Denver nodded again. “Tougher to track the pattern if the agency doesn’t bother to report to the national data banks. Not that we had those twenty-six years ago. It’s only been the last eight, ten years that we’ve been keeping all our records on computer. Took us that long to get our computer system in, train somebody to use it, then have the data entered. Wouldn’t be any big surprise to me if some of these small towns down south”-he tapped on the list Mitch had given him-“still haven’t gotten all their open cases on record.”

“That’s why we requested information from the state agencies as well as the small local police and sheriff departments. We’re hoping by the time we’re finished, we’ll have a complete list, be able to pinpoint exactly where he was every year since 1983.”

“Since 1983, eh?” Denver adjusted his glasses and glanced down at the list. “In 1983 he was in Pittsburgh, according to this list. Where do you think he was between August of 1979 and May of ’83?”

“That’s one of the blanks we’re hoping to be able to fill in.”

“What do you know about your victims, Agent Peyton?” Detective Burke asked.

“Well, let’s see. We know that they were about the same age, they were all killed in the same manner.”

“Rape followed by strangulation isn’t a particularly novel way of killing someone. What else do you have?” She turned in her seat and focused on him.

“I have some news clippings that were in Landry’s files.” He gestured to Rick to send his file back to him. Rick slid it down the table. Mitch took the clippings out and laid them in the center of the table. “Take a look.”

Cass stood and studied the squares of newsprint.

“Chief, maybe you should look at these women.”

Denver did, then spread out photos of the women who had been murdered over the past week and a half.

All five in the room stared at the pictures.

“I can’t believe how closely these women resemble one another.” Regan was the first to speak.

“Neither can I,” said Cass, “but the appearance is obviously important to him. It’s one of the few things we know for certain about him. That he only likes dark-haired women of a certain age and body type.”

“And that he poses them all in the same manner,” Rick added.

“What?” Mitch turned to Rick. “What manner is that?”

“Here.” Cass passed a photo from Linda Roman’s crime scene across the table. “And here… our victim number two. Then three…”

Mitch studied the photos, then looked at Denver.

“Have you thought about bringing in one of the Bureau’s profilers? I think we need some insight into this.”

“I’ve put in a request. We’re just waiting to hear who and when,” Rick told him.

“Never worked with one myself, though of course I’ve read the books. John Douglas. Hazelwood. Ressler. Interesting topic,” Denver said. “And all those TV cop shows seem to have one pop up at times like this.”

“How much of this information are we going to release to the press?” Cass asked.

“None of it, for now.” Denver looked around the room. “Unless someone has another idea?”

The two agents shook their heads. Regan didn’t react, knowing she had no say in such decisions.

“I can’t believe this guy has been getting away with murder for so long,” Rick said. “How the hell has he stayed under the radar all this time?”

“Obviously, he’s moved around a lot, judging from the list Agent Peyton has,” Cass noted.

“But to have no suspects here,” Mitch said, “and so far, the reports I’ve received from these other agencies indicate no suspects there, either.”

“Maybe we should go back to those agencies-Georgia Bureau of Investigation, for example, had several old cases on record-and see what evidence their cold files hold. There might be something that contains some DNA.”

Cass nodded. “Right. At the very least, we could start comparing DNA samples. That way, we can confirm if he was in fact involved in these cases, instead of speculating. Who knows, some of the file boxes could contain old clothes worn by a victim, or something found at the scene that might contain hair or skin. You never know what might have been saved.”

“Or what might have been tossed out,” Denver noted.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Rick countered.

“And we should ask if these bodies… these other women… were left posed in any particular manner. That seems to be his signature. As telling as the DNA,” Mitch said.

“And don’t forget the fibers in the hair,” Cass added. “Who knows how long he’s been doing that.”

“What fibers?” Regan asked. “How long he’s been doing what?”

“Our crime scene tech found traces of light-colored silk in the hair of our current victims. She tracked it down-it’s silk satin ribbon that was last made eighteen years ago.”

“You haven’t released that information to the press?” Mitch asked, and Denver shook his head.

“I think we need to keep as much close to the vest as we can for now. All this fits together somehow. We don’t have a clue yet. I figure the less we give him, the better.”

“I agree,” Mitch said.

“What’s that all about?” Regan frowned. “He’s tying a ribbon in their hair?”

“But he takes it with him,” Cass told her. “We’ve never found ribbon on any of the bodies. Just the fibers.”

“That’s signature as well, isn’t it?” Regan asked Mitch.

“It would appear to be,” he responded.

“Two signatures? Do serial killers have more than one?”

“Keep in mind what a signature is.” Mitch leaned back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest. “It’s that special something unique to the killer that gives meaning to the killing. It’s what he needs to do to get fulfillment from what he does.”

“So he poses these women and ties silk ribbon in their hair… then takes the ribbon with him? What does he get from that?” Regan seemed to be thinking out loud.

“My gut tells me he’s reliving something that’s important to him, but I think that’s a good question for our profiler,” Rick said. “She will have a better feel for this than I do.”

“Okay, here’s another thing. Forgive me for stating the obvious,” Regan said, “but if we believe that the killer is the original Bayside Strangler-and we all seem to think he is-it follows that whoever is here now was here twenty-six years ago. But maybe not in the intervening years.”

“Because there haven’t been any other bodies-that we know of-until now,” Rick said.

“Oh, well, that narrows the field,” Denver said.

“Actually, it does,” Regan insisted. “If we understand that this person has been all over the country-he’s been halfway around the world-and has left a trail of bodies, though none of them here till now, then we have to think he’s been gone all this time. The killings may have started here, but he definitely took his show on the road for a long, long time.”

“The question is, what brings him back now? What brings this full circle?”

Denver and Cass exchanged a long, meaningful look.

“What?” Rick asked.

“The reunion,” Cass told them. “This week is reunion week. People have come from all over. They’re taking down the old high school and dedicating the new one. It’s an all-classes thing.”

“Maybe he came back for that,” Regan said.

“And once he got back here, the urge to kill-to repeat the past-was too strong,” Rick concluded.

“How many people do you think are in town for this reunion?” Mitch asked.

“It’s not only Bowers Inlet,” Cass told him. “It’s Tilden, it’s Dewey. Hasboro. Killion Point. All the little towns along the bay. It’s Bay Regional High. We all went to the same schools.”

“So we’re talking about how many people?” Rick asked.

“Couple hundred,” Denver replied.

“How do we narrow that down?” Regan frowned.

“Okay, look, we have to assume there’s an age range we can work with. He had to have been old enough in 1979 to have done to those women what he did, but still be young enough today to be physically strong enough to overcome healthy, strong young women.”