Mrs. Knight stiffened. “Kasey weighed one-thirty.”

“I know, ma’am,” Luke said gently, and he could see they understood.

Mr. Knight swallowed audibly. “Was she sexually…” His voice broke.

“Yes.” Multiple times, but Luke didn’t say that. These parents were in enough pain.

“Agent Papadopoulos,” Mr. Knight asked hoarsely, “what did they do to my baby?”

Vile, unspeakable things. But Luke didn’t say that either. “You’ve asked to see her face and the ME will comply with your wishes, but please, focus on other parts of her body. Her hands, her feet, any birthmarks or scars.” He knew the waiting was making it worse, so he tapped the intercom button. “We’re ready, Dr. Berg.”

From the other side of the glass, Felicity opened the curtains. Mr. Knight’s eyes were tightly closed. “Mr. Knight,” Luke said softly. “We’re ready when you are.”

Clenching his teeth, Knight opened his eyes, and the strangled whimper that emerged from his throat broke Luke’s heart. Felicity had covered the torso with a smaller sheet, affording the victim as much decency as she could. And sparing the parents as much pain as she could.

“Oh, Kasey,” Knight whispered. “Baby. Why didn’t you listen to us?”

“How do you know this is your daughter, sir?”

Knight barely breathed. “There’s a scar on her knee from when she fell off a bike. And her middle toe was longer than the others. She had a mole on her left foot, too.”

Luke nodded to Felicity and she pulled the curtains. Mr. Knight knelt so that he met his wife’s eyes. Tears were running down her face. “It’s Kasey.” He uttered the words on a moan and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her silent tears became anguished sobs and she slid from the sofa to kneel with her husband. Her sobs became his and together they rocked, leaning on each other through their pain.

“I’ll wait in the hall,” Luke said roughly. The Knights reminded him of his own parents. Married nearly forty years, they were each other’s bulwark, able to withstand every crisis that had come their way. Luke loved them fiercely, but at the same time envied them. Now, listening to the muted sounds of suffering coming from inside the viewing room, Luke pitied the Knights, but envied them as well. In all the world, Luke had never found a woman he trusted enough to allow her to see him like that, defenses down, soul bared. He’d never met a woman who he thought would understand.

Until Susannah. And she doesn’t want anyone. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t trust anyone. No, that wasn’t true, either. She’d trusted him today, came to him when she was afraid. Leaned on him in the cemetery.

Susannah didn’t trust herself. He listened to the sobs behind him and thought about the brown smudges on Daniel’s hospital gown. Susannah’s makeup. It was a good sign.

The sobs behind the closed door quieted, the door opened, and Mr. Knight cleared his throat. “We’re ready to talk to you now, Agent Papadopoulos.”

Mrs. Knight looked up, her face ravaged. “Have you caught the man that did this?”

“Not all of them.”

Both Knights flinched. “There was more than one?” Mr. Knight asked, horrified.

Luke thought of the Sweetpea pictures. “We know of two. They’re both dead.”

“Did they suffer?” Mrs. Knight demanded, her teeth clenched.

“Not enough,” Luke replied. “We’re still looking for the third man.”

“You have a lot of agents on this case?” Knight asked.

“More than a dozen agents, which doesn’t count all the support personnel answering the tip hotlines. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you.”

The Knights sat up straighter. “Of course,” Mr. Knight said. “We’re ready.”

“Was Kasey involved in any relationships that worried you? Boys, school friends?”

Mrs. Knight sighed. “The police asked us this then. She had a group of girls she’d been friends with since the fourth grade. The night she disappeared she’d gone to a sleepover. The girls said they went to sleep and when they woke up she wasn’t there.”

“The police were suspicious,” Mr. Knight said wearily. “But the police couldn’t get any of the girls to tell them what happened.”

“Give me the girls’ names.”

“Are you going to make them tell?” Mrs. Knight asked, her voice thinning.

“I’m going to talk to them,” Luke said. “Here’s my card. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to call me. And I’ll call you as soon as we know more.”

Mr. Knight stood, his expression drawn. “We want to thank you. At least we can bury our child.” He helped his wife to her feet and she leaned against him.

“We need to confirm your identification. Did you bring the articles that I requested?”

Mrs. Knight nodded shakily. “Kasey’s things are in the car.”

“Then I’ll walk with you.” Luke did so, and waited while Mr. Knight opened his trunk. “I know it doesn’t help, but I am so very sorry.”

“It does help,” Mrs. Knight whispered. “You care. You’ll find him, the one that did this to our Kasey, the one that still walks free. Won’t you?” she added fiercely.

“I will.” Clutching their daughter’s belongings in the shoebox in his hand, Luke watched them drive away. He thought of the four unidentified bodies in the morgue, of the five girls still out there, of Jane Doe lying in a hospital bed. I must.

Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 3:45 p.m.

Charles glared at the telephone when it rang for the tenth time in an hour. Damn reporters. Every one of them wanted a new angle on the shootings of Kate Davis and Gretchen French. As if he’d toss them even a crumb. Not.

This call he’d answer, he thought when he saw the caller ID. “Paul, where are you?”

“In Raleigh. Bobby’s out of control. Just thought you should know.”

There was a sharp edge to Paul’s voice. “What’s in Raleigh?” Charles asked.

“The father of the girl that escaped from the bunker. Rocky kidnapped the girl’s sister and made it look like the sister had run here, to her daddy.”

“So Bobby’s cleaning up Rocky’s mistakes. That shows responsibility.”

“It shows loss of control,” Paul snapped. “Dr. Cassidy didn’t have to die.”

“I’ll go down to Ridgefield House and have a little talk with Bobby.”

“Good, because I’m sick and tired of fetching for your star pupil. Bobby thinks I work for money. I came this close to saying I only work for you. That you set this whole thing up. That I only pretend to be Bobby’s errand boy because you told me to. I’m tired of this, Charles. I mean it.”

Paul had always gotten snide when he was tired, ever since he’d been a boy. “You’re not my pupil, Paul. You’re my right hand, so relax. Get a hotel and take a nap. Call me when you’re back in Atlanta.”

“Fine, just yank Bobby back into line, will you?”

“I certainly will.” He paused meaningfully. “Thank you, Paul.”

Paul sighed. “You’re welcome, sir. I’m sorry I was rude.”

“Apology accepted. Get some rest.” Charles hung up, doubly annoyed. First Bobby missed Susannah Vartanian, and from only twenty feet away. And now, wasting resources like Paul. I taught you better than that. It was time for a refresher course.

Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 4:00 p.m.

One of Monica’s eyelids was open. It was a strange sensation, being able to see the ceiling through only one eye. Her nurse came in and Monica wanted to scream.

The nurse had another syringe in her hand. Her eyes were no longer red and swollen, but she was tense. The nurse brushed her eyelid closed. “I’m not going to kill you,” she murmured close to her ear. “But I can’t take a chance on you saying anything to the police until my son is out of danger. This should be the last one.”