up the phone.

"Wess, it's Tracy," she started, emboldened.

"Well, what have I done to deserve the call?" asked Wess. "Is the case over? You found the killer?"

Tracy heard the bitterness in his voice and recoiled. "The case isn't over," she answered quickly, "but I've been tossed off it. You'll probably hear about it on the news soon."

Wess grew silent. "Fired? Why?"

"They don't think it's safe for me to stay in town," Tracy replied. "My hotel room was ransacked."

"I heard that," said Wess, calmly.

He'd heard it and was so calm? Tracy felt uneasy. "It doesn't bother you?" she asked.

"You didn't get hurt, did you?" Wess answered. "Someone obviously just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stepped on someone's toes. You're tough, Tracy, you can do that."

"Any idea who might have wanted to get back at me, Wess?" Tracy managed.

Silence fell on the other end. "Why would you ask me something like that?" he finally said. "How would I know all the nuts you run into? How would I know why you do what you do? You have a way of crossing the line, Tracy. Even Jill mentioned it to me."

Tracy gathered herself together swiftly. Was Jill still there with Wess? Were they spending more and more time together? Obviously, she was filling him with all kinds of ideas. Tracy stopped herself on the spot. She couldn't let herself become paranoid about Jill. It was too easy and dangerous to do that.

"I've crossed what line, Wess?" Tracy asked him.

"The line, the line," he thundered back.

"It's my work to cross the line," Tracy plowed forward. "I have to cross all lines, to dig underneath the tunnel of people's lives. Is that so bad? I think it's gutsy."

"It's dangerous and upsetting." Wess softened. "It's not a way to live a life."

"It's my way, Wess," Tracy answered, her voice trembling.

"I see that, I realize," he answered sadly. "We'll talk about it later. Are you're coming back today?"

         "In a few days," she replied.

        "Why a few days?" Wess was annoyed. "What are you staying around there for?"

"There are some things I have to tie up," Tracy replied. She had absolutely no desire to say anything further about the case to him, though.

"Well, stay as long as you want," he said then. "Give me a call when you return."

"That's all you have to say?" asked Tracy, numb. Even Clay, a stranger, had been more concerned.

"I told you, we'll talk in person," Wess reminded her. "As soon as you get back, call me, and I'll be right here, waiting for you."

*

By now the rain had subsided. It was mid-afternoon but Tracy hadn't had lunch yet and wasn't ready to go back to her room. She wanted to talk to someone, thrash out things together. She thought of Wanda, and then Pastor Boyd. Neither of them hit the spot. Then, suddenly, to her surprise someone else came to mind. It was a good idea. Tracy picked up and dialed.

# Chapter 33

Tad Warehouse answered immediately. "Tracy, what's up? I can't believe you're calling."

"Got a few minutes to talk, Tad?" she asked.

"A few minutes?" He sounded delighted. "I have the whole day and the whole night. Want to meet me at Café Bara?"

 "Somewhere else this time," suggested Tracy. She didn't want to stay so near the offices, enjoyed being around nature more.

"I know where," said Tad, and gave her the name of a small block about a mile away from the Charles River. "It's pretty there, real close to the water."

"Good," said Tracy, "let's meet there. We can go for a long walk."

*

Tracy met Tad on a winding cobblestone road, not far from where she'd seen Pastor Boyd this morning. Dressed in a yellow rain slicker and boots, Tad rushed over the moment he saw her.

"So, we meet again, Tracy." Tad was excited. "It was bound to happen. I knew it from the start. Any developments on the case I should know of?"

Tad was a good man, but also a bit off-putting, thought Tracy. She'd had his alibi thoroughly checked out, though, and all the people whose names he gave her claimed to have seen him busy at work the days the women went missing. They'd also mentioned how upset he'd been about it and what a dear man he was. There was no reason to doubt him. Tracy definitely had to get to know him better before she told him she'd been fired, though. Who knew how he'd react?

"I just wanted to walk a bit and talk about things," said Tracy, wondering why she felt so comfortable with him. Probably because he was a plain, direct guy, without any pretenses, she decided. Tracy could be herself with him, say what she thought, not have to be so buttoned up. Being careful and buttoned up wasn't the way to find a killer anyway, especially one who thrived on confusion and tricks.  If Tracy was really serious about finding him, she had to enter the killer's world, become as confused as he was, maybe. She had to walk the walk he'd chosen. It was rule number one. Besides, right now, the last thing Tracy felt was buttoned up. She felt angry and betrayed by having been let go. She was determined to play it as she saw fit. What choice did she have? Candace's life hung in the balance. That's all that really mattered.

"Want to talk about anything in particular?" asked Tad. "Does anyone have an idea about who ransacked your hotel room?"

"That's old news, it doesn't concern me now." Tracy tossed if off.. Tracy was aware what a strange combination they were, strolling under the old trees. But right now the case had become her whole world and Tad was immersed in it as well. They both wanted the killer caught. That was comforting to Tracy.

"Why aren't you concerned about what happened to your room?" Tad asked gingerly as he lumbered along at her side. "Most women I know would be frightened to death."

"I'm sure they would," murmured Tracy.

"You're different," Tad leaned in closer to her. He had the smell of stale beer about him.

"I feel protected," Tracy said boldly. "Always have."

"Protected by who?" Tad rubbed his big face, looking skeptical.

The conversation had taken an odd turn and Tracy didn't want to pursue it. She'd just meant to have a simple walk and find out more about him as well.

"Tell me more about yourself, Tad." Tracy changed the topic as they then walked under a cluster of low hanging trees.

"Not much to tell," Tad spoke heavily. "Just a simple kind of guy. I like to see justice done though. Always did. My mother taught me that."

"You were close to your mother?" Tracy was interested. She never knew what to expect from him. Tad was certainly his own kind of guy, different from other men she knew.

"I was as close to my mother as I had to be," he chortled. "Mom was a regular churchgoer, though, and I was not." They passed by Pastor Boyd's church as he spoke. "Mom would probably have loved going there," he continued, pointing to the sprawling clapboard church. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"It is," said Tracy. "It's the only place we have that links at least two of the victims. Candace was getting married here and Shannon worked at the nursery school. The place has no connection to Tina, though." Tracy watched Tad look the place over.

 "Everyone knows that," Tad commented, blandly. "But the place is powerful.  I still think you should spend time snooping around inside." And he grinned.

"What's powerful about it?" Tracy asked, surprised.

"Churches are powerful places." Tad's eyes closed a bit as he spoke. "All kinds of people go in and out. Some use it to hide."

  The idea of that unnerved Tracy. "Tina had no connection to this place, though," she objected.

 "So what?" Tad grinned. "People don't speak much about Tina these days. They did in the beginning but now she's nothing but yesterday's news."

"Tina's far from yesterday's news," Tracy was upset by his remark. "They're focusing so much on Candace now because they're still hoping she's alive."

"Hoping!" Tad snarled. "But what are they really doing about it? Just putting on a big show."

