“And she’s alone now?”

“Says she has a sister close by.”

Annie was relieved to hear the woman had family, but decided she would visit Eunice anyway.

Jake spoke up. “Hank, was there anything at the scene that might lead you to believe the killer was anyone other than Adam Thorburn?”

“I don’t have much back yet, but from what I saw, it all points to Thorburn. There were footprints in the blood, tracked into the school. Probably on his way to the computer. Size eleven shoes. Same as Thorburn’s.”

“And the rose in the victim’s mouth,” Jake said. “That sets a pattern.”

Hank nodded. “That’s the most telling fact. It’s like a signature. Serial killers often leave a message of some kind.” He shook his head and frowned. “I hope that’s not what we’re dealing with here.”

“It’s starting to fit the pattern,” Annie said.

“I hope you’re wrong.”

“So do I.” Annie leaned forward. “Callaway said Adam’s prints weren’t on the computer the email was sent from.”

“Probably wore gloves,” Jake put in.

Annie looked at Jake. “If he did, he probably would have had to take them with him when he ran. I’m not sure that would be on his mind at the time, and it’s doubtful he would’ve picked them up later.”

“He might’ve pulled his sleeve over his hand,” Hank said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“It strikes me as unusual both murders took place at a school,” Jake said. “And both were schools Adam attended.”

“And he would’ve known of Raymond Ronson,” Hank added. “Ronson has been the janitor there for the last thirty years.”

“But what’s the significance of the schools?”

“We know he had a hard time at school,” Hank said. “He was bullied and misunderstood. And he dropped out after two years of high school.”

“If he was bullied, why not go after the bullies?” Annie asked. “Why the guidance counselor and the janitor?”

“I don’t know,” Hank said, shaking his head. “After all these years, I still don’t understand a killer’s mind. I only know enough to expect the unexpected.”

“Wherever he is,” Jake said, “he came out of hiding long enough to kill and then hid again.”

“And that’s why I would love to be able to forecast his next move, but he’s unpredictable. We have officers watching both schools round the clock in case he shows again. And cops are on the lookout city wide.”

“Don’t forget he has a high IQ, so he’s intelligent,” Jake said. “He’ll have a good idea where you’re watching for him.”

“True, but serial killers are often impulsive and in need of instant gratification. That can make them careless.”

Annie’s cell phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. “It’s Teddy White,” she said, looking at Hank. “Do we have anything new I can tell him?”

Hank shrugged.

Jake shook his head.

Annie took a breath and answered the phone.

“Mrs. Lincoln,” the caller’s voice came from the phone. “It’s Teddy White. Have you found Adam Thorburn yet?”

Annie thought quickly. “We’ve been following a few leads,” she said. “Unfortunately, we haven’t tracked him down yet, but we’re giving it our full attention.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, then, “The police have nothing for me either.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if we have anything positive to report,” Annie said.

“Thank you. I’ll be waiting.”

Annie hung up and made a wry face. “I guess if he’s paying us to investigate, he deserves to know what we’re up to, but it’s hard to continually tell him we have nothing for him.”

Hank chuckled. “Better you than me.”

Jake spoke up. “Hank, I have plans to visit Dr. Zalora a little later. He said he could squeeze a few minutes off his lunch break. Anything I should know?”

“You won’t get much more than an expression of concern from him. He’s pretty tight-lipped. Doctor-patient confidentially and all that.”

“I’ll give him a shot anyway,” Jake said. “You never know. I’m willing to try anything even remotely helpful if it leads to finding Thorburn.”

“I’m anxious to see the forensics report,” Hank said. “But I assume if they found anything earth-shattering they would’ve let me know.” He opened a folder on his desk and glanced at a sheet of paper. “I was able to get a list of Adam’s classmates from the school. It might be a long shot, but I’m hoping one of them might have an idea where Adam’s hiding out.” He looked at his watch. “As soon as King gets here I want to get right on it. I don’t have time to sit around.”

“And we have things to do as well,” Annie said, looking at Jake.

Jake stood. “We’ll let you know if we find any interesting tidbits, Hank.”

Hank gave a quick wave. “See you later, guys.”

Annie stood and followed Jake from the precinct and out to the Firebird. They got in and she turned to Jake. “If Adam Thorburn keeps to his schedule, he’s going to kill someone again this evening.”

“Then we need to get on his tail,” Jake said, starting the vehicle. “If he knows we’re coming, he might be afraid to make a move.”

“I hope you’re right,” Annie said.

Chapter 23

Wednesday, 12:16 p.m.

ADAM THORBURN loved the swamp and the solitude it brought, but he missed the house he grew up in. He longed for his regular routine and peace of mind. But mostly, he missed his one true source of quiet and tranquility—the roses that grew along the back of the house—his roses, still surviving without his loving care.

He’d had a frightening experience the evening before. He had returned home, being careful no one saw him, and crept into the house through the basement window. There he’d raided the fridge, then grabbed a blanket and some clean clothes, leaving the ones he’d been wearing in the laundry basket. His mother would be sure to see them and realize he’d been there. Knowing he was alive would give her a small measure of peace.

On his way from the house, he had dug up one of his prize rosebushes to bring to his new home. He was careful to take enough soil to protect the roots, nestling it carefully in a plastic bag to protect it on the journey. He wanted to plant it near his hut, and even if the rest of them perished, he would faithfully nourish this one in the rich soil of the swamp.

Growing roses was perhaps the thing he enjoyed most in this world. They needed proper nutrition, and he nurtured them until they bloomed, careful to give them the perfect amount of water and nourishment. They responded to his painstaking attention by growing strong and healthy, and they never expected more from him than he was able to give. Those roses were what he missed most about home.

He remembered taking the rosebush back to the swamp and carefully planting it. He had taken his medication as usual, and then wandered out to explore the surrounding area.

Perhaps an hour or two later, he found himself outside the steel mill, away from his new home, with no idea how he’d gotten there. The last he knew, the sun had told him there were still a couple hours of daylight left, but suddenly it was dark.

He had blacked out and it frightened him. He could’ve been seen. Perhaps he was. There was no indication where he had been or what might’ve taken place during his lost period of time.

After that, he made his way carefully back to the swamp and huddled in the corner while a panic attack overtook his senses. When his anxiety subsided, he lay down for the night, waking often from horrifying nightmares with only the sounds of his beloved swamp to calm his tortured mind.

And now, as he huddled in the corner of his shack, he feared it could happen again, and this time he might get caught. Part of him wished to be finally found out and given the punishment he knew he truly deserved, but the fear of the further torment that would bring overcame his feeble desire to surrender.