Brittany was so relieved her knees went weak. She didn’t even think about the fact that these people were strangers and could have been dangerous too. The lady was her mother’s age. In the movies and on TV serial killers were all creepy-looking guys with scary eyes, not soccer moms.

She gave the people directions and took a deep breath as they drove away. She was alone again.

The day before, this neighborhood had been all over the news. Brittany had seen some of the coverage on television. News vans had lined the street. Cameramen and photographers and reporters had been camped outside the Gray home. Gray had been a missing person then. Now she was dead, and the news vans were gone. What happened after a person was gone was of no interest to anyone outside that person’s life.

The neighborhood was empty now and dark there at the end of the block backing onto the darker, emptier park. A creepy feeling scratched at the back of Brittany’s neck as she walked up the driveway to Gray’s house. A part of her hoped Julia Gray wasn’t home. She wanted to turn around and just go back. She could wait and do this another time, when Kyle could go with her. But then she told herself to stop being a chicken. Lights glowed in the downstairs windows.

Her phone vibrated inside the pocket of her hoodie. She opened her coat and dug it out and checked the screen. Kyle.

RU there yet?

Brittany slipped her gloves off and typed: Just got here. Will txt you l8r. She tucked the phone away, rang the doorbell, and waited.

44

The girl looked at him with fear and loathing. Fitz had to give her credit for being feistier than he would have expected.

Victims could be surprising. Sometimes the ones who fought hardest at the outset were the most pathetic in the end, begging for their lives, choking and gagging on tears and snot, peeing and shitting themselves in abject terror of death. While sometimes the meek ones rose to the occasion and defied him with more will the longer he tortured them.

Dana Nolan was one of those. He felt a certain weird kind of pride for her. He couldn’t have chosen a better victim for taking his game to the next level.

He struck her once more with the hammer, feeling the energy of the scream that was stifled by the gag. The sexual rush that came with that was more intoxicating than any drug.

Still, he walked away from her. It was important to exercise discipline. It was in succumbing to the seduction of that rush where mistakes could be made. Caution would fall by the wayside. Discipline was the key to success.

He had a schedule. He had a plan. He had to stick to it or risk failure.

Beneath those thoughts, he was well aware that he was already taking more risk than was prudent. But with great risk would come great reward. He was tired of success in anonymity. He wanted recognition for his achievements. He couldn’t escape the fact that he had an ego. He just had to be smart enough to control it. Riding that razor’s edge was becoming almost as addictive as the rest of it.

He walked away from his worktable to his tool bench, where he had left his beer. He took a long, refreshing drink as he checked his phone for messages. He smiled as he listened, then hit the Return Call button and listened to the phone ring on the other end.

Why not? What the heck?

He took another sip of his beer and walked back to the table to admire his work. His work stared back at him.

On the other end of his call a voice answered. “Kovac.”

“Hey, Detective Sam!” he said. “Frank Fitzgerald, returning your call. Hey, I’m sorry to hear about what’s going on. You know, I spoke to your colleague the other day. Detective Knutson. Heck of a nice guy.”

“Yeah,” Kovac said. “We’ve got a situation going on here. We’re reaching out to everyone connected to some of these older cases.”

“Yeah, so he said. A serial killer, you think.”

“Looks that way. Hey, you don’t happen to be in the area, do you, Mr. Fitzgerald? We’d like to have you come in and look at some pictures of possible suspects.”

“You know,” Fitz said. “As it happens, I am in the area. I’ve got a big indoor flea market downtown next weekend. I came up from Des Moines early to make some contacts. Let’s set something up for tomorrow. Late morning?”

“How’s ten?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. You have a nice evening. And please say hello to Sergeant Liska for me.”

He ended the call, a big smile cutting through his beard.

He looked down at Dana Nolan. Her eyes were barely open, but he thought she was still conscious.

“Appreciate this now, Dana, while you still can,” he said. “You have the privilege of being the victim of a genius.”

•   •   •

“WHO WAS THAT?” Tinks asked.

“My killer called,” Kovac said. “He sends his regards.”

“He can’t be the guy,” Tinks said. “If he’s the guy, he’s got a set of balls on him that would put an elephant to shame.”

“If he’s upping his ante, this is a good way to do it,” Kovac said. “Admit to being in the area. Come in and talk to the poor dumb cops working the case. Look at the surveillance video and say Hell, yes, that’s me buying doughnuts at the Holiday station.”

“Then he’s either a genius or delusional. Let’s hope he just got too big for his britches.”

“Pride goeth before the fall,” Kovac said. “Let’s hope it goeth straight into custody.”

He got off his stool and went to the coffeemaker.

“Do you want more?” he asked, refilling his mug.

Nikki glanced over at him. “If I drink one more cup of coffee I’m going to be shaking like I’m riding a jackhammer,” she said. “Not that that idea doesn’t have great appeal to a single woman.”

He groaned. “Please don’t tell me about your sex life again.”

“Lucky you, I don’t have one,” she said. “Even my battery-operated devices have broken up with me. The most exciting thing I think about these days when I see my bed is getting more than three hours’ sleep.”

“You and me both.”

45

Brittany debated ringing the bell a second time. The duffel bag hung heavy on her shoulder. She could just leave it by the door. Maybe Mrs. Gray wanted to be left alone.

Even as she tried to talk herself out of it, her finger pressed the button.

Gray’s mom opened the door and peered out at her with red, glassy eyes in a pale, drawn face. She looked like a ghost of the woman Brittany remembered.

Brittany swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hi, Mrs. Gray. I’m Brittany Lawler. Gray—your daughter’s friend. Remember me?”

Gray’s mom stared at her for a moment without saying anything. Brittany wondered if maybe she was on drugs, sedatives for her nerves. Probably, and who could blame her?

“Brittany,” she said at last. A fragile smile trembled on her mouth. “Of course I remember.”

“I brought Gray’s bag over,” Brittany said, lifting the duffel on her shoulder. “She left it at my house.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just some clothes and makeup and stuff,” she said nervously. “And her computer.”

“Her computer? Oh, well, thank you. Thank you for bringing that over.”

“But I was wondering,” Brittany said. “Would it be okay—if I—um . . . I wanted to talk to you about Gray. Would that be all right? Is this a good time?”

Julia looked surprised. “Of course,” she said. “Yes, that’s fine. Come in. Please.”