"They've been searching for her night and day," Tracy uttered, not knowing what Tad was getting at.

"Not really," he insisted.

"They're trying." Tracy felt she had to defend her co-workers.

"They're just going along the old beaten path," Tad muttered. "Bring out the dogs, listen to tipsters, check police records, talk to snitches in the jails. Only you are trying something new! That's why I admire you, Tracy."

Tracy liked Tad. She enjoyed his persistence and his offbeat way of seeing things.

"What else should they do to find the killer?" Tracy couldn't help ask.

Tad shrugged and smiled slowly. "Let's walk faster," he answered, as they picked up their pace and began to approach the Charles River.

 "I like it here," Tad murmured as they walked, "especially in the afternoon."

Tracy liked it there too. The day had grown overcast again, but Tracy barely noticed it, was preoccupied with the realization that two of the victims had been connected to the same church. And what about Tina, how did she fit in? Tracy suddenly remembered the small wooden crucifix she'd found in the alley.

"Oh my!" Tracy said aloud. "That's it!"

# Chapter 34

"What?" asked Tad, excited.

"I found a little wooden crucifix in the alley where the killer dumped Tina's body," Tracy exclaimed.

        "So what?" Tad didn't like that, took a step away from her.

"Tina was involved with church," Tracy insisted.

"She went to recovery meetings somewhere else," Tad declared.

 "Where?" asked Tracy.

"What difference does it make?" Tad grumbled. "She was a whore."

Tracy stood still. "She was a human being who suffered, Tad."

She was cold," Tad mumbled suddenly. "If you wanted her love you had to give her money for it. What kind of woman is that?"

Chills ran up and down Tracy's arms. "Did you know Tina, Tad? Did you ever see her in person?"

Tad moved back and stared at Tracy. "What makes you ask me something horrible like that? Do I look like the kind of guy who uses filthy women, who spends time with garbage? If you think that, you don't know me, Tracy."

"I'm not suggesting that," Tracy replied quickly, disturbed that she'd offended him. "I didn't mean it that way."

"How did you mean it?" Tad became sullen.

"I was just wondering if there was any possible connection between Tina and this church as well."

"How could there be?" Tad refused to believe it. "She wasn't from this neighborhood, was she? How in the world would she wind up here?"

It was a good question and Tracy dwelt upon it. She scanned her memory for everything she'd learned about Tina.

Tad suddenly stopped on a dime, dug his feet onto the ground. "If you want to find out more about what went on in the church, go inside!" he demanded. "Talk to anyone you find."

Tracy thought about Pastor Logan. The idea of speaking to him again was off-putting.

 "I already spoke to Pastor Logan," she said.

Tad looked at her strangely. "Who cares about Pastor Logan?" He dug in further. "Look around the place, go into the sanctuary, see who's hanging out there. Sit down next to them a few minutes. Then say a word or two. Start up a conversation." Tad was breathing heavily.

The subject really got him going. Tracy watched his heavy arms shake. Still, despite his odd behavior, it wasn't a bad idea.

"It's a good idea." Tad's eyes narrowed. "You want to know if anyone there knew Tina, go and find out!" Then he laughed loudly at his grand plan.

Tad was right, it was an interesting suggestion.  Help often came from the oddest places, Tracy thought.

"Will you come into the church with me, Tad?" Tracy asked, wanting to see how he would respond.

"Sure I will," Tad's face flushed a moment. "Why not? I'm not scared. Wherever you go, I'll go. I'll track this monster down to the end."

*

The narrow clapboard steps to the church creaked as Tracy and Tad stepped up to the entrance and went inside. It was late afternoon by now and the light was dimming as the wind blew up.

Tracy pulled open the old door and they walked into the foyer opposite the sanctuary.

"Go see who's inside there." Tad threw his head back.

Tracy felt like she'd be intruding on those in prayer.

"I'll stand out here and wait for you," Tad murmured.

"Why don't you come in with me, Tad?" Tracy whispered.

"Not me," he chortled, "not ever." Then he gave her a little push. "You go in and I'll be here."

Tracy lurched away and walked slowly into the sanctuary, alone.

It was beautiful, shaded, and peaceful inside. Light shone softly through the old stained glass windows, and to Tracy's surprise a few people, scattered here and there, were kneeling  at  worship.

Tracy took a seat near the rear, bathing in the light and calmness. Softly, she looked down and from deep within, asked for help. She asked for clarity and guidance in helping save Candace's life. I can't do this alone, she kept repeating, even though she fully realized that no one was ever alone. Help was waiting everywhere.

When Tracy lifted her eyes, she saw a young man rise from one of the rows further down and slowly walk to the rear. As he came closer, to Tracy's surprise, he looked familiar. In a flash she realized it was Andy, Candace's ex-boyfriend.

Tracy rose instantly and followed him outside. "Andy?" she said breathlessly, when they both had exited the sanctuary.

Andy turned, startled, and looked at Tracy, barely remembering who she was.

"I'm Tracy Wrenn," she immediately filled him in, "investigator on Candace's case."

"Oh yes!" Andy's eyes opened wide.

Neither of them had another word to say for a moment. Then Tracy quickly collected herself. "I'm trying to speak to anyone I find at church," she whispered, "to see if they might know more about the case."

Andy took a step away. "Good idea," he finally said slowly.

"I'm trying to find out if anyone might have ever seen Tina here."

At first Andy seemed confused.

"Tina's the first woman who was taken and killed," Tracy filled in quickly.

"Oh yes, of course," Andy replied. "I remember now. She was in recovery, wasn't she?"

"Yes, that's right," said Tracy, surprised he would remember a detail like that.

"Tina came to some of the recovery meetings at our hospital," Andy offered then.

"Where was her group based?" asked Tracy quickly.

"They were based in a church in her neighborhood," said Andy, "but as I recall several people from that group also went to meetings at other places. It's not unusual."

Tracy took a deep breath as she and Andy stared at each other.

"Did she ever come here?" Tracy asked, struck by the idea.

"I have no idea," said Andy, taking another step away. "Why not call and find out?  Someone would know. There have to be records of it."

Tracy looked at Andy and smiled. What a strange coincidence to have run into him here.

She was excited by his suggestion, though, and wanted to tell Tad about it.

Tracy looked around for Tad then, but the foyer was empty. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Something wrong?" asked Andy, watching Tracy look around fervently.

"Someone came here with me," Tracy replied. "He said he'd be waiting for me, but he's nowhere to be found."

Andy took a step closer to Tracy. "Don't worry about it," he said. "People come and go here all the time. They come for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes they stay for hours, sometimes they get out fast. Your friend will probably be back in a minute."

Tracy wanted to tell Andy that Tad was not her friend, he was something else, an odd companion on the search. Of course she couldn't say anything like that to him. In fact, she wondered how often Andy came here himself.

"Thanks, Andy," Tracy said lightly, instead.

