Hell, a baboon was smarter than the cops. If he'd waited until the cops had discovered little Lorraine's body on their own, there wouldn't have been enough left of it to identify.

And he wanted little Lorraine's body identified. He wanted everyone to know. To fear.

Fear me. Your daughters aren't safe even in their own beds. Fear me.

He'd wait, he decided. He'd rushed the last one and it was over too fast. Like an amusement park ride you stand in line for two hours to ride and the damn ride only lasts three and a half minutes. He'd gone longer than three and a half minutes with the last one, for sure. But it was still over too fast. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. It had been his only mistake, he thought, rushing the grand finale. Everything else he'd done to perfection. Not a single thread of evidence left behind. No surprise there. He was thinking much more clearly now.

Carefully he sheathed his blade and slipped it under the front seat of his car, popping the trunk latch on his way back to where she lay, eyes still wide with terror.

"C'mon, sugar," he drawled, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder. "Let's go for a ride." He dropped her in the trunk with a loud thud, then patted her bare butt fondly. She whimpered and he nodded. "Don't worry, we'll come back tomorrow. Until then, sit tight and entertain yourself. You could think about me," he suggested brightly. "You do know who I am." She shook her newly bald head hard, denying the inevitable, and he laughed. "Oh, come on, Samantha. You have to know who I am. Don't you watch the news?" He leaned a little closer and whispered, "Don't you have a good imagination?"

Her eyes shut tight, she pulled her nude body into a fetal position, shaking like a leaf. Two tears seeped from her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

He nodded again and slammed down the trunk. "Good girl. I guess you do."

Friday, September 30, 12:30 P.M.

Twenty-seven down, three to go. And Brad Thatcher's would be one of the three.

You're a coward, Jenna Marshall told herself. Afraid of a sheet of paper. Actually five sheets of paper stapled precisely in the upper left corner. Times the three students whose tests she'd yet to grade. She stared hard at the purple folder containing the ungraded organic chemistry tests.

You're a coward and a procrastinator, she told herself, then sighed quietly. She looked across the scarred old table that dominated the faculty lounge, a wall of haphazardly stacked folders meeting her eye. Casey Ryan was back there somewhere, behind the folders, busily grading the junior English class's thoughtful analyses of Dostoyevsky. Jenna shuddered. Poor kids. Not only did they have to read Crime and Punishment, but they had to write a theme on it, too. She rolled her eyes.

Get to work, Jen. Stop procrastinating and grade Brad's test. She picked up her red pen, stared hard at the purple folder, thought about Brad Thatcher and the test he'd more than likely failed, then desperately looked around for anything else to do. The only other occupant of the faculty lounge was Lucas Bondioli, guidance counselor by day, pro golfer in his dreams. Lucas was intensely focused on sinking a putt into an overturned plastic cup. Lucas tended to become very unhappy when his putting was disturbed so Jenna turned her attention back to Casey.

Casey's hand appeared over the top of the leaning stacks of folders and grabbed another theme paper, sending the stack swaying. Standing, Jenna grabbed the closest stack to avert certain disaster.

"Don't even think about it," Casey snapped, not even looking up from her grading.

"Dammit!" Lucas bit out.

"Just put them back and nobody gets hurt," Casey continued, as if Lucas hadn't spoken.

Jenna looked up in time to see Lucas's putt go wide, winced, meekly put Casey's folders back, and sat down. "Sorry, Lucas."

"It's okay," Lucas responded glumly. "I wasn't going to make it anyway."

"What about me?" Casey demanded from behind the wall of folders.

"I didn't do anything to you," Jenna shot back. "I was just trying to bring some order into chaos." She waved her hand at Casey's leaning stacks. "You are a disorderly person."

"And you are a procrastinator," Lucas said mildly, sitting down next to Jenna.

Casey's hand appeared to grab another theme. "Why are you procrastinating, Jen? That's not like you."

Lucas slid down in his chair. "Because she doesn't want to grade Brad Thatcher's chemistry test, because she knows he probably failed it, and she knows contacting his father about his sudden personality changes is the right thing to do, but she's scared to call any more parents because Rudy Lutz's father cussed her out on Wednesday"-he drew a deep breath- "for failing Rudy in remedial science and getting him suspended from the football team," he finished. And exhaled.

Jenna looked at him in annoyed admiration. "How do you do that?"

Lucas grinned. "I have a wife and four daughters. If I don't talk fast, I'd never get anything out."

Casey's chair scraped against the tile floor and her blond head poked up from behind the paper wall. Five feet tall on her tiptoes, she was only visible from the chin up. "Brad Thatcher failed his chemistry test?" Her brows scrunched, making her look like a profoundly perplexed disembodied elf. "Are we talking about the Brad Thatcher, Wonderboy?"

Jenna looked down at the purple folder, sobering. "Yes, only he's not the same Brad. Not anymore. He got a D on his last test. I'm afraid to grade this one."

"Jenna." Lucas shook his head, taking on the quiet, thoughtful persona that made him a wonderful mentor to new teachers like herself. "Just do it. Then we'll talk about what to do next."

So Jenna grasped her red pen firmly, opened the purple folder, and found Brad's test at the bottom of the thin pile. Her heart sank as she marked an "x" next to every question, feeling hopelessness mount with each one. Brad had been her most promising student. Bright, articulate, a veritable shoo-in for a prestigious scholarship sponsored by a group of Raleigh companies. He'd all but thrown that opportunity away. One more test like this and he'd fail her class, jeopardizing his chances at admission to the top colleges he'd chosen. And she had no idea why. With another sigh she wrote F on the first page, top and center. She looked up to find Lucas and Casey quietly waiting.

"I didn't think I'd ever put an F on anything Brad Thatcher did," Jenna said, putting down her pen. "What's happened to him, Lucas?"

Lucas picked up Brad's test and flipped through the pages, her concern mirrored in his dark eyes. "I don't know, Jen. Sometimes kids have problems with girlfriends. Sometimes their problems are at home. But you're right. 1 never would have expected Brad to change like this."

"You think he's into drugs?" Casey asked soberly, voicing their collective fear.

"We all know it can happen to kids from good homes," Jenna answered, slipping Brad's test back into the purple folder. "I guess I need to call his father, but I'm not looking forward to it, not after breaking the news to Rudy Lutz's dad that his son flunked his last test and is on the bench until he pulls up his grade."

Casey came around the table and half sat against the edge closest to Jenna's chair. "Mr. Lutz let you have it, huh?"

Jenna felt her gut chum just remembering. "I learned some new words during that phone call." She managed a weak grin. "It was certainly educational. I just feel so helpless with Brad, watching him throw his life away like this. There's got to be something I can do."