He smiled again, recognizing professional pride. “Understandable enough. You’re not Catholic, are you?”

“No.”

“The investigation team overlooked it as well.”

“I’m Methodist,” Ed put in, still writing.

“I’m not trying for a conversion.” Taking up his pipe, he began to fill it. His fingers were blunt and wide, with the nails neatly trimmed. A few flakes of tobacco fell on and clung to his yellow turtleneck. “The date of the first murder, August fifteenth, is a Church holy day.”

“The Assumption,” Ben murmured before he realized it.

“Yes.” Logan continued to fill his pipe and smiled. Ben was reminded of answering correctly in catechism.

“I used to be Catholic.”

“A common problem,” Logan said, and lit his pipe.

No lecture, no pontifical frown. Ben felt his shoulders relaxing. His mind started ticking. “I didn’t put the dates together. You think it’s significant?”

Meticulously, Logan removed tobacco from his sweater. “It could be.”

“I’m sorry, Monsignor.” Tess lifted her hands. “You’ll have to explain.”

“August fifteenth is the day the Church recognizes the Virgin’s assumption into heaven. The Mother of God was a mortal, but she carried the Savior in her womb. We revere her as the most blessed and pure among women.”

“Pure,” Tess murmured.

“Of itself, I might not have paid too much attention to the date,” Logan continued. “However, it jogged my imagination enough to check the Church calendar. The second murder occurred on the day we celebrate Mary’s birth.”

“He’s picking the days she’s-excuse me-Mary’s honored by the Church?” Ed stopped writing long enough to look up for an acknowledgment.

“The third murder falls on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. I’ve added a Church calendar to your file, Dr. Court. I don’t think the odds for three out of three rate a coincidence.”

“No, I agree.” Tess rose, anxious to see for herself. She picked up the calender and studied the dates Logan had circled. Dusk was falling. Logan switched on the light and the beam shot over the paper in her hands.

“The next one you have here isn’t until December eighth.”

“The Immaculate Conception.” Logan puffed on his pipe.

“That would put eight weeks between the murders,” Ed calculated. “He’s never gone more than four.”

“And we can’t be sure he’s emotionally capable of waiting that long,” Tess added in a murmur. “He could change his pattern. Some incident could set him off. He might pick a date personally important to him.”

“The date of birth or death of someone important to him.” Ben lit another cigarette.

“A female figure.” Tess folded the calendar. “The female figure.”

“I agree that the stress he’s under is building.” Logan put his pipe down and leaned forward. “The need for release could be enough to make him strike sooner.”

“He’s probably dealing with some sort of physical pain.” Tess slipped the calendar into her briefcase. “Headache, nausea. If it becomes too great for him to carry on his normal life…”

“Exactly.” Logan folded his hands again. “I wish I could be more helpful. I would like to discuss this with you again, Dr. Court.”

“In the meantime, we have a pattern.” Ben crushed out his cigarette as he rose. “We concentrate on December eighth.”

“It’s only a crumb,” Ben said as they stepped out into a chilled dusk. “But I’m ready to take it.”

“I didn’t realize you were Catholic.” Tess buttoned her coat against the wind that was whipping up. “Maybe that’ll be an advantage.”

“Used to be Catholic. And speaking of crumbs, are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Good.” He slipped an arm around her. “Then we can outvote Ed. You’re not in the mood for yogurt and alfalfa sprouts, are you?”

“Ah…”

“Ben’ll want to stop and get a greasy hamburger. What the man puts in his system is revolting.”

“How about Chinese?” It was the best compromise she could come up with as she slipped into the car. “There’s a great little place around the corner from my office.”

“Told you she was classy,” Ed said as he took the driver’s seat. He fastened his safety belt and waited with the patience of the wise and determined for Ben to follow suit. “The Chinese have the proper respect for the digestive system.”

“Sure, they keep it stuffed with rice.” Ben glanced over his shoulder and saw Tess already spread out on the backseat, her file open. “Come on, Doc, take a break.”

“I just want to check over a couple of things.”

“Ever treated a workaholic?”

She glanced over the file, then back again. “I may decide I have a craving for yogurt after all.”

“Not Tanya Tucker!” Ben pushed the reject button before the first bar of the song was out. “You had her this afternoon.”

“I wish.”

“Degenerate. I’m putting on some-ah, shit, look at that. The liquor store.”

Ed slowed down. “Looks like a five-oh-nine in progress.”

“A what?” Tess straightened up in the back and tried to see.

“Robbery in progress.” Ben was already unhooking his belt. “Go back to work.”

“A robbery? Where?”

“Where’s a black and white?” Ben muttered as he reached for the radio. “Dammit, all I want’s some sweet and sour pork.”

“Pork’s poison.” Ed unlatched his own belt.

Ben. snapped into the radio. “Unit six-oh. We have a five-oh-nine in progress on Third and Douglas. Any available units. We have a civilian in the car. Ah, damn, he’s coming out. Requesting backup. Perpetrators heading south. White male, five-ten, a hundred eighty. Black jacket, jeans.” The radio squawked back at him. “Yeah, we’re on him.”

Ed revved the engine and rounded the corner. From the backseat, Tess stared, fascinated.

She saw the husky man in the black jacket come out of the liquor store and head up the street at a jog. The minute he turned his head and saw the Mustang, he broke into a run.

“Shit, he made us.” Ben pulled out the Kojak light. “Just sit tight, Doc.”

“Making for the alley,” Ed said mildly. He brought the car to a halt, fishtailing it. Before Tess could open her mouth, both men were out of opposite sides and running.

“Stay in the car!” Ben shouted at her.

She listened to him for about ten seconds. Slamming the door behind her, she raced to the mouth of the alley herself.

Ed was bigger, but Ben was faster. As she watched, the man they were chasing reached into his jacket. She saw the gun and only had an instant to freeze before Ben caught him at the knees and sent him sprawling into a line of garbage cans. There was a shot over the clatter of metal. She was halfway down the alley when Ben dragged the man to his feet. There was blood, and the scent of rotting food from the metal cans which were emptied regularly but rarely cleaned. The man didn’t struggle, probably because he saw Ed and the police issue in his hand. He spat a stream of blood tinged saliva.

It wasn’t like television, Tess thought as she looked at the man who would have shot Ben in the face if the timing had been a little different. Nor was it like a novel. It wasn’t even like the eleven o’clock news, where all the details were neatly tied up and delivered with rapid-fire detachment. Life was full of smelly alleys and spittle. Her training and work had taken her there before, but only emotionally.

She took a deep breath, relieved that she wasn’t frightened, only curious. And maybe a little fascinated.

With two snaps Ben had the robber’s hands cuffed behind his back. “Haven’t you got more brains than to shoot at a police officer?”

“Got grease on your pants,” Ed pointed out as he secured his gun.

Ben looked down and saw the long skid mark running from ankle to knee. “Goddammit. I’m with Homicide, jerk,” he announced in his prisoner’s face. “I don’t like getting grease on my pants. In fact, getting grease on my pants really pisses me off.” Disgusted, Ben passed him to Ed as he brought out his badge. “You’re under arrest, sucker. You have the right to remain silent. You have-Tess, dammit, didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?”