“I want you to consider something that’s nagged me for the last two days, Jennifer. No one hears, understand? This is between us. Agreed?”

“Go on.”

“I would like you to consider the possibility that Kevin and Slater are really the same person.” She dropped the bomb and let Jennifer respond.

“I . . . I don’t think that’s possible.” Jennifer chuckled nervously. “I mean that would be . . . the evidence doesn’t support that! How could he pull off such a crazy stunt?”

“He’s not pulling anything off. Please, understand me, I’m not suggesting it’s true, and God knows even considering the idea terrifies me, but there are elements to this case that just don’t sit right. I think the possibility is at least worth some thought.”

“He would have to be calling himself. You’re suggesting he was in Sacramento, blowing up victims three months ago?”

“If he is the Riddle Killer. I’m working on that.”

“And if he is Slater, who’s the boy? We found blood in the warehouse, consistent with this story. There was a boy.”

“Unless the boy was really Kevin. Or there was no boy.”

“You were there—”

“I never actually saw the boy, Jennifer.”

“Your father forced the family to leave! What do you mean you never sawthe boy?”

“I mean I told my father the boy was there—there was plenty of evidence at my window and I believed Kevin for the rest. Call it a white lie. Regardless, I actually never saw the boy. We forced the family of a bully to move, but thinking back on it, the boy ran off before my dad could apprehend him. He accused a local bully based on my testimony, and I based my testimony on Kevin’s. But there was no definitive evidence that it was someone otherthan Kevin. I didn’t even know Kevin had locked the boy in the warehouse until yesterday.”

“The physical evidence for Kevin being Slater doesn’t add up. He blew up his own car?”

“I’m not saying that he isSlater. I’m only positing a possibility. Considering his childhood, Multiple Personality Disorder may not be out of the question—the Kevin we know wouldn’t necessarily even know that he’s Slater. Everything that we have so far could fit the scenario; that’s all I’m saying. There are no inconsistencies. Think about it.”

“Neither is there any evidence to support it. Highly unlikely. MPD results only in very limited cases of severe childhood abuse. Almost always physical abuse. Balinda might be a witch, but she doesn’t fit the profile for physical abuse. You said so yourself.”

“You’re right, there wasn’t physical abuse. But there are exceptions.”

“Not any that fit this scenario. At least not that I know of, and it is my field of study.”

Probably right. Highly unlikely, but in cases like this every possibility had to be considered.Something was not what it seemed, and as disturbing as her suggestion was, Sam couldn’t just discard it. If Kevin was Slater, exposing the fact would be the greatest favor she could do for her childhood friend.

On the other hand, hearing herself say it out loud, the notion sounded absurd. A simple voice or handwriting analysis would settle the matter.

“Have the lab run a handwriting comparison from the jug.”

“We already have. Standard procedure. It was negative.”

“It’s technically possible for multiple personalities to have varying motor characteristics.”

“In this case, I don’t think so.”

“Then start comparing it with everyone else connected to the case. Someone on the inside’s working this, Jennifer. Someone’s not who we think they are.”

“Then get me your file.”

“It’s on the way.”

“And if Kevin contacts you, call me. Immediately.” To say that the agent sounded agitated would be like saying the sky was big.

“You have my word.”

“As much as your plan to isolate Kevin may have made sense, having Slater’s voice on tape could be invaluable. Particularly in light of your suggestion. Turn it on and leave it on.”

Sam picked up Slater’s silver phone and switched it on. “Done.”

“The recording device is still active?”

“Yes.”

A knock sounded on the door. Sam started.

“What is it?” Jennifer asked.

“Someone’s at the door.” She walked for the door.

“Who?”

She turned the deadbolt and pulled it open. Kevin stood in the hallway, blinking and haggard.

“Kevin,” Sam said. “It’s Kevin.”

Jennifer lowered the phone and sat hard. The notion that Kevin and the Riddle Killer might be the same man wasn’t only absurd; it was . . . wrong. Sick. Deeply disturbing.

Galager walked by her desk, headed for the lab. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Was it possible?

Her mind spun back to the scene of Roy’s death. Was it possible that Kevin— No! It made no sense.

And why is this such an infuriating prospect, Jennifer? You can’t imagine Kevin killing Roy because you like Kevin. He reminds you of Roy, for heaven’s sake.

Jennifer rehearsed the facts quickly. If Kevin was Slater, then he would have to be calling himself, possible but unlikely. He would also have to have an alter ego of which he was clueless. She had interviewed enough witnesses over the years to recognize sincerity, and Kevin had it in spades. He would have had to plant the bombs long ago, possible, but in both cases he would have had to detonate them without his own knowing.

No. No, this was too much. She began to relax. The man she had comforted in the park yesterday was no killer. The boy, whose blood they’d found in the cellar, on the other hand, could be.

Point was, she had panicked at the thought that Kevin might be the killer, hadn’t she? She should have been ecstatic at the mere prospect of uncovering the killer’s true identity. Which said that she cared far too much for Kevin, an absurdity in itself given the fact that she hardly knew him!

On the other hand, she was bound to him in a way few people ever are. They shared the death of her brother in common—she as the victim’s survivor, he as the next victim.

Jennifer sighed and stood. She was too emotionally wrapped up in this whole thing. The bureau chief was right.

“Galager!”

The man paused at the door across the room. She motioned him back.

“What’s up?”

“We found Kevin.”

Galager pulled up. “Where?”

“Palos Verdes. He’s okay.”

“Should I get Milton?”

He was the last person she wanted to bring in. But she had her marching orders, didn’t she? At least she didn’t have to deal with him directly. She scribbled the information on a notepad, ripped the page off, and handed it to Galager.

“Fill him in. Tell him I’m tied up.”

It was the truth. She was tied up, in knots that refused to loosen.

They sat on the bed in a stalemate. Kevin was hiding something; that much Sam had known since she’d first talked to him. Friday night. Now his lying was more blatant, but try as she may, she could not coax the truth out of him. His story that he’d been wandering through his old neighborhood, thinking, for the past eight hours was simply unbelievable. True, given his circumstances, almost any behavior was possible. But she knew Kevin too well; she could read those clear blue eyes, and they were shifting. Something else was bothering him.

“Okay, Kevin, but I still don’t think you’re telling me everything. I have a plane to catch in a couple hours. With any luck, Slater will take the day to revel in his little victory yesterday. God knows we need the time.”

“When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow morning.” She stood, walked to the window, and pulled back the curtain. “We’re closing in, Kevin. We’re right on this guy’s tail; I can feel it in my bones.”

“I wish you weren’t going.”