“He’s gotta be covered with blood,” Sam murmured.

“Yeah, you’d think, but there were no drops of blood leading from the alley.”

“So maybe he brought a bag or something with a change of clothes in it.”

“That’s what I figured. At least, he’d have had another shirt to change into.” Coutinho paused. “But what we couldn’t figure out is why all the drama with the knife if he was going to strangle the guy.”

“He was blowing off steam. He wanted the guy dead quickly and quietly, so he takes him out immediately. Then he gets to take his time, do what makes him happy, make his statement.”

“You think this was his way of making a statement?” the detective asked flatly.

“Yeah. I do.”

“What’s he saying?”

“When I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know.”

“We figure this was real personal, that the killer knew Walker, had some beef with him, knew his routine, knew where he’d be at that time on that night. He’s all prepared, right down to the change of clothes ’cause he knew it was going to be messy.”

“That would have taken a lot of planning, which would take it out of the realm of a random killing. The body was left where it would be found quickly, but not too quickly, so the killer has time to slip away. It could suggest a crime of retaliation, or revenge, but what do you suppose is up with the burger?”

“Maybe the hamburger has something to do with the fact that Walker was there at the mission serving food?”

“Hard to tie that to a possible revenge motive though. And revenge leads to the question, what did Ross Walker do to deserve this kind of retribution?”

“The wife says he has no enemies. The other volunteers and his coworkers all said the same thing. Everyone we talked to had only good things to say about him. Nicest guy in the world, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Loved by one and all.”

“All but one, apparently.” Sam thought it over, then added, “Assuming that you’re right, that this is personal, that it’s revenge for something.”

“What else could it be?”

“Not sure. Revenge is the obvious. But I’ve been around too long to believe that everything is always the way it seems.”

“What else could it be? The attack after the guy was already dead makes it appear personal to me,” Coutinho said, somewhat defensively. “The killer went there prepared to kill Walker, and he did just that. Why would you think there’s another explanation?”

“Something just doesn’t feel right to me. If this is payback, why the burger?”

“I don’t know, maybe burgers were on the menu that night. We can check on that. But like I just said, the guy was already dead,” the detective said pointedly and with no lack of exasperation. “He wasn’t eating that burger.”

“That’s my point.” Sam thought it through. “The burger is part of the message.”

“So you’re saying the stab wounds aren’t important?”

“Oh, they’re important, all right. Everything about this murder tells us something important. The over-the-top number of stab wounds tells us the killer was angry, either at Walker or someone else. But the posing of the body, the food stuffed in the mouth… that’s a part of the story, too. We just need to piece it all together.”

“You have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?”

“Some.”

“What did you do before you were a PI? Were you on the job someplace?”

“I was with the FBI.”

There was another pause, then Coutinho asked, “Special agent?”

“Yeah.” Sam debated, then added, “BAU.”

“That’s that behavior analysis stuff, right?”

“Yes.”

“You one of those profilers, like we see on TV all the time?”

“Nothing like what you see on TV,” Sam told him. “Nothing at all like what’s on TV.”

“But you do that, right, analyze behavior and see if you can figure out who the killer is from that?”

“That’s the short version. It’s more than that. You look at the crime scene, try to interpret the killer’s behavior before and after the crime, try to read the evidence he leaves you.”

“So you think you can figure out what motivated this guy?”

“It’s tough to do that with one victim, Detective, you know that. And there’s the conflict for us, right? On the one hand, you’re hoping that this guy has done what he set out to do-exact revenge, settle a score, whatever-and that he won’t repeat. On the other hand, with a series of victims, you see a pattern, you develop a sense of what the killer is after, what he wants.”

“His statement, like you said before.”

“Exactly,” Sam agreed. “So while it’s tougher to get a handle on the killer where you have so little evidence, you really hope that it was one and done for him. Right now, all we know is that we’re most likely looking for a man because it would have taken a lot of strength to overpower Ross Walker, who, from the reports, was a big man.”

“A little over six feet, about two hundred pounds,” Coutinho confirmed.

“So we’re looking for someone with size and strength of his own. Someone organized enough to have researched where and when to find his victim and brought with him everything that he needed, took everything away with him when he left.”

“You coming out here any time soon, Sam?”

“I’d like to get out there as soon as possible. Ideally by tomorrow or Wednesday.” Sam wondered how the Foundation handled travel arrangements.

“Give me a call and let me know when you’re coming. I’ll have a copy of the file and all the statements we took ready for you.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll be back in touch.” Sam hung up, and headed off to Mallory’s office once again to find out how he should go about getting approval for a flight to Lincoln, Nebraska, and wondering what he’d find once he got there.

Sam’s travel arrangements had been amazingly smooth and easy. Robert had a plane that he’d authorized to be used for the Mercy Street investigators, and Mallory took care of everything. At seven AM on Wednesday morning, Sam arrived at the local airstrip where the plane was housed. He parked his car in the lot and walked around the hangar and out onto the tarmac where he looked around. There were three planes that looked as if they were getting ready to go somewhere.

He walked to the closest one and asked the mechanic who was just coming down the steps if he knew which plane belonged to Robert Magellan. He was pointed to the first one in line-a trim Cessna Citation. At the top of the steps, Sam poked his head inside and called, “Hello?”

A trim woman in her midfifties came out of the cockpit.

“Can I help you?” She leaned against the doorframe and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind one ear.

“I was looking for the pilot,” Sam told her.

“You’ve found her.”

“Oh.” Sam realized that his facial expression must be registering his surprise, and he tried to cover it up.

“Great. Nice to meet you. I’m-”

“Sam DelVecchio. Yes, Mallory told me to expect you. I’m just about ready to take off. You can take a seat and get comfortable.” She gestured to the passenger section.

He dropped his briefcase on one of the chairs. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Delilah McCabe.” She smiled but didn’t offer her hand. “We’re scheduled to take off at seven thirty and I make it a point to always leave on time. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh, sure. Right. Go ahead and do whatever-”

“Just need to check with the mechanic.”

She disappeared through the doorway and Sam glanced around the interior of the small plane. With seating for seven passengers, the aisle was narrow, and he had to hunch his six-foot, three-inch frame in order to move to the front of the plane. He took the seat closest to the cockpit and laid his jacket across the seat next to him. He was wishing he’d brought along something to read other than his file notes when Delilah reentered the plane.