It's wonderful of you to keep on searching for Candace like this," Andy replied.

Tracy saw the great pain Andy was in then, felt his sorrow.

"We'll find Candace, Andy," she suddenly promised.

"Every day I come here and pray for help," Andy started slowly, when out of the corner of her eye Tracy suddenly saw Tad pacing back and forth down the hallway. She turned fully toward him then and stared.

"Who's that?" asked Andy, startled, following her glance.

"Someone who's helping me," Tracy whispered back. "Other than that, I'm not really sure."

*

"I have to find out if Tina came to meetings here immediately," Tracy said to Tad after Andy had gone and Tad had once again come to her side.

"Slow down, slow down," Tad mumbled.

 "Why?" asked Tracy, wired, as she quickly pulled out her phone and dialed the central office of the church.

"They won't give you the names of people who attend those meetings, it's private," Tad said, trying to stop her.

"This is FBI calling," Tracy said the moment someone answered. "I need to speak to the person who runs the recovery meetings."

Tad took a step away. "This wasn't what I was planning for the afternoon," he muttered.

"Recovery." A woman's voice answered.

"FBI," Tracy repeated. "I need to know immediately if Tina, the first victim of the crime spree in Boston, attended recovery meetings at your church?"

The woman became silent. Then her voice lowered. "Can you please identify yourself?" she asked.

"This is urgent," Tracy answered harshly. "It's Tracy Wrenn calling, criminal profiler on the case."

"Okay, okay," the woman said quickly. "I've heard of you."

"Tell me now." Tracy was worked up. "Do people who attend sign in? Did she ever?"

"I'm checking," the woman answered fitfully. "It would be on the computer."

Tracy glanced at Tad, even more excited. He had moved away quite a bit by now and was glancing out a window disinterestedly. His reaction was odd and Tracy noted it, but she wanted to stay focused on this call.

"Yes," the woman answered, "I do have a record of Tina attending meetings here from time to time. Not that often."

 "Why didn't you tell us that before?" Tracy demanded alarmed.

"I don't understand." The woman became nervous. "The police knew Tina attended at the other church site. What difference does it make?"

"It's okay, it's all right," Tracy wanted to calm her. "Thank you so much for helping." She hung up the phone.

She stared at Tad and he stared back at her blankly. "Tina attended recovery meetings at this church from time to time," Tracy breathed. It was huge, overwhelming.

"So what?" Tad asked again.

"So what? I've found it! This is the connection between the three women." Tracy was exhilarated.

"I don't get it." Tad looked confused.

"This is where the killer met all three women, at the church!" gasped Tracy.

"How did he meet them exactly?" Tad demanded.

"Obviously, he's involved with this church. He comes here, or works here." Tracy was positive. "Something about each one of them called out to him. He lulled them all into a sense of safety."

"You still want to take a walk?" asked Tad, suddenly looking out of sorts.

"What's wrong, Tad?" Tracy had to address it.

"I don't believe that whore came into this church!" he declared.

Tracy felt revolted by him.

"You're giving her too much credit, Tracy," he went on. "It'll backfire on you. I've seen it happen."

There was something wrong with him, Tracy realized. She had to move forward with this information first.

 "I have to call the FBI and tell them," breathed Tracy.

"Why do you have to tell them for? You told me." Tad smiled. "I heard what you said, I got the point."

 "First I'll call in my information," she said, "and then we'll continue our walk."

"Call in whatever you want," Tad spoke heavily. "It won't matter to them. They'll just toss it aside."

Tracy immediately put the call into Hunter, and to her delight, he picked right up.

"Hunter," she said as if he'd never told her she was off the case.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.

"Hold onto your chair, I have more information," Tracy plowed on.

"Tracy, you're no longer on the case." He spoke laboriously.

"Hunter"--her voice became more strident. "I found the linkage between the three women."

Hunter grew silent on the other end.

"It's the church! They all were involved with it. Shannon taught in the nursery school, Candace was getting married there, and Tina attended recovery meetings there from time to time."

"Where did you hear that?" Hunter sounded discombobulated.

"It was simple. I called the main office. The woman in charge checked her computer and told me immediately," said Tracy. "The killer's involved with the church. Surround the place. Search up and down. He's working there, someone nondescript in a low-key role. He comes in and out without being noticed, but he's aware of everything that goes on there. Go over the place with a fine-tooth comb!"

Hunter's reaction was not what she'd been expecting.

# Chapter 36

"Tracy, stop!" Hunter gathered himself together quickly. "You're no longer on the case."

"But I'm giving you the information you've been waiting for," Tracy insisted.

"Stay away from the church." Hunter now sounded threatening. "Pastor Boyd's upset enough as it is. There's no need to bathe his church in more publicity."

"You're not hearing what I'm saying," Tracy breathed.

"You're not hearing me." Hunter became emphatic.

"You want nothing more to do with me?" Tracy's voice became thinner.

"That's not what I'm saying," he objected. "I respect you, I value you, I just want you to go home now."

Tracy began trembling. "But I can't," she said.

Tad came and stood closer to her then.

"Please, Tracy, why are you making it so difficult?" Hunter demanded.

"Because I can't leave until I find the killer," Tracy replied and quickly hung up.

"They're idiots," Tad spoke gently. "Don't pay attention to any of them. Call someone else who can help," he suggested. "If you're convinced the killer's at the church, go and see the pastor yourself."

"I'll call Kevin, Candace's father," Tracy had a sudden flash. "He's close to the pastor and also to the FBI. I'll tell him what I found and let him make the arrangements."

Tad didn't like that suggestion. "Why pull him into it?" he grumbled. "He's been an idiot from day one."

"He just lost his daughter," Tracy answered. "It'll make him feel better to be involved in the search."

"Who says he lost his daughter?" Tad's eyes opened wide. "Who says she's not still alive somewhere, begging for her life?"

Tracy stopped and stared at Tad. "Why would she be begging for her life?"

"That's what they all do, isn't it?" Tad's voice got louder. "They beg for their lives and there's no one to hear them. They beg and beg until they die."

Tracy shivered deeply. "That's horrible, Tad."

"Yeah, it's horrible, but it's true, isn't it? We're all begging for our lives every day, aren't we? You think there's such a big difference between them and us?"

Thankfully, it started to rain hard again and Tracy and Tad had to cut their walk short.

"When am I going to see you again?" Tad asked quickly.

"Very soon," Tracy promised. "You helped me a lot today. In fact, you're my right-hand man."

Tad grinned, delighted. Her right hand man. That was something, it was special. And before

long, he'd be much more than that, too.

As soon as Tracy and Tad parted, she immediately put in a call to Kevin to let him know the church was the link between the three victims. Thrilled, Kevin promised to arrange a meeting at the church with Pastor Boyd for Tracy and him. He'd also put in a call to Hunter. The FBI had to realize how big this was. He'd do it all immediately, arrange the meeting for that very night.

