“We want Siren Song’s employee list. It could connect Samantha and tell us who’s at risk for the next attack.” Like Eve, Noah thought.

“I’ll call the DA,” Abbott said. “Get the subpoenas started. Mick, what do you have?”

“All the prints matched the victim except for one set we found on pipes, light fixtures, etc. I’m betting they belong to the maintenance man.”

“Taylor Kobrecki,” Noah said. “He does all her maintenance. He’s still AWOL.”

“Also, we’ve searched her computer,” Micki said. “Looks like the drive was wiped.”

“Can you work your magic and save the day?” Jack asked.

“Sugar’s working on it,” she said. “If anything’s there, he’ll find it. That stool that you two recovered from the thrift store this morning is a match to Martha’s. I haven’t traced the origin yet, and there are no usable prints. On the other hand, both victims’ dresses and shoes came from The Fashion Club, an online shopping network. Unfortunately they sold hundreds of each this year, none to Martha or Samantha. If we get a suspect we may be able to use the list to confirm, but I don’t see it being a beacon.”

“If this killer bought those dresses, he had to have known his victims’ sizes,” Carleton said thoughtfully. “That’s quite a bit of planning.”

“I agree,” Micki said. “Lots of planning and no mistakes. No fibers or hair, except the cat hair in Martha’s carpet. She had food and a box of litter, but no litterbox.”

“And nobody’s seen the cat,” Jack said.

“That’s not good,” Carleton said quietly. “Serial killers often begin by killing animals.”

“Wonderful.” Abbott shook his head. “What about the noose?”

“Ordinary rope,” Micki said. “Could have been purchased at any hardware store. Same with the hook in the ceiling. Martha had really high ceilings in that apartment. I don’t think she could have put the hook in herself. She would have needed a ladder.”

“Or a handyman,” Noah said. “Taylor Kobrecki, again.”

“So the panty perv moves to the top of our list of suspects,” Abbott said.

“Mrs. Kobrecki says Taylor’s out of town,” Noah said. “I’m thinking that as soon as I left, she called him, so we put in for her LUDs, cell and home phones.”

“He could be hiding in an empty apartment unit next to Martha’s place,” Jack said.

“We called for a warrant,” Noah said. “We didn’t have cause. Now we might.”

“I’ll push it with the DA,” Abbott said. “Carleton, any thoughts on profile?”

“White male, twenties or thirties. High IQ. He plans and he’s dramatic. He’s obsessive about detail.” He sorted through all the photos until he found the ones of Samantha and Martha hanging in their identical poses. “There is something about the eyes that’s important to him. He made sure they’d stay open.”

“Which was very creepy,” Micki said under her breath.

“Agreed,” Carleton said. “Whoever did this thinks he got away with it with Samantha. So he did it again with Martha. It’s interesting that he used ketamine, and that he injected it in the neck. That indicates a level of… confidence. Except for Ian, how many of you would be comfortable shoving a syringe in a woman’s neck?”

“You think he’s had medical training?” Noah asked and Carleton shrugged.

“Or practice.”

Abbott nodded. “Let’s find out if the panty pervert ever played doctor. Ian, go through the hanging cases over the year. See if any others have puncture wounds.”

“We’ll track down Siren Song and get an employee and client list,” Jack said. “I can’t imagine they’ll fork over their clients without a subpoena, so we’ll get that started, too.”

“And we’ll talk to tenants, including the three women who filed a complaint. Somebody knows where Taylor hangs.” Noah winced. “No pun intended.”

Faye stuck her head in the door. “Noah, call on one. The woman said it was urgent.”

Noah pulled Abbott’s phone to the edge of the desk. “Webster.”

“This is Eve Wilson. You need to come to 5492 Red Barn Lane. It’s in Woodfield.”

Eve? Her voice didn’t falter, but he heard the underlying fear. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a woman here. She’s dead. She’s hanging from her bedroom ceiling.”

His heart sank, both for the newest victim and for Eve’s now undeniable connection. “Are you in the house?”

“No. I’m looking through the back window. Her name is Christy Lewis.”

“Did you know her from work, too?”

“Yes,” she said, resigned. “Just hurry. Please.” And she hung up.

Noah stood. “Victim number three.”

“I’ll get my team out there,” Micki said.

“I’ll meet you there,” Ian said. “I want to see this scene myself.”

Carleton already stood, buttoning his coat. “So do I. I’ll follow you up, Ian.”

Jack put on his hat. “Then let’s go.”

Abbott waved them out, then pointed at Noah. “You stay. Close the door.”

Noah obeyed, knowing what was coming and dreading it.

“Who, how, and why?” Abbott asked.

“Eve Wilson,” Noah said dully.

Abbott did a double take. “From Sal’s?”

“Yeah. She was at Martha’s today. Said she knew Martha from work. She just said the same thing about this victim.”

Abbott still looked stunned. “I never would have picked her for a phone sex jockey. So she knows something. Find out what it is. I’ll send a squad car to the address, just in case this guy is still around. And to make sure Miss Wilson doesn’t leave.”

Monday, February 22, 4:55 p.m.

Eve sat in the back of a police cruiser, staring at the handcuffs on her wrists, trying to stay calm and not think about the woman hanging from a rope inside the house.

She hoped somebody’s wires got crossed, because she’d been cuffed and pushed into her current seating assignment. It had taken a lot of years, but she’d finally grown accustomed to a casual touch from a friend, or a stranger in passing. But this… the cops had put their hands on her. Pushed me. For a moment she’d been eighteen again and terrified, without enough air to breathe.

Luckily she’d breathed her way through enough panic attacks to know how to control the fear. She was still rattled, but she no longer needed a paper bag to breathe into.

She’d gotten a text off to Callie before the cops had arrived so somebody knew where she was. Then she’d been surrounded by cruisers, ambulances, flashing lights. For Christy, Eve thought, the memory of her empty eyes still fresh. And terrifying.

“Oh for God’s sake. You cuffed her? You weren’t supposed to arrest her.”

Noah Webster. She looked up through the window and met his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. She said nothing as he opened the rear door and unlocked her cuffs.

“I’m sorry, Eve. A little miscommunication there.”

Eve rubbed her wrists gingerly. “Have you seen her?”

“Your friend? Not yet. Come.” He took her arm and urged her to her feet.

Eve yanked away, panic still bubbling too close to the surface. “Where?”

“To my car. It has dark windows. I don’t want the press taking pictures of you.”

She followed, but when he opened the passenger door the panic boiled up and over, closing her throat. Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?

It was his voice. Winters, the man who’d left her for dead, five years, eleven months, and eight days ago. His voice taunted when she was panicked. Or stood next to a man’s car. Even a man she trusted.

“Are you all right?” Webster asked.

“I’m fine. Fine,” she repeated focusing on Noah’s voice. He was real, in the here and now. She forced herself to get into his car, flinching when he slammed her door.

“I need you to listen,” he said when he’d slid behind the wheel. He stared straight ahead, his jaw hard. “We know about your work.”

She forced her face to remain composed. How did he know? “Really,” she said.

“Really,” he repeated tautly. “You might be in danger. Stay here while I check.”