That was the only sex he ever got out of the sport. He'd never raped his captives, not from any moral compunction, obviously, but because he had to get liquored up to do the kill, and when wasted, he couldn't perform. He was always too looped to get his Johnson to cooperate.

Too bad for his girls. They never knew what they'd missed out on. Not that he cared. He got what he came forthe pure rush of the kill, the games and fantasies afterward. Another notch in his gun, another young lovely disposed of. Except they weren't lovelies to him. They weren't nothing but gashes, slits, coochies. Fur pies, bearded clams. Hot-boxes and honeypots. Gray chuckled, wondering how many words there were for that part of the female anatomy. Squirrels, muffs, jelly rolls amp;

He remembered the last time he'd seen his mother. "You talk like a damn nigger," she'd told him when he slipped into his ghetto slang. "Everybody talks like that on the street," he'd explained, but she wouldn't listen. "Like a damn nigger," she'd repeated, shaking her head.

She never heard him out. Just like when his dad used to hurt him, fuck him uphe'd tell her about it, and she wouldn't hear. It was like he was talking to a ghost.

Well, she was a ghost now. Dead for three years, dropped by a stroke. His dad was alone and getting drunk every night, pissing away his pension in a shithole apartment. All of which was fine as far as Justin was concerned. He didn't owe his old man a goddamned thing. Didn't owe nobody nothing, when you got right down to it. He was a self-made man through and through.

Of course, his mom had been right. He did talk like a nigger, but that was because on the street, and in stir, the jigs defined cool for the rest of the population. They set the trends. Gray didn't mind following trends, as long as he got some fun out of it. This whole serial-killer thing was a trend, a fad. Except for maybe Jack the Ripper, who the fuck had ever heard of a serial killer before, say, 1960 or thereabouts? Now they were as common as crabs on a crack whore. They were in style, and who was he to argue with the arbiters of popular taste?

Anyway, the whole gig had been some serious fununtil he got busted.

He always left the bodies where they fell, to be found by some hiker or park ranger. In two cases, they had never been found at all. Even after his arrest and conviction, when he told the authorities where to look, no remains were recovered. Coyotes and bobcats must have gotten there first, or maybe a flash flood or mudslide had swept the bodies away.

The trouble was that in one instance a body had been found too soon. By sheer bad luck, a motorist stopping to take a roadside pee had stumbled on the remains of Jessica Bender, his last victim, half-hidden in the brush. Because only a few hours had passed since the murder, the crime-scene nerds had been able to retrace Gray's steps and recover the tire marks left by his van. Worse, they had found a few flecks of paint where the van had scraped a yucca plant. The make, model, and color of the van were reported on the news. An overly observant neighbor of Gray's called the police hot line. Gray's prior convictions made him a plausible suspect. A search of his van uncovered hairs and fibers from his girls.

So here he was in a glass cage. All because some asshole couldn't wait to take a piss.

But tomorrow he would have a little surprise in store for the Deputy Dawgs. Something up his sleeve, so to speak.

Gray smiled, staring up at the ceiling of his cell.

In less than sixteen hours, he would be freeor he would be dead.

One way or the other, this was his last night in the Reptile House.

"Granola bars again?" Meg paused in the kitchen doorway, pretty in her gray-and-white uniform, exhaling a theatrical sigh.

Robin smiled at her as she finished rinsing yesterday's dishes. "But they're not cookies and cream this time. They're chocolate chip."

Reluctantly Meg took a seat at the table. "In some jurisdictions this constitutes child abuse."

"Aren't you the one who keeps reminding me you're not a child?"

"I'm a minor under the supervision of a parent or adult guardian. I have a right to a decent breakfast. I think there's something in the UN charter about it."

"Not the parts I read. Chow down."

Meg regarded the two unwrapped bars with mistrust. "Do you think we could afford a live-in cook? Someone whose only job is to prepare our food?"

"Quiet, the microwave might hear you. Drink your milk."

Meg obeyed, finishing all of her milk and half of her breakfast. "I'm done."

"There's a chocolate-chip granola bar left on your plate."

"Can't we just send it to India or China or someplace?"

"It would never survive the trip."

"You kidding?" Meg took a grudging bite. "These things could survive a nuclear war."

"At least there'll be something for the cockroaches to eat." Robin set the last of the plates in the rack and wiped her hands on a towel. "So have you managed to forget everything you committed to memory in your study group last night?"

"I retain some residual knowledge. I think it will last until I've handed in my test."

Robin sat opposite her at the kitchen table. "There's a chance I could be late again tonight."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Another mystery dinner like last night?"

"What was mysterious about that?"

"Stopping for a hamburger when there's plenty of more-or-less edible food here in our fridge? Why would a person do that?"

"I was conferring with someone."

Both eyebrows went up. "A male someone?"

"A police officer."

"A male police officer?"

"Yes."

"A date."

"An informational get-together."

"Sounds very romantic."

"It was very informative."

"Did he kiss you?"

"Meg amp;"

"You didn't say no."

"There was no meeting of the lips."

"Was there a meeting of the minds?"

"Not really."

"But you're seeing him again tonight?"

"This afternoon. I'm not sure how late I'll be."

"I smell something developing here."

"There's nothing developing. Why are you so interested, anyway?"

"Hey, you're always on my case about meeting boys."

"Fair enough." The memory of Gray's late-night phone call came back, and Robin shifted in her seat. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Met any?"

"I know lots of boys. Roughly fifty percent of the Gainesburg School's student population consists of boys."

"But none you're interested in?"

Meg seemed suddenly intent on finishing her granola bar. Her eyes didn't meet Robin's. "Nope."

Robin took a breath, hating herself for any suspicions she might feel, since Gray had planted them.

"Meg," she said slowly, "if you were involved in any kind of relationship amp; I mean, something serious amp; you'd tell me. Wouldn't you?"

Finally Meg looked up, a quizzical expression on her face. "Jeez, Mom. What do you think, I'm running around with a congressman or something?"

"I just meant amp;" Robin brushed aside the thought. She would not be manipulated by Gray's mind games. "Forget it."

Meg got up and came around the table, smiling. "Don't worry about me." She kissed Robin on the cheek. "I'm turning out okayreally. Everything's copa" She caught herself. "I mean, everything's fine. My lifestyle is Ozzie and Harriet, not Thelma and Louise."

"Right. I got it. Go brush your teeth."

"Aw, I brushed 'em yesterday," Meg teased, and went up the stairs with a wave.

Robin sat at the table, feeling foolish and, perhaps irrationally, just a little bit concerned.