“We both work too hard,” she commented, making a face over the soggy lettuce that seemed weeks old and probably was, and had been the cheapest they could buy in the first place.

“So what else is new? How’s your love life?” he asked casually. He liked her, he always had. She was smart, she worked hard, she was tough when she had to be, even relentless, but she was also fair, and kind, and a truly nice person, and pretty too. It was hard to find anything he didn’t like about her, except that she was a little too skinny for his taste, and didn’t do much with her hair. It was always tied back in a knot, although he suspected it would be long and luscious in bed. He tried not to think about it, and to remember that she was one of the “guys” in his life. It was how she acted, and the only relationship she seemed to want with him or anyone else. She’d been badly burned by her marriage, and her husband’s betrayal. She had told him the story once, it was even worse than his.

“I assume you’re kidding, right?” She smiled as she answered his question. “Who has time for a love life? I have a kid and a full-time job. That’s good enough.”

“Some people seem to manage more than that. They even go on dates, fall in love, and get married, or so I’m told.”

“They must be on drugs,” Alexa said as she pushed away the salad. She had had enough. “So what do you think of our case? Think we’ll get him?”

“I hope so. I’m sure as hell going to try. He’s as cold as they get. I think he would kill damn near anyone he chose to, if he could get away with it and had the chance.”

“What makes you think so?” Alexa was intrigued by his comment and trusted his judgment, and always had before. He was rarely wrong. And he probably wasn’t this time either. “He has no history of violent crimes, and he’s never killed anyone before this spree, that we know of.” She was playing devil’s advocate for them both.

“That just means he’s good at what he does. I don’t know why I think so. But I’ve seen guys like him, and so have you. Ice cold and dead inside. They’re like machines, they’re not human beings. He’s a classic sociopath, and they’re usually smart, just like he is. The most dangerous guys around. They’d as soon kill you as shake your hand. He may not have killed anyone when he was younger, but I’m convinced he would now. Maybe something snapped the last time he was in prison. I think he’s one sick, twisted sonofabitch, and he’ll give us a run for our money. He’s covered his tracks pretty well. I don’t know why we got lucky with the blood on his shoes. Sociopaths don’t usually make mistakes like that. Maybe he got too cocky, and he sure didn’t know we were watching him.” That had been clear in the interrogation, and they hadn’t told him. They had just let him talk to see what he said.

“Shit, I hope we get him,” Alexa said with fervor. She wanted nothing more. She wanted to put him away.

“So do I,” he agreed.

“It makes me sick when I see those girls’ faces. They’re all so young and pretty. They look like my daughter.” As she said it, a chill ran down her spine. She hadn’t thought of it before, but they did. Savannah was just his type. But fortunately, he was safely in jail, and not wandering the world. For now.

“How is she, by the way?” Jack asked, changing the subject. He felt as though he knew her from the gallery of photos on Alexa’s desk, and he’d met her once or twice at the office. She was a pretty girl just like her mother.

“She’s applying to college. She wants to go to Princeton, at least that’s in New Jersey. I’m scared to death she’ll get into Stanford. I don’t want her that far away. My life is going to be a wasteland when she goes.”

He nodded and could see the real sadness in Alexa’s face. She was too young to have given up her whole life for a child. “Maybe that’s something for you to think about. You still have time to do something about it.”

“Excuse me? This from a guy who works as hard as I do? My last date may have been in the stone age, but something tells me yours was several millennia before.” He laughed out loud at her response.

“So take it from me, it’s a mistake. It’s too late for me now. By my age, I can either go out with younger women who want babies, and I don’t, or women my age who are angry and bitter and hate guys.”

“And there’s nothing in between?” Alexa wondered if he had a point. She knew she was bitter herself, about Tom, and men in general. She had vowed never to trust any man again, and she hadn’t, even those she had gone out with, rare as it was. Her walls were a mile high.

“Nope,” Jack confirmed. “Hookers. But I’m too cheap to pay for sex.” They both laughed at that, and he paid for their lunch as Alexa thanked him. “Don’t say that I don’t take you to the best places. If the theory about getting laid in exchange for a good dinner holds, you should probably kick me in the shins for lunch. How’s your stomach holding up after that salad? Feeling sick yet?”

“Not yet. It usually takes about half an hour.” The jokes about the deli were legion, but it was just as bad as they all said, and worse. All the cops swore the jail food was better, and it probably was.

They walked back into the building together, and Jack said he’d keep her posted on the latest developments about Quentin. The press was taking a major interest in him, and they were all being extremely careful about what they said. Reporters had already tried to interview Alexa and she declined. She was leaving that to the DA.

Alexa spent the rest of the afternoon in meetings, worked on her file for the grand jury, and left work earlier than usual, at six o’clock. Her mother and Judge Schwartzman were coming for dinner, and Savannah had just put a chicken in the oven when she got home. She looked pretty and fresh and had played volleyball that afternoon. She was elated that they’d won against a rival school. Alexa tried to get to her games whenever she could, but it wasn’t as often as she liked. And she was struck again by the resemblance between her daughter and Luke Quentin’s victims. It made the death of all those young women seem that much worse to her.

“How’s your big serial killer case coming?” Savannah asked her as they stood in the kitchen. Alexa was making a salad, and they had just put baking potatoes in the microwave. Her mother and Stanley Schwartzman were due in half an hour. They could chat, as they always did, until dinner was cooked.

“It’s coming along,” Alexa answered. “I have a grand jury hearing on it in two days. How are the applications coming? Did you finish any more? I want to see them before they go out,” she reminded her, but Savannah wrote excellent essays, and her grades and board scores were high. She was going to get in everywhere. Alexa had done her job well, and Savannah was a bright girl.

“I finished Princeton and Brown. I still have Stanford and Harvard to do. I don’t think I’ll get in anyway, they’re both too hard. GW would be okay too. And Duke.” Going to college still seemed unreal to her, like a dream, but she was excited about it. She was looking forward to talking about it with her dad when they went skiing.

Alexa and Savannah chatted in the kitchen, as they set the table and finished making dinner, and then the doorbell rang. It was Alexa’s mother and Stanley. He was a handsome, distinguished-looking, vibrant man, despite his age, and exactly what a judge should look like. He was serious, conservative, but he had a great sense of humor and a twinkle in his eye.

The chicken was delicious, and everyone pretended not to notice that the baked potatoes were overcooked. The conversation was lively, and the three generations of women always had a good time together, and Stanley enjoyed being with them. Alexa reminded him of his own daughters, and Savannah of his favorite granddaughter who was the same age, and at Boulder, having a ball. They talked about Savannah’s applications, and a funny case Stanley had heard recently, a suit brought by a man who had sued a co-worker for sneezing on him constantly and making him sick. The case had been dismissed for lack of malicious intent or tangible damages, and no damages had been awarded.