*

The meeting with Pastor Boyd was set for right after dinner, so Tracy had a little while to go back to her room and collect herself before it took place. On her way back, Kevin called again to say that Hunter knew about the meeting.  And, he was going to put a bug on Kevin so the FBI so he could hear everything that went on.

Tracy was pleased to hear that. It was the right thing to do. And whether or not the FBI went along with her, one thing she was positive of. The killer was a Multiple Personality! The more she thought about it, the clearer it became. It made complete sense he'd be working at a church. Multiples often engaged in charitable activities, were thought to be kind and endearing. And, of course, a part of them was.

Tracy got up then, went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, freshened her makeup, and changed into a lovely beige dress with a short, matching jacket. She wanted to look and feel good for the meeting with the pastor tonight.

*

The church doors were open until all hours. Tracy walked up the stairs and into the main hallway by herself. Now it was mostly empty, except for a few cleaning people around.  Kevin had said he'd be there to meet her, and true to his word, a few minutes later Tracy saw him walk in.

"We'll go into Pastor Boyd's office in a few minutes," Kevin said. "He's cooperating,   but refuses to believe the killer could be here, right under his nose.  I told him there's a good chance, but nothing's positive, of course."

"Of course," Tracy had to concur.

"Thanks for doing this, Tracy, thanks so much." Kevin's voice was trembling. "We're getting closer to Candace, we've moving in. I know I'm gonna see her soon."

"I hope so, Kevin," Tracy murmured as Pastor Boyd stepped out of his office and beckoned them in.

Tracy and Kevin went in immediately and sat down.

"This is startling news, you realize," the pastor said straight to Kevin, completely avoiding Tracy's eyes.  "I cannot believe that the killer is here underfoot, that it could even be a trusted worker."

"Your church is the link between the victims," Tracy informed him calmly. "It's the only link we can find. We have to pursue it."

"Tracy has also suggested that the killer is a Multiple Personality," Kevin informed him.

"We all have many ways of viewing life's suffering." The pastor turned away. "In all my years I have never met such a person."

You wouldn't know it if you had, thought Tracy, but decided not to say any more about it right now.

"I need you to go over your memory carefully," Tracy said instead. "Is there anyone working at the church who has exhibited odd qualities? Someone who is changeable, who works in the shadows? Someone whose moods are more volatile than most?"

"No one I can think of, no one at all," Pastor Boyd replied as there was a small knock on his door. "Come in," he called out. "That's our cleaning help, Caleb. He comes every night at about this hour. I forgot to cancel for this evening."

A lanky, balding man in his fifties walked into the room with a broom and tray. He looked at Tracy and Kevin, startled.

"It's fine, Caleb," said the pastor, "just a quick, late meeting tonight. "You can come back in a few minutes."

Kevin stood up, went over to Caleb, and extended his hand. "Caleb's been working at the church for years," Kevin informed Tracy. "He may as well join the meeting. He knows everyone who works here."

"How do you do?" said Tracy.

"Maybe you can help us, Caleb," Kevin continued. "We're looking for someone at the church who's involved with my daughter's disappearance. It could be anyone."

Caleb became uneasy. "The police have already talked to me," he replied. "They talked to all of us. I told them whatever I knew. Nothing. What else can I say?"

"We're double checking the church again now," Kevin replied abruptly.

The pastor stood up then, disconcerted. "Bear with us, Caleb," he entreated him, "Kevin's daughter's life is at stake."

"I realize," Caleb replied, looking upset. ""I wish I could help, but I can't."

"You knew Wayne and Candace, didn't you?" Kevin continued.

"I did know them." Caleb leaned on his broom. "Candace was a beautiful girl."

"She still is, she's alive," Kevin insisted.

"I never knew what she saw in Wayne though." Caleb's face became blotchy as he rambled on.

"Neither did I." Kevin grew more disconcerted.

"Wayne was loud and angry," Caleb went on. "He wanted one thing after another. Nothing anyone gave him was good enough for him."

 "Just what I said, exactly," Kevin called out.

"What was Candace's reaction to Wayne's behavior?" asked Tracy.

"Bring him in and ask him. Don't ask me." Caleb shivered. "But he's out of town now, no one can find him!"

"How do you know that?" Pastor Boyd was alarmed.

"No one's talking about anything else," Caleb mumbled.

"There's rumor and gossip everywhere," the pastor echoed.

Tracy and Kevin exchanged a quick look. Wayne should not have left town. Tracy needed to pursue this further.

"What did Candace do when Wayne acted that way?" Tracy focused on Caleb. Obviously this guy knew more than she'd thought.

"Candace didn't do much about it," said Caleb, "but a few times I saw her biting her lips when Wayne started carrying on. Once I even saw them bleed."

"Oh God." Kevin turned to the pastor. "I told you this marriage shouldn't go on."

Pastor Boyd turned pale, as Tracy moved closer to Caleb. She wanted to up the ante now, try to see if Caleb might also have known anything about Shannon. Could he possibly have known Tina as well?

"What about Shannon's husband, Jeffrey? Did you know him, too, Caleb?" Tracy asked.

"Caleb only worked here at the main church," Pastor Boyd was quick to interject.

"Once in a while I went to the nursery school, too," Caleb quickly corrected him.

"I didn't realize that," said Pastor Logan.

"Only once in a while," repeated Caleb. "Sometimes they needed an extra hand and I was willing to help."

"Of course you were, Caleb, of course," murmured Pastor Logan.

"Did you know Shannon, or her husband, Jeffrey Glaze?" Tracy repeated.

"In passing," answered Caleb. "That guy wasn't a winner either! Such beautiful women and such lousy men. It's an old story, isn't it?"

"Lousy, why?" Tracy was beginning to feel nervous.

"The morning Shannon disappeared I was helping out at the school. I heard them say that Jeffrey was coming to pick her up, but he never came. He just left her there waiting." Caleb's face grew flushed and irate.

"Wait a minute." Tracy was alarmed. "You were at the nursery school the day Shannon went missing?"

"I was helping out," Caleb said quietly.

"Does anyone else know that?" Tracy was appalled.

"How do I know? It's not such a big deal. I only went for an hour to give a hand," Caleb mumbled.  "I was there before it all broke. There was a kid's birthday party there that day. I helped clean up the candy wrappers and pastries."

"Does anyone know you were there the day Shannon went missing?" Tracy's voice became more strident.

"You know it now," Caleb replied, irritated.

Tracy was dumbfounded. It was easy to see why he would not have been noticed, though.

"You saw Shannon that day?" She had to be certain.

"Sure," Caleb said, "I saw her waiting outside.  I even asked her if I could get her a taxi, but she said, she was waiting for her husband.  She waited for a while, but I never saw him come."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Tracy was horrified. They still didn't know who was the last to see Shannon alive. Some of the teachers saw her leave her classroom, but no one spotted her getting into a car.

"No one asked me," Caleb mumbled. "The topic never came up."

 "That's because Shannon worked at the school," the pastor interjected, agitated. "Most of the time Caleb worked here at the church."

