What did take her by surprise was the thought that popped into her head: this was the first time she’d seen Coop in well over a year. He still looked the same – hard and fit – but his blond hair was now cut shorter around the ears and neck to conform to federal regulations. As she drew closer, it amazed her how little he seemed to have aged since she’d met him nearly fifteen years ago. Not only had Coop won the genetic lottery (he was often mistaken for the blond-haired Tom Brady, the New England Patriots quarterback), but he had also been blessed with what she called the Dorian Gray gene – he was the kind of man who, like George Clooney, only got better looking with each passing year.

Coop took her suitcase as the helicopter climbed into the air. ‘Didn’t think you were going to make it,’ he yelled over the roar of its engine.

‘Didn’t think I was going to either. That storm hitting Ohio screwed up flights all over the country. I got out of Florida just in time.’ She pushed the aviator sunglasses back up her nose and brushed the hair away from her face as she followed him to the back of the Jeep. ‘Why’d you book me a copter?’

‘Quicker than driving to Denver to pick you up.’ He opened the hatchback and placed her suitcase inside, then her forensics kit beside it.

Coop shut the door. The bright afternoon sunlight highlighted the intensely deep colour of his heterochromatic eyes: one was green, the other blue.

‘You’re looking a little green around the gills,’ he said. ‘Bumpy ride?’

‘There were definitely a few moments when I was sure I was going to toss my airport breakfast burrito. Try not to hit any potholes along the way.’

He flashed his winning smile. ‘It’s great to see you.’

‘You too. It’s been way too long.’

Coop embraced her. She kissed his grainy cheek and hugged him back, surprised at how fiercely she still missed him. She pulled away before it went any further.

‘How far to Red Hill?’ Darby asked after he’d climbed behind the wheel.

‘About an hour.’ He slipped on a pair of Oakley sunglasses, put the car in gear and started making his way out of the station’s back lot. ‘We arrived yesterday, around noontime. Been to Colorado before?’

Darby shook her head. ‘First time.’

‘Air here’s real thin, and it’s even thinner in Red Hill. Town has the highest altitude in the state: 9,700 feet above sea level. It’ll take a few days for our lungs to adjust, so we’ve been told to drink plenty of water or we’ll suffer from altitude sickness.’

‘Noted. Speaking of Red Hill, I couldn’t find much on the internet, just that it was an old mining town.’

Coop pulled on to the road. ‘The place is like … You see The Shining? The movie, not the TV mini-series thing.’

‘I saw the movie when I was thirteen and didn’t sleep for a week. Why?’

‘You remember the scene that opened the movie? That aerial shot of Jack Nicholson’s shitty VW chugging its way across a road that snakes through an immense forest, tall pines stretching for miles in every direction? That’s what Red Hill reminds me of. Nothing there except woods and snow – lots of snow.’

‘And a psychopath who’s killed four families in a year.’

‘And that.’ Coop rolled his head to her, smiled. ‘You’re looking good. Nice and tan.’

‘Florida sun will do that, even to a pale Irish girl like me. And look at you, dressed in your big boy clothes.’ She chuckled. ‘Never thought I’d see the day.’

‘We’ve come a long way together, haven’t we?’

‘We certainly have, Special Agent Cooper.’

He took the exit for the highway. It was half past twelve, and the January sun was hard and bright in a cloudless sky. Everywhere she looked she saw flat lands covered in snow.

‘You think you’re going to stay there? In Sarasota?’

Darby shrugged.

‘Don’t care for all that sand and sunshine?’

‘I don’t like to be tied down anywhere,’ Darby said, and then changed the subject. ‘I read over the case files you sent. Not much there. Same pattern every time. Guy binds the family with plastic zip ties to the dining-room or kitchen chairs set up in one of the bedrooms. Covers their mouths with duct tape. Strangles the women and suffocates the men with a plastic garbage bag.’

‘He uses a glass-cutter on a downstairs window or on a sliding glass door to let himself in.’

‘What about evidence?’

‘Smooth glove prints. No DNA or fibre evidence.’

‘I’d like to read the evidence and lab reports.’

‘Copies are being made as we speak.’

‘Who handled the evidence?’

‘State lab in Denver. Our lab says they’re pretty good.’

‘And, what, you disagree?’

‘Not a question of agreeing or disagreeing. Lab is only as good as its equipment and its people, you know that. Since I haven’t seen these techs in action, who knows what they might’ve missed?

‘The evidence from the previous crime scenes – the duct tape, garbage bags and zip ties – was sent out FedEx to our lab yesterday. Toolmarks section asked to examine one of the windowpanes he cut through. That was sent out this morning.’

‘One thing jumped out at me,’ Darby said.

‘The thing with the beds.’

Darby nodded. ‘Each attack happened at night, and the vics were found dressed in their bedclothes. When the police arrived, all the beds were made.’

‘Could be we’re dealing with a new strain of pervert, some guy with severe OCD issues who feels compelled to make the bed, maybe even does a little light housekeeping before he leaves.’

Darby laughed. ‘Still, the whole making-the-bed-before-he-leaves thing? I don’t know what the hell to make of that.’

‘Neither does Hoder.’

Darby straightened up in her seat.

2

Darby turned to him and said, ‘Hoder as in Terry Hoder, the head of Investigative Support?’

‘Do I detect a note of excitement in your voice?’ Coop asked.

‘He’s very well respected.’

‘And a tabloid staple. What’s the name they gave him again? “Hoder the Hunter”?’

‘They just call him “The Monster Hunter” now.’

‘How incredibly original,’ Coop said drily. ‘If you’re nice to me, I’ll get you his autograph for your scrapbook.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me Hoder was going to be here?’

‘You’ve met him?’

‘A handful of times, years ago. I took some of his courses at Quantico as part of my doctorate.’

‘What did you think of him?’

‘For a fed, he didn’t strike me as a total asshole.’

‘He isn’t. A total asshole, I mean.’ Coop grinned. ‘Actually, he strikes me as a straight shooter, no BS.’

‘If Hoder’s working on this, why am I here?’

‘Because he specifically asked for you. He was impressed with the work you and I did in Boston, so he thought it would be a good idea to get the Wonder Twins back together.’

‘Worst superheroes ever.’

‘I know, right? Guy can transform into anything he wants, and each and every time he chooses to turn into water or an ice cube. Then again, what else can you expect from a guy who wears purple tights?’

Darby laughed.

Coop said, ‘In the back you’ll find an envelope holding your ID and some forms you’ll need to sign – your consulting fee, per diem, all that fun stuff. You also have to sign a non-disclosure agreement. It’s standard. FBI don’t want you spilling any of our top-secret detective methods should you give an interview or be inclined to write a book.’

‘Hoder’s got everyone in ISU at his disposal. Why hire me as an outside contractor?’

‘Because you’re smoking hot?’

‘Besides that.’

‘Well, it might have something to do with the fact that you cracked both of the two serial cases you worked on – one of which, I may add, eluded my new employer for three decades.’

‘Both those cases didn’t exactly put your new employer in the best light.’

‘Sure as hell didn’t. And yet the Bureau hired me, and now they want to hire you. Hoder is a superstitious guy; he’s hoping you can work your particular voodoo in Red Hill. Course, it didn’t hurt when I told him you’re the smartest chick I know.’