Steven rubbed the back of his stiffening neck. "Wonderful. Was there anything else, Kent?"

"The dog's teeth were clean. If Pal bit our perp, he didn't bite deep enough to take any flesh. His stab wounds were deep and wide. I took some digital photos before the vet sewed him up."

"Good thinking. Let's compare them to the pictures from Lorraine Rush's autopsy," Steven said, "and let's hope there's something to compare. Also see if they can do any tests for ketamine on Rush's tissue samples. Harry, I want you to focus on finding out where he got the ket."

Harry wrote it in his notebook. "I'll start with the vet supply houses and the local vet clinics."

"Good. Sandra, see if any of your contacts on the street have heard about this."

Sandra nodded. "I've already put out some feelers. I'll see what I can drag in."

Steven turned to Nancy who was busily taking notes of her own. "Nancy, what have you found in your database search?"

Nancy looked up and lifted her half-lensed glasses off the end of her nose. "I checked for perps charged with sexual assault crimes in a one-hundred-mile radius and popped up more names than we can run through in a month. I'll see about doing a cross-ref with ketamine and perhaps we can narrow it a bit."

Steven mentally ticked off the items he planned to cover in this meeting. "I'm going to work the connection between the two girls. I know they went to the same church. I want to know how well they knew one another and how our perp knew them. Finally, Meg, can you paint a picture of what kind of person we're looking for?"

"It's just a top of head sketch," Meg cautioned. "We're assuming he's killed twice. At least. The savagery with which the first girl was brutalized before and after death indicates he's angry. He probably doesn't communicate well, probably holds his anger in. We'll likely find he's killed animals leading up to this. Most certainly he's committed some lesser sexual crimes in the past, again working up to this. By not burying the Rush girl, it seems like he wanted her to be found. Media exposure will make him very satisfied." She stopped and fixed her stare out the window. "I'm wondering how the ketamine factors in. Does he dope them up before he kills them? During? Does he use it to initially immobilize these girls while he's kidnapping them or as an anesthesia to keep them from feeling anything while he's killing them?"

"A considerate serial killer?" Sandra asked skeptically. "That would be one for the books."

"Bundy volunteered at a suicide hotline," Harry said thoughtfully.

"That's not the same thing and you know it," Sandra shot back. "These guys kill for the thrill of seeing another person in pain."

"You mean our guy is abnormal! Perish the thought." Harry recoiled in mock horror and Sandra glared.

Steven lifted his hand. "Boys and girls, please. What else, Meg?"

Meg glanced over her shoulder, then back out the window. "Sandra could very well be right. His use of ketamine could have nothing to do with its anesthetic effect. It could be he's using it for the dream effect. That would indicate a curiosity about psychology or maybe even firsthand experience with some kind of therapy."

"Or he could have a trigger-happy mouse finger," Nancy said, her eyes on her laptop screen. "In the last few minutes I've come across six articles written by chem-heads espousing the awesome trips you can take into the 'k-zone.' Some of these are incredibly well written. It's hard to believe such articulate people are stupid enough to do this drug." She looked up and slid her glasses off her nose. "Sorry, Meg. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just surprised at the amount of information I was able to get so easily seeing as how I'd never heard of this stuff before."

"It's everywhere, Nancy," Meg murmured. "That's what makes it so scary." Clearing her throat she went on. "I'm also wondering about the timing of this second abduction-it bothers me."

"It's too soon," Sandra supplied.

"It is," Meg agreed. "We found the Rush girl's body five days ago and the autopsy showed she'd been dead less than a week. That's less than two weeks between incidents. Early in their 'career' serial killers may go months or years between incidents. I don't know. Maybe he's done this before-many times that we don't know about-and he's now at the critical escalation point."

Steven sat back in his chair. "But you don't think so."

"No, not really. This feels more…" She tightened one side of her face, struggling for the words. "Immature," she said finally. "Especially given the way he was shaken up by the dog yesterday morning. Leaving behind the hypo was… unprofessional at best."

"An amateur," Harry said wryly and Meg smiled.

"For lack of a better word, yes." She shrugged wearily. "Summing up, if I had to guess his age I have to say he was younger and I'll bet we find he's well educated. He's probably white, since serial killers tend not to cross ethnic lines. That's all I can offer until 1 have more information."

Steven closed his notebook and stood up. It wasn't much. But it was the best they had at the moment. "Then let's go get some more information."

Saturday, October I, 12:30 P.M.

Helen Barnett had been staring at the leather briefcase on her kitchen table for close to half an hour, debating whether she should unzip the front panel in the hope that Brad's chemistry teacher had stored a phone number inside so she could return the briefcase.

Such a stuffed briefcase meant this teacher had brought home a lot of work that, Helen was willing to bet, a busy teacher would be needing to get to earlier than Sunday afternoon.

Jenna. Helen liked the sound of the name. It was pretty without being simpering. Helen knew by now that Steven hated simpering women. Unfortunately Helen wasn't sure what kind of women Steven didn't hate.

It just wasn't natural for a young man Steven's age, with half his life ahead of him, to insist on staying lonely. He was handsome, had a charming disposition when he wanted to, and rarely left his dirty socks on the floor. He didn't snore, usually put the lid down, was financially comfortable, and had three beautiful sons-who needed a mother.

It wasn't natural for those three boys to grow up without a mother when it was so unnecessary. Steven could have had his pick of pretty young things who would have adored his boys. Helen ought to know. She'd handpicked the pretty young things herself.

"But no," she muttered, staring hard at the briefcase, annoyed she was so tempted to snoop. Snooping was what desperate people did. Desperate was what Helen Barnett had become.

She'd agreed to come and live with Steven four years ago when Melissa took such an untimely death, leaving her poor boys motherless. At the time, Helen was sure within a few years Steven would have remarried and she, Helen, would have been on her merry way, resuming the life she'd dropped without a second thought.

Now, four years later, Helen desperately wanted her old life back. She wanted to play canasta whenever the mood struck, every night if she wanted. Without having to get a baby-sitter. She wanted to go on cruises with her friends with a week's notice. She wanted to go on a safari to Africa for a month. Maybe even get a gentleman friend of her own. A woman had needs, too, after all. But until Steven got a wife, none of that could happen. Nicky needed someone here all the time. He was just a baby, after all. And he'd been through so much. And Brad? God only knew what was wrong with that boy, but Helen knew sooner or later he'd come around. So Helen wanted Steven to get himself a wife. For the boys. For Steven. For her own sanity.

And this Jenna was the first woman Steven had even appeared to be interested in. Maybe if Helen asked this Jenna to dinner, gave them a chance to get to know each other better… And for that she'd need Jenna's phone number. Which was likely in the briefcase.