 Caleb looked confused and nervous. "I even saw her call someone on the phone," he remarked as his tiny blue eyes darted back and forth frantically.

"You're positive about all this?" Tracy's heart started pounding. Caleb was admitting that he was the last one to see Shannon alive.

"I just told you!" Caleb yelled. "You think I'm a liar or something?"

"Oh my God," Tracy breathed. "You were the last one to see Shannon alive."

# Chapter 37

Kevin dashed over at Caleb, furious.

"Step back, Kevin!" Alarmed, Pastor Boyd jumped out from behind his desk to pull Kevin away.

Tracy moved in for the kill. "Did you want to get revenge on these lousy men, Caleb?" Her voice became rough and edgy. If Caleb was the Multiple and she shocked him enough, it could cause him to switch into his alternate personality. "Were you protecting the women from the men by kidnapping and killing them?"

In a moment of horror, Caleb grabbed his throat, suddenly realizing what Tracy was asking him.

"You're blaming me?? You think I did it?" Stunned, he bolted for the door, tore it open, and started to run.

Caleb ran, however, right into the arms of two FBI officers, whom Hunter had stationed outside.

"It's not Caleb, it's not Caleb," Pastor Boyd began shouting. "Let him go this instant."

The FBI officers held onto Caleb tighter.

"Caleb was the last to see Shannon alive," Kevin called out. "He ran when accused. He fits Tracy's profile."

"Okay, okay, we're taking him in," the FBI replied.

*

Not only did the news spread fast that they finally had a suspect, but Tracy's phone ran off the hook. Everyone was congratulating her.

"My God," said Hunter, "you have to forgive us. This is beyond imagination. You were right about everything, including the church."

Tracy was not as excited as everyone else. "Caleb's a possibility only," she responded. Tracy knew how important it was to have a suspect finally, but in her mind the case was far from closed.

"You're reinstated," Hunter went on, "and I'm sorry again, really. Can we have dinner tonight to celebrate?" Hunter was beside himself.

"There's nothing to celebrate yet," said Tracy. "Caleb's only a suspect."

"He's the first one we have." Hunter sounded victorious. "We've been hunting for the last guy to see Shannon alive. Caleb's it and he ran like hell when you asked him if he'd killed her. It's not looking good for him."

"No, it isn't," agreed Tracy.

"Let's have dinner and celebrate," Hunter insisted. "You've got to accept my apology."

"I accept it," said Tracy.  She was glad they took Caleb in, but refused to rush to judgment.  "I plan to go back to the church tomorrow and keep looking around," Tracy continued.

 "Tracy please, listen to me." Hunter tried to break through. "You've done an incredible job, magnificent. You deserve to celebrate. You can interview Caleb all you like tomorrow in jail."

"I will," Tracy agreed. "But, I'm going to poke around at the church before I do that to  see what else turns up."

*

Tracy was happy to lie down for the night. Everything pointed to Caleb, but waves of doubt accosted her. Caleb's anger was definitely directed at men. Why would he take women as victims? And what would he want from them after kidnapping them?  Caleb seemed like a hapless, forlorn guy. That part did fit the profile. But Tracy hadn't seen any evidence of deep volatility in him. And the fact that he was the last to see Shannon alive was interesting, but didn't automatically amount to anything. It made sense that Caleb would be frightened and run from a room if he was being accused of murder. Tracy would talk to him more tomorrow, but Tad was right. The church was a powerful place. She wanted to get back there as soon as possible and see what else she could find.

Tracy had a fleeting thought of calling Tad and letting him know about the developments. She rejected the idea immediately, though. He would hear it on the news soon enough. And, whether she liked it or not, Tracy had to walk this path alone.

To her surprise Tracy slept soundly that night and awoke first thing in the morning completely refreshed and ready to roll. There was no way she was going to let someone be accused of anything, if there was even the smallest chance they were innocent. That happened far too often, she realized. Especially in cases like this.

After a quick breakfast, Tracy went over to the church, walked in, and stepped up to the bulletin board up front where all kinds of events were posted. On the top was an announcement of a meeting of the Women's Good Works charity group being held in the West Lounge this morning. It was a weekly morning meeting, with coffee and pastries. Might as well start there, thought Tracy. It wouldn't hurt to talk to anyone that turned up.

The lounge was down at the other end of the hall and Tracy walked there quickly, pushed the heavy double doors open, and entered the large, sunny room. There were photographs of needy children on the walls, bright red chairs arranged in circles, and a long table spread out for food.

A lovely older woman with silver gray hair, dressed in a pale blue silk dress, approached Tracy as soon as she walked in.

"Welcome, dear," she said kindly, "I'm Maria Blau, director of the Women's Good Deeds group. I don't believe we've seen you here before." She looked at Tracy eagerly, delighted to have a new member on board.

"Tracy Wrenn, FBI," Tracy answered swiftly, showing the woman her badge.

Maria looked momentarily alarmed. "Yes, I've heard your name. What are you doing at our meeting?" she replied.

"I need to talk to anyone I can find, Maria," Tracy started, knowing she sounded desperate.

"About what?" Maria wasn't understanding. She lifted her hand to her perfectly coiffed hair to rearrange it slightly. As she did so, Tracy got chills. On Maria's wrist was a delicate pink pearl bracelet, like the ones stolen from Candace's shop.

"Maria," Tracy homed in quickly. "Where did you get that bracelet?"

Maria looked down at it, confused. "I've had it for a while," she replied. "Isn't it lovely? It's my favorite."

"How did you get it?" Tracy was adamant.

Maria looked slightly flummoxed. "Let me remember, dear. Oh yes, I believe our delivery man gave it to me."

"Your delivery man?" Tracy became intent. "What delivery man?"

"The one who delivers our pastries, coffee, and whatever else we need for our meetings," said Maria. "The bracelet was a gift."

"A gift?" Tracy stared at it. "Why?"

"No reason in particular," Maria answered, nervously moving her hand away. "Albert's a kind man. He often brings little gifts for the women in our group. Is something wrong with that?"

"Where is Albert now?" asked Tracy, growing cold.

"Well, in fact, he should have been here half an hour ago," Maria commented. "You see, we're about to begin the meeting and the coffee and pastries haven't arrived."

"Does that happen often?" Tracy was all over it, alarming Maria even more.

"Sometimes he's late, but not this late," said Maria, defending him. "Usually he's early. Albert's always happy to be here, he's very kind."

Very kind. Maria's words resounded, sparking off all kind of thoughts in Tracy. The obvious personality of a Multiple was often very kind. Very generous and involved with charitable activities. A thousand bells went off in Tracy's head.

"I need to speak to Albert right away," Tracy insisted. "Where does he live? Who is he?"

"Well, my dear, I have no idea at all where he lives." Maria took a few steps away.

"I need the name of the company he works for, the one that provides the pastries for your meetings." Tracy wouldn't let go.

