“Dr. McCall, I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.” Art Sheridan had grabbed the phone as soon as he heard who was on the other end of the line. “Should I be encouraged?”

“A little optimism is always good,” Annie replied. “And in this case, warranted. I have the lab results from the Bureau. I’d like to go over them with you. When would be a good time?”

“How soon can you get here?” He sat up straight in his chair, hopefully anticipating a break in this god-bloody-awful case. Praying for one.

“Fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“You’re still in town, then. Terrific. I’ll be waiting. Okay if we have Chief Malone and Detectives Crosby and Weller in on this?”

“Certainly, whomever you feel you need. You might want to include the three agents the Bureau sent up as well,” she replied. “I’ll see you soon.”

The D.A. buzzed for his secretary without bothering to hang up the phone. “Lois, I need Malone, Crosby, and Weller here in fifteen minutes. No excuses.”

He stood and went to the window to look out. Those damned news vans were everywhere. Outside the courthouse, in the parking lots, down the side streets. He knew a press conference was overdue, but he had nothing, not one bone to toss to the reporters who badgered his every move once he stepped out of the safety of his office. They followed him home, had even followed him to his son’s softball game last night. He knew he owed them, but wasn’t about to speak until he had something real, something legit. He’d seen too many D.A.s make asses out of themselves on television by calling conferences when they had nothing to talk about but yesterday’s news. He wasn’t going that route. Never let it be said that Arthur M. Sheridan wasn’t smart enough to learn from the mistakes of others. When he called the press in, he’d have something solid. End of story.

Still, he was hoping that day was close at hand. He was up for reelection in November and was looking forward to blowing out the competition, a man he’d gone to law school with and had never liked.

“Sanctimonious ass,” he muttered to himself. The mere thought of his rival always brought out the worst in him. Now, he would be just the type to call a premature press conference just to get his pretty face on national TV one more time. Well, Sheridan wasn’t going to play that game.

The D.A. just hoped that whatever the FBI had was something he could use, and use now. The pressure was mounting daily. Even his wife had gotten into the act, since their children attended the same private school as one of the victims.

“Honestly, Art, I’m afraid to show my face at Northgate. Everyone wants to know what you’re going to do about this monster who killed the Fuhrmann girl. Everyone’s scared.”

“Everyone should be scared,” he’d told her at the time. Christ, like we’re dragging our feet here…

“What’s going on?” Chris Malone stuck his head through the doorway.

“Come on in. Where are Crosby and Weller?”

“Crosby’s on his way in, Weller is right behind me.”

As if on cue, Jacqueline Weller tapped on the door, then entered without waiting for an invitation. She was tall, plain, humorless, and a decent detective with lofty ambitions. She’d been at the job three years longer than Evan and had earned the respect of everyone in the county. Those who knew such things whispered her name as a possible successor for Sheridan once he moved up the ladder.

“Jackie, take a seat.” Sheridan motioned to the five matched chairs that had been arranged in a semicircle around his desk. “We’re going to be joined by Detective Crosby and the profiler the FBI sent us. Apparently, she’s received the results from their lab and is eager to share with us. I’m hoping she’s going to be bringing us good news.”

“I suspect she’d merely fax it if she didn’t have something solid,” Malone observed. “She doesn’t seem to be the type to waste her time.”

“May I come in?” Annie rapped on the door much as Jackie Weller had done.

“Dr. McCall.” Sheridan walked from behind his desk to greet her. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you back here so soon. I’m hoping you have something good to share with us.”

“I think I do.”

“Have you met Detective Weller?” The D.A. smiled. Next to the petite profiler, who was always meticulously dressed, Weller looked like an unkempt Amazon. Sheridan wondered if Crosby knew just how lucky he was.

“I have. How are you, Detective?” Annie offered her hand.

“I’m hoping I’ll be better once we hear what you have to say.”

“Were you able to get in touch with Agents Cahill, Hoffman, and Muller?” Annie asked pointedly.

“Ah, no. I thought, since time was so short, I’d let Detective Weller here pass along whatever information you might have.”

“I see,” Annie said.

“Ah, here’s Detective Crosby.” Malone tilted his head in the direction of the door, where Evan stood.

“Come on in, Evan. We’re just about ready to start. Take a seat there”-Sheridan pointed to the remaining unoccupied chair-“and let’s see what Dr. McCall has for us.”

“I think you might want to copy these so everyone has their own.” Annie held up the folder containing the lab reports.

Malone left his seat and reached for the folder.

“I’ll take care of it,” he told her, and left the room.

“Just so you know”-Sheridan addressed Annie-“I’m treating these murders as two separate cases. We’re going to work on the assumption that we do in fact have two different killers. Detective Weller is going to be in charge of the Schoolgirl Slayer killings; Detective Crosby will lead the investigation of the unidentified victims. As far as the public is concerned, however, this is one case. Maybe if this second killer thinks he has us fooled, he’ll get careless.”

He turned to Evan.

“Just remember this was your idea, when Jackie solves the big case and gets all the publicity.” Sheridan’s idea of a joke.

“Jackie brings that guy in, she is more than welcome to the publicity.” Evan turned to her as Malone came back into the room. “Hey, this case could make you a star.”

“Right,” she said without smiling. “And the book deal could make me rich.”

Before anyone could comment on that, Malone started passing out the lab reports.

“Dr. McCall, if you’d like to start…,” Sheridan said.

“Just a few things of note,” Annie told them. “First of all, we have recovered several areas of trace evidence. On all your victims, Detective Weller, the lab found traces of maroon carpet fibers. The fibers were matched to carpeting used by several auto manufacturers-specifically Ford and GMC-between 1992 and 1999.”

“Any particular models?” Weller asked.

“No. They used this pretty much across the board. But we’re checking to determine if this color carpet was used exclusively with any exterior colors. We’ll narrow it down as much as we can. In the meantime, there is more…” Annie turned to the next page in the pack. “On these same victims, the lab found snippets of grass.”

“Grass?”

“Grass, Chief Malone. Green grass. Which fits quite nicely with our theory that the killer is a laborer. I understand you’ve narrowed the field down a bit, Detective Crosby?”

“We’ve determined that three businesses were common to all of the victims. Green Briar Country Club, Sweet Summer Pools, and Davison’s Lawn and Garden. All employ workers who would come into contact with mowed grass.”

“Wait a minute, I thought this was my case,” Detective Weller said crisply, the only animation she’d shown since she arrived.

“It is, as of this morning,” Evan responded pleasantly. “I went through all of the businesses and services the victims might have had in common last night. I found that some were used by two or three of the victims’ families, but only these three were utilized by all of them.”

Jackie Weller turned to Annie.