"No, she didn't. Truthfully, Lieutenant, I wasn't sure the rape really happened. She told me she only recanted to you because she couldn't stand the public humiliation, but I wondered about that. The venue of the rape was too similar to her own fantasies. That's not the way it works."

"Unless that was the whole point for the rapist."

"You mean you think she was targeted because of her fantasies," Tony concluded.

"It's a possibility."

Tony thought about this. "I don't see how. No one knew about them."

"Her boyfriend knew. She made him act out rape fantasies during sex. She posted rape stories on the Web, too."

Tony cocked his head. "True."

"Was Grassy Point Park important to her?"

"Very."

"Do you know why?"

"I think it was because of her parents. You can see the bridge from here, where her parents were killed in the car accident. The fact that she reen-acted rape fantasies at a place that's visible from the bridge is significant. I suspect she was acting out her repressed sexuality in front of her parents."

"So if she had other boyfriends, you think she would have taken them here."

"Yes, that's likely."

"Do you know who else she was seeing, other than Mitchell Brandt?"

Tony shook his head. "I'm sorry, no."

"Okay, let's talk about Eric," Stride said.

Tony shoved his free hand in his pocket and drank more coffee. The wind landed a kick across the harbor that made them both hunch their bodies against the frozen air.

"Now I'm really on thin ice," Tony said.

"I know, but I'm not asking for any privileged information. Eric talked about things that had nothing to do with Maggie, right?"

"Yes, he did," Tony acknowledged.

"What did he want to know?"

"He asked me if there were certain tells you could look for that would tip you off that someone might be a sexual predator."

"What did you tell him?"

"Not much," Tony said. "I told him you'd have to be a trained professional conducting an extended interview to make an assessment, and even then, there aren't any guarantees. Most sexual predators have spent a lifetime protecting their disguises."

"Did he tell you who he was thinking about?"

"No."

Stride watched Tony's brooding eyes. "Maybe he was thinking about you."

Tony looked back at him, steady and hard. "Me?" he said evenly.

"Right now, you're the only connection between Tanjy and Maggie. Maybe Eric thought you raped them."

"You knew them both, too, Lieutenant," Tony said. "Maybe he thought it was you."

"I'm serious."

"Yes, I know you are, so I'll be blunt. I did not rape those women. Okay? I had nothing to fear from Eric."

"Sorry, Tony, I had to ask."

Tony nodded. "I knew you would. I know how the game is played. For the record, I asked Maggie for the exact date she was raped, and then I went back and dug out my calendar from last year. I was in Seattle giving a speech that night. I can give you all the details you need to verify it."

"And Tanjy?"

"I pulled her file and cross-referenced my schedule. I had group therapy the night she was assaulted."

"Thanks. Sometimes I have to play bad cop, you know."

"I understand."

"I need to know if Eric said anything else. Did he talk about his visit to the Ordway over the weekend?"

"The Ordway?" Tony asked. "No, what does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know yet." Stride shook his head. "I'm frustrated, Tony. Try to put aside the fact that Tanjy and Maggie were both patients. Just look at the facts of the rapes as you know them. Give me some kind of profile."

Tony scratched his beard. "I don't have nearly enough information."

"Neither do I, but you've worked with less in the past. Help me out here."

"Well, put a big asterisk next to this. I could be steering you wrong. Whoever is doing this is likely to be very intelligent and organized. He has a huge ego and a need to control his victims. He likes to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse. He researches his victims thoroughly-picks them, studies them, gets to know everything about them, before he moves in."

"You think there are other assaults we don't know about?"

"It's possible. You know as well as I do how many rapes never get reported. This perpetrator seems to choose victims who are vulnerable on sexual matters, which increases the likelihood that they won't go to the police."

"What do you mean, 'vulnerable on sexual matters'?"

Tony frowned. "I mean, like Tanjy and her rape fantasies."

"In other words, women with secrets to protect."

"That's right."

"How does he find out about their secrets?"

"I don't know. If you can find that out, you can probably identify him."

"Does he know these women? Could he have a personal relationship with them?"

"Possibly. That's not the typical profile, but the fact that he knows so much about the victims would lead me to think he has some connection to them."

"Would he be acting alone?"

Wells arched his eyebrows in surprise. "That's an odd question. Rapists almost always act alone."

Stride knew that was true, but he still wondered about the possibility of an accomplice. "Is this man likely to strike again?"

Wells nodded. "Rapists always strike again unless they find some alternate resolution for their pathology. Some other way to address their sexual tension. I don't think that's likely here."

"Why?"

"The time line is too short between assaults. Whoever is doing this is acting quickly. I'd say he's a sociopath-no conscience, no guilt, no hesitation. Many predators want to stop and wage a giant internal struggle to control their violent tendencies. They can succeed for months or even years before reoffending. Not this one. He's enjoying the game. In fact, I'd have to say that this rapist is more dangerous now than ever before."

"Why?" Stride asked again.

"You said it yourself, Lieutenant. This man probably killed Tanjy and Eric. He's upped the stakes. It's not just rape now, it's murder. He may decide that killing his victims gives him an extra thrill."

Serena passed through a cloud of warm steam billowing out of the sewer grates as she crossed First Street downtown. The green light turned yellow, and she hurried to reach the opposite sidewalk before the five o'clock traffic roared southward. A neighborhood pizza joint was on the far corner, and she pulled open the glass door and stepped inside. The steel pizza ovens were on her left. She waved at the sweaty men in T-shirts behind the counter and took a booth for herself inside the restaurant. She unbuttoned her coat and unwound her scarf from around her neck.

She pulled her laptop computer from its case and began searching for a wireless network. A young waitress greeted her, and Serena ordered a Diet Coke. They knew her here. She and Stride had a weakness for the pizza and usually dropped in a couple of times a month. They cut the pizza in squares, and she liked to roll up each tiny piece and pop it in her mouth.

She loaded Internet Explorer on her laptop. The signal was weak. Jonny had told her about Eric's visit to the Ordway a few days before he was killed, and she searched news stories to see if there had been any recent incidents in the Rice Park area surrounding the theater. Especially sexual assaults. She found stories about road construction, the winter carnival, and Broadway musicals, but nothing that gave her any clue as to Eric's motive. The only way to find out was to go there in person, which was on her calendar for tomorrow.

She found a lot more when she searched for Nicole Castro. The murder trial of Abel's ex-partner had been big news in Duluth six years earlier. She studied the photos of Nicole and saw someone not unlike herself, a cop in her late thirties, tall, athletic. Nicole was black with dark skin. Her hair was kinky and big. She had pink, puffy lips and flared nostrils, and coal-black eyes wide with defiance. In one photo, she was on the steps of the courthouse, surrounded by cops in uniform, her mouth open as she shouted at the media.