Maria hesitated a moment, and Tracy flashed her badge again at her.

"It's Omni Catering on Doyle Street," Maria's voice faltered. "Albert doesn't only deliver pastries to our meetings, but all events that go on in the church."

All events, thought Tracy, trembling. Children's parties, recovery meetings, church holidays. Could this be how the killer spotted his victims?

"But Albert hasn't done anything wrong. Nothing at all." Maria's voice trailed off as Tracy turned swiftly and rushed back out through the double doors.

*

It was easy to get the number for Omni Catering. Tracy called immediately, identified herself, and after just a little wrangling, got the address of Albert, the man who delivered coffee and pastries to the church. His home wasn't far away, either, just about half a mile. Tracy thought about calling Hunter and letting him know where she was going and decided it was a good idea. This could be nothing at all, or, it could be the jackpot they all were waiting for.

Hunter wasn't at all pleased when he heard about Tracy's destination. "You're chasing after windmills, Tracy," he said. "We've got our man. The more Caleb talks, the deeper in he's getting."

"Maria was wearing the same pearl bracelet that was stolen from Candace's shop," Tracy insisted. "Maria said the delivery guy, Albert, gave it to her. This could be the same guy who picked up the bracelets from Candace's shop. And he's involved with the church. What am I missing? What else are you waiting for?"

Hunter suddenly seemed to wake up. "You're right, I'm not waiting for anything. Go check it out immediately and be careful! Whatever you do, keep me informed!"

# Chapter 38

Albert's home was a small wooden house on the corner of a long block filled with tiny, slanted homes. From the outside the place looked old and unkempt. Tracy wondered if Albert was home and would answer the door.

She walked carefully up the front walkway, where dandelions grew helter-skelter. The place felt silent and empty. Tracy knocked on the door anyway. No answer. She peered into the windows, which were half open. Nobody seemed to be there. But Albert had to be somewhere, thought Tracy. He hadn't shown up for work.

The front door didn't look so solid and Tracy decided to see if she could push her way in. She put both hands on the doorknob and shook it strongly. Then she gave the bottom of the door a few hard kicks. To her delight the door cracked, flew open, and Tracy practically fell inside.

Once inside, Tracy immediately felt nauseated. It was dark, the ceilings were low, and the place a mess. Newspapers were piled in corners and also strewn around. The sofa in the main room was ripped and worn. Tracy felt nervous and unsettled here. She decided to look around quickly and get out. There was a door adjoining the living room that most likely led to a bedroom. For all Tracy knew, Albert could be in there, asleep in bed. She decided to open the door slowly and see.

No one was there, but Tracy was right. The door led to the bedroom, which was also incredibly messy and smelled stale and dank. The bed was unmade, and clothes, books, and papers were strewn on the floor. Then something caught Tracy's eye. At the far wall, a huge bulletin board was nailed onto the wall, stretched over a secondhand desk. All kinds of things were posted on it. Tracy decided to take a closer look.

She edged her way over through the mess, having a hard time breathing in the musty room. Tracy got closer and shuddered.

The bulletin board was filled from top to bottom with clippings about the case. In the middle three large photos of the victims stared out at her. My God, my God, thought Tracy, her head reeling, feeling as if she was about to hyperventilate.  But she stopped herself. In and of itself, this didn't mean they had the killer. The place could belong to someone obsessed with the case. There were plenty of people like that, floating around.

Tracy then saw a red wig in the corner of the desk. It somehow looked familiar. Where had she seen it, where? Suddenly, to her horror, she remembered.

Tracy suddenly flashed on the photos of the odd woman she'd seen in Tina's album. This looked exactly like the wig she had on.

This place had to be investigated immediately. Tracy began rifling through the papers piled on the desk to see what else she could find. Letters to the editor were strewn around and beside them a tiny wooden crucifix. It was the same type of crucifix Tracy had found in the back alley. The crucifix had to belong to the killer, he must have a bunch of them. Tracy picked it up and held it, trembling, thinking of the horror that Tina had gone through. Tracy had found the link to Tina for sure, but still couldn't stop searching. There could even be more.

She continued rummaging around on the desk and suddenly, underneath the messy papers, she spied a note that stopped her cold. It was written in baby talk in bright red crayon. Ya, ya, da, da, if you're good enough, I'll save you, it said. Next to the note was a crinkly map leading somewhere underground.

Tracy knew she shouldn't stay here another minute alone. She needed backup. She'd call in a second, but first Tracy grabbed the map and scoured it. The map seemed to point to the basement of this house. My God! thought Tracy, trembling, could Albert be down there now? Is that where he's holding Candace? Was she alive or dead?

Tracy immediately put in a frantic call into Hunter. "I got him," she breathed. "This is where he lives, I have the evidence! Get here fast. He could be here in the basement with Candace right now!"

"Get out of there instantly, Tracy." Hunter sounded horrified. "Wait for us under cover out on the street."

Tracy wiped the sweat that was pouring down over her face with the back of her hand. "I'm going, I'm going," she began to reply when she heard something rustle behind her.

"So, you finally came for a visit?" a high, shrill voice piped up.

Tracy immediately dumped her phone into her side pocket.

 "I thought you would come one day," the voice continued as Tracy spun around.

The minute she turned around, Tracy's legs went weak, could barely hold her up.

There stood Tad, wearing makeup, dressed in a long, silvery dress. On his feet were open sandals which showed all his toes. On his wrist was a pink pearl bracelet.

"I just came up for my wig, darling," Tad uttered, sweeping past Tracy and placing the red wig from the desk on his head. "Do you like the way I look? Am I beautiful?" He posed strangely and smiled.

"Tad," breathed Tracy, overwhelmed.

"I beg your pardon?" he answered, looking at her oddly. "I have no idea who you're talking about. My name is Martha Georgeson."

Tracy's heart pounded so violently she thought she would pass out. She couldn't pass out now though, couldn't. If she did she might never wake up again.

"How dear of you to visit," Tad continued. "Can I make you a cup of tea?"

It was Tad. He was the Multiple Personality and this was one of his alternate selves. The note left at the crime scene, Find me, suddenly made total sense. Not only did Tad want law enforcement to find him, he wanted to find himself.

"I have all kinds of tea here," Martha continued, "mint tea, chamomile, even green powdered tea."

"Tea would be lovely, said Tracy, playing for time. Tad recognized her and didn't. He'd been expecting her, but not h him. His alternate self, Martha, had.

Tracy wasn't sure how to address him. "Are you having a lovely day, Martha?" she asked, wanting to find out more about her.

"I definitely am, dear," Martha replied. "And it's even better now that you've come to join us for tea."

"Us?" Tracy managed a terrified smile.

"Yes, dear, Candace and I are having our breakfast tea downstairs in her quarters," Martha replied. "Would you care to come down and join us?"

Tracy knew if she went down to the basement, she might not ever come back up. Martha was guarding Candace, holding her captive down there. But she was alive! Tracy's eyes filled with tears.

