“Okay, let’s just settle down here,” he said, feeling like a first-grade teacher. “Everyone take six big steps back, please. Spread out a little, give yourselves some space, for crying out loud.”

The crowd did as they were told, then raised their hands and waited to be called on.

Yep, Denver thought. Just like grade school.

“Okay, let me first say that, yes, there have been two murders this week here in Bowers Inlet. Both victims were women in their thirties-the second victim hasn’t been identified as yet, but appears to be of an age similar to Linda Roman, who as you all know was thirty-one.”

“Were both women killed in the same manner?” someone called out.

“I’ll need to see the medical examiner’s report on the second victim before I can answer that,” the chief replied.

“I’ve heard that both women were very similar in physical appearance-young, pretty, with long dark hair.”

“I can confirm that, yes.”

“Is the killer typing his victims, then?” a dark-haired woman in the back asked, a tinge of apprehension in her voice.

“I’d be looking for a red wig if I were you, Dana,” someone called across the room to her, and there was a scatter of nervous laughter.

“We don’t know about that,” Denver said. “I wouldn’t make any assumptions just yet. For all we know, the killer had some connection to both women.”

“So you think the same person killed both women.” It wasn’t a question.

“The evidence is still being analyzed.”

“Can we get details on the investigations?”

“I’ll have a report available to you by six.” Denver glanced up at the clock. That would give him almost two hours to decide what to release. “You can wait around for it, or you can leave your name and fax number, and we’ll fax the report to you.”

“Why can’t you just tell us what you have?”

“I don’t have a whole lot yet. I’m still waiting for the reports from the lab and the medical examiner’s office. I was just about to sit down with my detectives and go over this with them, when you all showed up. I thought I’d deal with you first, let you know we’re working on getting something together for you so that you can all meet your deadlines. I don’t want to give you incomplete information, so if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to that meeting.”

Denver smiled perfunctorily and started back to his office.

“Chief Denver, how many victims do you need to have to consider this the work of a serial killer?”

The chief stopped in mid-stride and turned around slowly.

“I think it’s a little early to start throwing around terms like that. I also think it’s irresponsible, frankly, since you’ll only serve to panic our residents, who are already upset enough.”

“But how many, Chief?” The question was repeated softly this time. “I’ve heard two or three. Which is it?”

Denver turned heel and returned to his office, closed the door, and buzzed for his detectives to come in and bring their notes.

“We have a positive ID on this morning’s vic.”

Cass didn’t wait until she was seated to begin her verbal report.

“Lisa Montour. Age thirty-one. And as per Phyl, she was in fact the manicurist at the Red Rose Salon in town. I called the salon and found that she hadn’t come in yet today. Called her roommate, she said Lisa went out to meet up with some friends last night, but didn’t come home. The roommate didn’t realize that, however, until the salon called this morning.”

“Can we get the names of the friends she was meeting?” Denver asked.

Cass held up a stenographer’s notebook.

“The roommate gave them to me, along with phone numbers. She was supposed to go with Lisa last night, by the way, but got home from work really late and was just too tired to go out. I’ve already spoken with two of the four she was supposed to meet, but they both said Lisa didn’t show up. They figured she got home from work and maybe just fell asleep.”

“What time did she leave her apartment?” Denver sat back in his chair. “Walk me through what you’ve got.”

“Her roommate-Carol Tufts, her name is-said Lisa left around nine-fifteen for Kelly’s down on Twelfth Street. Should have taken her ten minutes at the most to get there.”

“She was driving?”

“Walking. Her car had a flat, and she had no spare tire, so she decided to walk. Carol said she offered her the use of her car, but Lisa said she’d just as soon walk, since it was a nice night.”

“When was the flat tire discovered, do we know?” Denver asked.

“Yesterday morning. According to Carol, the tire was flat when Lisa went down to leave for work in the morning. Found the tire flat, realized she didn’t have a spare, so she had someone from the salon pick her up, and got a ride home yesterday afternoon.” Cass looked up from her notes. “I’ll bring the tire in for inspection.”

Her cell phone vibrated against her hip, and she glanced at the number.

“It’s the lab,” she told the chief. “I think I want to take this.”

Denver nodded, then turned his attention to Jeff Spencer, who’d been silent since he’d entered the room.

“So what do you have to add to Detective Burke’s report, Spencer?”

Spencer shrugged. “Not much.”

“Well, you were there at the scene this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But Burke had things pretty much in control when I arrived.”

“What time did you get there?”

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck and shifted in his seat.

“I don’t recall what time I arrived.”

Denver stared at him. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Especially he didn’t want to have it now.

“You having a problem, Spencer?”

“Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I am.” Spencer’s face was emotionless.

“Solve it. Take care of it. And do it fast.” Denver stood, hoping to walk off his temper. “There’s a killer in my town. He’s just getting his game on. I don’t have time to baby anyone through their personal problems. If you’re not one hundred percent on this, Spencer, for God’s sake, tell me now.”

“Well, Chief, I hadn’t planned on talking about this yet. What with these murders and all.” Spencer’s face flushed, the first reaction he’d shown since he sat down.

The chief motioned at him to go on.

“I’d really rather wait until…” Spencer’s voice dropped and he shot a glance in Cass’s direction. She was wrapping up her call.

“No semen found on either body, though both women had been sexually assaulted. The position of the bruises on each woman’s neck is exactly the same, the thumbprints the same distance apart. Trace is still being examined, but Tasha found one interesting thing.”

She leaned on the corner of Denver ’s desk, oblivious to the exchange between the chief and Spencer.

“Tasha found little bits of fibers in the hair of both victims. She’s going to analyze them to see if they match.” Cass looked up from her notes.

“Have this morning’s vic’s clothes been found?” Denver asked.

Cass nodded. “In the Dumpster. Neatly folded. Just like Linda Roman’s were.”

“Well, that tells us something about our man,” the chief noted. “Speaking of which…”

Denver held up the envelope.

“Communiqué number two,” he said dryly as he opened it and held it up.

“Remember me…” Cass read aloud.

“I think it’s clear he wants us to think he’s the Strangler. He wants us to believe that he’s back. The question is, of course, is it really him? Or is it someone who thinks it would be fun to make us think it’s him? And either way, what do we say to the press?” The chief returned to his chair and lowered himself into it. “I promised to have something for them by…”

He turned his left wrist to look at his watch.

“In about another hour and thirty-five minutes. What do I tell them?”

Neither detective spoke. The room was suddenly very, very quiet.

“If I tell them, they’ll have a field day with the story. And it will egg him on. The killer. He’ll like it, I think.”