“We got a letter in the mail. It contained a newspaper clipping of a letter to the editor similar to the ones our guy used to send the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Except this letter wasn’t sent to a Georgia paper. It was sent to the Virginian-Pilot. And then I started getting phone calls-”

“You?” Quincy interrupted. “Or the task force?”

“Me. On my cell phone. Hell if I know why, but lucky me has received six calls now. The caller’s voice is always distorted by some kind of electronic device and he/she/it always has the same message-the Eco-Killer is getting agitated again. He’s going to strike. Except this time, he’s picked Virginia as his favorite playground.”

“So your department sent you here,” Watson spoke up. “Why? To be a watchdog? To magically prevent another crime? You didn’t even make anyone aware of your concerns.”

Mac shot the man a look. “For the record, I told everybody who would listen about my goddamn concerns. But let’s face it, around here, cold cases are a dime a dozen; everybody comes bearing that one investigation that’s still keeping them up at night. Best I could do was get a preliminary meeting with a forensic linguist in the BSU-Dr. Ennunzio-and show him the letters to the editor. What he thinks, however, I don’t know ’cause he’s been dodging my calls ever since. And now here we are. I got a good lead a bad way, and you’re barking up the wrong tree, you paranoid piece of shit.”

“Well, that summarizes things nicely,” Rainie said.

Watson’s face had developed a red mottled look above his regulation red tie. Mac just kept staring him in the eye. He was angrier than he should be, making enemies when he needed allies. He didn’t care. Another girl was dead, and Mac was tired of standing in an office, discussing a case these guys would never understand in time to make a difference.

“I still see no compelling evidence between this body and what happened in Georgia.” Kaplan spoke up finally. “Did the caller tell you this so-called Eco-Killer was going to strike this week?”

“Not specifically.”

“Did he tell you it would be at the FBI Academy?”

“Can’t say that he did.”

“Did he give you a reason why this killer has done nothing for three years?”

“Nope.”

“Or why he would move from Georgia to Virginia?”

“Nope.”

“In other words, the caller has told you nothing at all.”

“You got me, sir. That is the major weakness of our investigation. Five years later, we still know nothin’, and today hasn’t changed a thing. So maybe we can wrap this up now, so I can get back out there and, you know, do something.”

The former Marine ignored him, turning his attention to the rest of the suits instead. “So what we’re really left with is a letter to the editor written six months before the body was found today. It’s too far-fetched,” he said flatly. “Some Georgian serial killer, who does nothing in three years, suddenly delivers a body to Quantico grounds, while only notifying a National Academy student. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Should he have called you instead?” Rainie asked. Her voice held just the barest hint of sarcasm and Mac liked her immensely for it.

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“Or maybe he should’ve explained himself better in one of his notes?”

“Now that’s not a half-bad thought! If this guy is leaving notes, where’s the one for this body? Seems to me he likes to take credit for his crimes. So where’s the ownership?”

“It’s been three years,” Rainie said. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

“Listen,” Mac interjected tightly. He could feel the urgency growing in his voice. Vainly, he tried to swallow it down. But he just didn’t have time for this. They didn’t understand; without the proper paperwork and memos, they never would understand. And maybe that’s what the Eco-Killer grasped better than any of them suspected. No bureaucracy moved fast, particularly one involved in law enforcement. No, law enforcement agencies moved painfully slow, dotting i’s, crossing t’s, and covering asses along the way. While a lone girl was dropped off in some surreal wilderness terrain, clutching her gallon of water, wearing her party clothes, and probably wondering what was gonna get her next.

“There’s more than a damn letter. The Eco-Killer has rules, Rules of the Game, we call them, and we’re seeing plenty of them in this murder. At least enough to convince me.” Mac ticked off his first finger, “One, he only strikes during a heat wave.”

“It’s July, we have plenty of heat waves,” Watson objected.

Mac ignored the FBI agent. “Two, the first girl is always found with clothing and purse intact. No sign of robbery, no sign of sexual assault. Body has one bruise in the thigh or buttocks, but cause of death is an overdose of the tranquilizer Ativan, injected into the upper left arm.”

Watson skewered Kimberly with a look. “Well, you really didn’t spare him any of the details, did you?”

“I went and looked for myself!” Mac spoke up sharply. “Dammit, I’ve been waiting for this moment for three long years. Of course I paid a visit to your crime scene. New agents aren’t the only people who can go skulking around in the woods-”

“You had no right-”

“I had every right! I know this man. I have studied him for five goddamn years. And I’m telling you, we don’t have time for this kind of bullshit. Don’t you get it yet? This girl isn’t the only victim. Rule number three: he always kidnaps in pairs, because the first girl is just a map. She’s a tool to help you find where the real game is going down.”

“What do you mean, ‘where the real game is going down’?” Rainie asked.

“I mean there’s another girl out there, right now. She was traveling with this girl, maybe her sister or roommate or best friend. But she was with the first victim when they were both ambushed, and now she’s been taken somewhere. He picked out the place ahead of time. It’s somewhere geographically unique, but also very, very treacherous. In our state he chose a granite gorge, a vast farming county, then the banks of the Savannah River, and finally marshlands around the coast. He likes places exposed, with natural predators such as rattlesnakes and bears and bobcats. He likes places isolated, so even if the girls roam for days they still won’t run into anyone who can offer them help. He likes places that are environmentally important, but no one thinks about anymore.

“Then he turns these girls loose, drugged, dazed, and confused, and waits to see what will happen next. In this kind of heat, some of them probably don’t make it more than hours. But some of them-the smart ones, the tough ones-they might make it days. Maybe even a week. Long, tortured days, without food, without water, waiting for someone to come and save them.”

Rainie was looking at him in rapt fascination. “How many times did he do this before?”

“Four. Eight girls kidnapped. Seven dead.”

“So you got one back alive.”

“Nora Ray Watts. The last girl. We found her in time.”

“How?” Quincy spoke up.

Mac took a deep breath. His muscles were bunching again. He grimly fought his impatience down. “The man leaves clues on the first body. Evidence that, if you interpret correctly, will narrow down the location of the second girl.”

“What kind of clues?”

“Flora and fauna, soil, sediment, rocks, insects, snails, hell, whatever he can dream up. We didn’t understand the significance in the beginning. We bagged and tagged according to SOP, merrily trotted evidence off to the labs, and found only dead bodies after that. But hey, even we can be taught. By the fourth pair of kidnappings, we had a team of experienced specialists in place. Botanists, biologists, forensic geologists, you name it. Nora Ray had been traveling with her sister. Mary Lynn’s body was found with a substance on her shirt, samples of vegetation on her shoes and a foreign object down her throat.”