"Is Candace alive, is she well?" Tracy began trembling.

"Of course she's alive." Martha became irritated. "She's alive and she's having a wonderful time."

"That's lovely, Martha, so lovely," breathed Tracy, thrilled to hear that Candace was still here and entering into Martha's alternate world.

Had Martha guarded and killed the other two victims down there as well? She certainly would have been able to with the strength of a man. Had Martha been the one to lure the women away, make them feel safe?

Tracy was gripped with both horror and sorrow. She wanted her friend Tad back. She wanted to do something to shock him out of being Martha, make him return to himself. But Tracy also realized that the FBI had to see him as his alternate self. It would explain so many things.

"Perhaps we can go downstairs in a few moments," Martha suggested then.

"Why not drink our tea up here, just the two of us," replied Tracy.

Martha smiled brightly at that suggestion. "That's a very good idea, very," she replied. "Candace wouldn't be at all pleased to see you, anyway. She's the jealous sort, likes having time with me all to herself. And if she didn't like that, if one day Candace grows tired of me -," Martha paused, an odd expression on her face.

"What would you do then, Martha?" Tracy was horrified.

"Well then, I wouldn't spend time with her anymore. No, I wouldn't," replied Martha, stamping her foot. "It's simple, very simple, I'd quickly find someone else to live downstairs with me." At the thought of it Martha's voice began to turned steely, and she clenched her hands around her cup of tea. "It's not hard to find companions either. So many of them are lonely, terribly, terribly lonely. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't," said Tracy, trembling.

"The lonely ones gather together at the church, praying for comfort." Martha smiled oddly. "I hear their prayers and give them coffee and little pastries. I give them bracelets."

Tracy felt like throwing up.

"Candace is the best companion yet," Martha went on. "I like spending time with her, and being part of the girls, you know."

"I know, Martha," said Tracy sadly.

"How do you know?" Martha looked startled.

Tracy wanted to say that Tad had told her how badly he'd wanted his mother's love. And how much he needed to be beautiful, to keep his father from leaving him. As Tracy gazed at Martha she realized that Tad had turned into the person his mother and father always wanted him to be. Tracy gave Martha a long look. Who was the killer here? Tad or Martha?

"You don't know Tad?" Tracy asked one more time, just to see what would happen. "You never, ever met him?"

Indignant, Martha raised both eyebrows threateningly. "I already told you, I have no idea who you're speaking about. It doesn't make me happy when people don't believe what I say. Bad things happen to people who act that way." Martha lunged a moment toward Tracy, then looked at Tracy's hand and stopped.

"What have you got there? It belongs to me!" She grabbed the crucifix out of Tracy's grip. "This is mine, it's beautiful, I love it. It keeps me going every day. Don't you dare think of taking it from me. I would not take well to that!"

Shaken to the core, Tracy felt like retching. "I saw the note you wrote in red crayon, too, Martha."

"That's right, it was to that idiotic nursery school teacher, Shannon. I warned her I was coming for her." Martha seemed delighted that Tracy knew all about it. "Shannon worked at the church nursery school where I deliver treats for the children. I saw her every day. She was lonely, too, very! Her husband didn't care a thing for her. And I don't blame him. Everyone said she was such a wonderful person. Well, she wasn't. Not to me!"

"I'm sorry to hear that, so sorry," said Tracy.

"When I drove up to the playground, she pulled the children away. She wouldn't let any of them spend time with me. She was a selfish, nasty bitch."

"You spent a lot of time with her after you took her, though," Tracy spoke matter-of-factly.

Martha started laughing then. "That's absolutely right. We had an interesting two weeks after I grabbed her onto my truck. It was easy, she stopped for coffee and I told her to come up into the delivery truck, I had something for her."

Tracy closed her eyes. Martha probably did this with all of them.

"How did you spend the time with Shannon?" Tracy asked, wanting to keep Martha talking until the FBI arrived.  It had to be any minute now.

"I kept trying to get her to write down what she'd done wrong and what she'd done right each day, but all she did was cry. She kept begging, please let me go, my children need me! I said, how about me? You don't think I need you, too?"

"What did you need her for, Martha?" Tracy asked.

"I needed her to ask me for forgiveness." Martha's voice rose an octave as she gripped the crucifix in her hand. "If even once she asked me for forgiveness, things would have been different between us. She might have even lived."

Tracy shut her eyes tight. "How about Tina, didn't she ask you for forgiveness?"

"No, she didn't." Martha took a step closer. "And she needed forgiveness more than anyone. I told her to get down on her knees and beg me for forgiveness, but she refused to do it, just spit at me. Stupid little hussy, the next morning she tried to claw me, too. That was all it took." Martha started laughing. "She didn't last long. I got rid of her right away."

"Shannon lasted longer." Tracy was mesmerized.

"She did," Martha charged on. "But do you want the truth do you want it, Tracy?"

"Yes, of course," Tracy breathed, shocked that Martha actually knew her name.

"Two weeks was enough with Shannon. I was glad to get rid of her! And she didn't learn much in all that time." Martha grimaced.

"How about Candace?"  Tracy jumped in quickly, as she heard cars approaching the house. The police were circling around now. In a few minutes Candace's ordeal would be over. And Tad's too. In a few minutes the city would be safe again.

Martha grew quieter. "Candace cares about me. She talks to me sweetly. The Good Lord brings my companions to me, one person at a time. All along I thought she was a spoiled young woman, getting ready for a wedding she had no right to. But I made a mistake. We're fond of each other, always will be. Even when she's departed.  She doesn't know it yet, but I'm sending her back where she came from in a little while. They're waiting for her there."

"What will you do then, Martha?" Tracy stared deeply at her as she heard the noise from the cars grow louder, heard footsteps pattering around.

"I'll be spending time with you, darling," Martha's voice grew darker as she took a step closer to Tracy, stretching out her large arms.

Tracy lunged away, turned, looked through the windows and saw police charging out of their cars, swarming around.

"Can I open the door and get some fresh air in here for us?" Tracy asked Martha, as the police drew closer to the front door.

"No, not right now." Martha didn't like the thought of it. "Come down to the basement with me first."

Tracy spun around as a thunderous crash knocked the door open and police charged wildly in.

"Get out of here, get out!" yelled Martha, stunned.

Two policemen quickly ran over and pulled her arms behind her back.

Completely shocked, Martha began shrieking, dropping her fine cup of tea which smashed into bitter slivers all over the messy floor.

"The basement, the basement," Tracy yelled to the cops. "Candace is holed up there."

Totally horrified, Martha spit violently at Tracy. "Deceiver. I let you in, I offered you kindness, and look what you've done to me in return! Don't think I won't get you for this!"

The policeman gripped Martha more tightly.

"They're assaulting me. I'm being abused," Martha pleaded with Tracy, as another cadre of police rushed in through the front door and then straight down into the basement.

Tracy heard garbled noises down there that soon got louder and louder.

