Mike's parish held only two pins. Steven had been relieved to push a third pin marking the location of a small house where the Rahroohs gathered to worship with other Hindu friends. Even if Davies hadn't surfaced with his picture of

Parker, Sandra's theory would have been put to rest. Mike hadn't known Alev Rahrooh. Thank God, he thought, tacking three new photos to the board.

Samantha Eggleston's body. Stabbed fifteen times, blade placement making a pattern very similar to the new tattoo on her bald scalp. Which Kent predicted they would find.

Alev Rahrooh, bright and smiling in her cheerleader picture. A copy of her picture, actually. Her parents hadn't wanted to give the original to Steven. It was the only recent photo they had, that they'd been able to afford. They'd given it only after Steven promised he would personally ensure its safekeeping. The original lay in an envelope on his desk. He'd return it to the Rahroohs tonight.

And finally, the third photo, Rudy Lutz, a.k.a. William Rudolf Parker.

"His hair color is similar to the sample from the Clary clearing," Sandra said from the doorway.

"Not good enough according to Liz," Steven said, turning to look at her. "We'll need a hell of a lot more to be able to support bringing him in, especially since we're not even supposed to know his sealed record exists. What's new, Sandra?"

Sandra didn't come any closer than the doorway. "Not a lot. Where's your new friend?"

"Davies? He's in a visitor's cubicle, making some calls back to the West Coast." He paused and asked again, "So what's new, Sandra?"

She looked up at the ceiling. "I checked into the… individual we discussed yesterday."

"And?"

She met his eyes. "And you were right. The night Lorraine went missing he was with twenty-five other priests at a seminar on church finances."

"And the night Samantha Eggleston was taken?"

"Giving last sacraments at Wake Medical Center. I'm sorry, Steven. I needed to check."

"I guess I should be grateful for death and taxes," Mike said dryly from behind Sandra and she jumped, turning red up to her hairline. Awkwardly, she turned to face him.

"Father Leone. I'm sorry. I didn't know you knew I was asking about you."

Mike gestured to the table. "These things tend to get out. After you?"

Sandra shook her head. "I was just leaving. I've got to get home to my kids." Still dismayed, Sandra looked from Steven to Mike. "Father, I tried to be discreet. I hope I haven't made any trouble for you."

Mike sat down. "Nothing I can't manage," he said, but his eyes didn't back up his words.

Sandra nodded stiffly and left, closing the door behind her.

"I was in the neighborhood," Mike said softly when she'd gone. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"No. Of course not." Steven took the tack out of Rudy's picture and slipped the photo into a folder. Mike was innocent, but Steven still needed to run a clean investigation, which meant keeping all leads confined to his team. "What brings you to my neighborhood?"

Mike regarded him soberly. "The Egglestons asked me to bless Samantha's body but the ME said he wasn't finished with her yet. We'll have to wait until her body's released."

Weariness hit Steven square in the chest and with it a sadness that was a palpable ache. "I don't want to imagine what her parents are going through," he said, joining Mike at the table. "But I am."

"You feel it for all of them, don't you? The sadness I see in your eyes right now."

Steven pinched the bridge of his nose He'd had a headache all day. "I do. I don't want to. I try not to. But every name in every folder that comes across my desk is a person that belongs to somebody's family. It never seems to end. So, how bad is it, Mike?"

Mike looked away. "How bad is what?"

Steven leaned forward to catch Mike's eye. "How badly did we tarnish your reputation?"

"I'll live. I have a few people calling me, asking if it's true. More are calling the bishop's office to ask if it's true. I'm not blaming you, Steven."

Steven sighed. "Good. But you know I would have done it anyway."

"I know. It's what makes you a good cop."

"That's special agent to you," Steven said, his heart momentarily lightened by the praise.

"That's why I came by," Mike said quietly. "To tell you I would have been angry if you hadn't checked me out. I want the man who killed those girls, Steven. I want him to…" Mike's voice wobbled and he stopped. Cleared his throat. "I want him to suffer for what he did." He closed his eyes. "I never saw Lorraine's body, but I glimpsed Samantha's on the ME's table. I'll never forget that sight as long as I live." He opened his eyes and in them Steven saw anguish. "I have never felt such hate," he whispered. "I want whoever did this to suffer like Sammie suffered. Worse."

Like Alev's suffering right now, Steven thought, then pushed the thought from his mind. "I don't know that there is much worse, Mike."

"How do you stand it?"

"Like you stand all the suffering you see. One day at a time. Sometimes an hour at a time."

Mike stood up, tugged on his robes. "Well, I need to go. It's Thursday. All-you-can-eat night at Sal's Pizza. You want to join me for a slice or two or twelve? The beer's cold."

Steven smiled wearily up at his best friend, grateful to have him. "Will you believe me if I say I'd like nothing better? But I'd like to get home tonight. I haven't seen Nicky since Monday night and I still haven't squared things with Brad."

Something flickered in Mike's eyes at the mention of Brad.

"What?" Steven asked, hearing alarm bells ring in his head. "What do you know?"

Mike shook his head. "Go talk to your son, Steven. He needs you."

Steven watched as he left the room, then turned back to the board to look at the photo of Samantha Eggleston's mutilated body. She'd needed him, too. Just like Alev needed him now. Pretty soon he'd have to install one of those number machines like they had at the deli counter.

He had to make it stop. He had to catch whoever was doing this. God willing it was Rudy Lutz and they just had to make sure they knew where he went, what he did. That would be the only way they'd save Alev. And the countless other girls Rudy Lutz had yet to victimize.

And there were his own kids, Steven thought. I have to fix my kids. Hell, he had to see his kids.

And there was the small matter of Jenna Marshall. At this point, he just hoped she'd still speak to him when he finally got time to apologize. Whenever that would be.

Thursday, October 6, 7:30 P.M.

"You're not concentrating tonight, Jen."

Jenna picked herself off the floor and pulled at her gi. She looked up at her sensei who stared down at her disapprovingly. "I'm sorry, Mark. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Well, leave it outside. Your concerns have no place on the sparring mat. You'll get hurt."

Jenna rubbed her sore hip. "I already am. You caught me good."

"I caught you napping," Mark snapped. "You're supposed to be demonstrating technique, not volunteering to be the first-aid dummy."

Jenna looked at the rest of the students lined up behind them. Mark was right. She owed more to the students than she'd been giving tonight. Classroom vandalism, juvenile delinquents, Brad and Steven Thatcher aside. "Point taken." She held herself rigid. "I'm ready now."

Mark shook his head, his frown softening from frustrated to worried. "No, you're not. We'll try again later." He motioned to a boy standing at the end of the line. "Bill, you're up. Take five, Jen."

Chastised, Jenna walked to the water cooler and aimlessly she watched cars drive by until one pulled into their parking lot. Her stomach clenched. Lucas's car. No. Whatever it was… Just, no.