 "She's alive! We got her!" a policeman finally yelled.

Hunter then charged into the room them, looking around in horror.

"This is Martha," Tracy called out to him over the din. "She's Tad Warehouse's alternate personality. Take a good look at her, Hunter, never forget it."

Hunter stared at Martha for a long time.

"What are you looking at, bozo? What are you looking at?" Martha shot back at him.

 "I'll never forget it, I won't," Hunter murmured, stunned.

"Are they taking Candace from me?" Martha's eyes turned into slits as her voice grew husky "They can't do that. I won't let them. You know what happens if someone tries!"

"They're taking Candace and you'll never see her again," Tracy egged her on, wanting to increase the stress level and make her switch off. To return to Tad. Tracy desperately wanted Tad to see what was going on. But Martha wouldn't let up, just kept screaming, clenching her fists, and spitting as the police finally hauled her out of the house into the van.

"This is hard to believe." Hunter was in shock.

"Take a look at the bulletin board," said Tracy. "All the evidence you need is pinned up in full view."

"I don't have to look at anything else. It's over, you found her. You're a star, Tracy, a heroine. And thank God you're safe," Hunter spoke quickly as he suddenly rushed over and pulled Tracy close to him in a long, unexpected, warm embrace.

Trembling, Tracy let herself take solace for a moment in his arms.

# Chapter 39

The media went wild as Tracy was proclaimed a heroine. She'd been right all along, unraveling the most unimaginable case. And Candace was back with her family safe, if not shell-shocked. Boston rejoiced, not only at Candace's return, but that normalcy was being returned to their streets as well.

The FBI publicly apologized to Tracy and offered special commendations for the wonderful work she'd done.

Tracy prepared to return to New York, and as she was getting ready the police contacted her, saying that Tad Warehouse was back and needed to talk to her.

Tracy felt devastated by the request, though she could not refuse it. She had an hour before catching her flight home and decided to go to jail and spend it with Tad.

*

Tad looked at Tracy strangely. Dressed in his prisoner's outfit, he peered out at her from behind the bars with confused eyes.

"What happened?" Tad asked, disoriented. "They told me this is my fault, that I killed two women! That's crazy! I never did a thing. All I wanted to do was help find the killer. I wrote letters to the editors, made phone calls. I even met with you and gave you ideas. You know that, Tracy."

"I do know that, Tad," Tracy replied gently. "But there's someone else who lives inside you, who has different ideas."

"That's nuts," Tad objected. "I don't accept it."

"I'm sorry, Tad, I'm really sorry," Tracy murmured. "I enjoyed the time we spent together, I really did."

"Will you stand up for me at the trial?" he asked quickly.

"I'll do all I can to help you," Tracy responded. "I'll help get the best psychiatrist on your team."

"It's out of the question." Tad grew sullen and bitter. "I don't need a psychiatrist. I just need a friend. You won't be my friend?"

"I am your friend," Tracy responded, "and a friend helps you get the help you really need."

 Crushed, Tad backed away from Tracy then, leaned down and curled up in a ball on the floor.

Crushed, Tracy watched him, vowing to find him the very best care.

*

As Tracy was leaving the jail, she saw a black car drive up in front of it. The car stopped and Hunter flew out.

"Whew, glad I caught you," he said quickly. "I had no idea you were here, I stopped at the hotel first. I'm driving to the airport with you."

Tracy smiled. She was delighted to have the company, but didn't want to say so.

"Thanks, but it's not necessary," she said lightly.

"Yes, it is." Hunter looked directly at her. "It's more necessary than you can imagine. For both of us, that is. I was an idiot to have fired you and I'm still sorry about it."

Tracy was touched. "It's fine, truly, I understand," she said. "The pressure was growing out of control."

"It wasn't personal," Hunter insisted.

"I know that," Tracy said.

Hunter helped her into the car then and told the driver where to go.

"I don't want you to leave," Hunter said then softly.

Despite herself, Tracy's eyes filled with tears.

"We have to stay in touch," Hunter continued, as the car rolled along the street.

This was all probably just the excitement of the moment, thought Tracy. He's thrilled the case has been solved and wants to keep working together.

"Of course we'll keep working together," Tracy replied.

"That's not all I'm talking about, Tracy," Hunter murmured. "Are you looking forward to returning to New York?"

"Yes," Tracy replied softly. "I love my job, I love my students, and all the cases I'm called to consult on."

"And what about Wess?" Hunter bristled. "Are you looking forward to seeing him, too?"

That was another matter entirely. Tracy couldn't answer directly; she didn't know.

 "Time will tell," she said. "Wess could have gotten involved with someone else."

Hunter winced, reached for her hand, and held it tightly. Then he looked out the window at a low-flying plane that was coming in for a landing.

"I'm upset that you're leaving," Hunter repeated as the car pulled closer to the airport. "I know I have no right to say that, but it's how I feel."

To Tracy's surprise, she, too, felt a strange twinge.

Get on the plane and come home with me, she wanted to say.

But she stayed quiet.

Hunter stepped out of the car and got her suitcase for her.

Tracy took the suitcase, tossed her hair over her shoulders, and began to walk away. Then she stopped and turned around.

"I'm upset to be leaving, too, Hunter," she said, as he stood there sadly, watching her go.

Tracy finally turned and wound her way back through the airport, ready to catch her plane back to whatever madness was waiting for her back home, suspecting her life would never be the same again. 
NOW AVAILABLE!

INVITATION TO MADNESS

(The Killing Game--Book 2)

Two young, female patients are found dead in a semi-private mental hospital in Queens. Each is found on the floor in their rooms, jugulars slashed. The hospital classifies them as suicides--but when a third patient is found dead, a terrifying question arises: is there a serial killer on the loose in the hospital?

The FBI Behavioral Unit calls in its star criminal profiler, Tracy Wrenn, to provide her unique insights to crack the case. Immersed in the world of the hospital, Tracy encounters a wide array of disturbing and perplexing characters, each with their own level of psychosis. Tracy must plunge into the depths of the disturbed minds of both inmates and staff as she tries to sort out what is real and what is fantasy, and as she begins to learn just how twisted the human mind can be.

A shocking twist culminates in an ending Tracy can never expect, as she finds herself on the brink--and can only hope to return.

Book #3 in The Killing Game will be released soon.

INVITATION TO MADNESS

(The Killing Game--Book 2)

Books by Julian Starr

THE KILLING GAME

INVITATION TO DIE (Book #1)

INVITATION TO MADNESS (Book #2)
Julian Starr

Julian Starr, an award winning author and psychologist, has worked with those in hardship and pain for many years. Her unique understanding of human nature, coupled with her relentless determination to find justice, has inspired her to write this series featuring a female criminal profiler. Julian's work strives to focus upon a deeper and unusual understanding of the human mind and heart. Please visit me at www.julianstarrauthor.com to get exclusive news, giveaways, to join the email list, to stay in touch on facebook and to receive free books!
