"How did he kill her?"

"Knife, same as the others. But either he killed her someplace else or she hadn't pissed him off as badly as Ivy had. Virtually no blood at the scene. Only one wound, as far as I could tell. Left breast."

Ben half turned toward the Jeep, where the dome light showed Cassie's huddled posture and pale face. She hadn't said much at all since they had left her place. He returned his gaze to the sheriff. "Cassie said Jill was tied with her back to something with a sharp edge."

"Yeah, she's sitting up against a corner of her desk. He probably had her wrists tied behind her at some point but, like the others, he left her untied and with her hands in her lap."

"The coin?"

"A quarter." The sheriff paused. "Mind if I ask a few questions now?"

Ben knew whom those questions would be directed to, and it wasn't himself. But before he could reply, Cassie got out of the Jeep and came around it to join them.

Quietly she said, "Ask away, Sheriff."

"Where were you today?"

"At home. Alone, until Ben arrived a little while ago."

"You're saying you have no alibi." The sheriff's voice was mechanical.

"For Christ's sake, Matt," Ben snapped, "surely you don't believe Cassie killed three women!"

The sheriff looked at him briefly, then returned his gaze to Cassie. "And where is your car, Miss Neill?"

Matter-of-factly she said, "So you're having me watched. I thought you might be. My car is here in town, Sheriff, as you obviously know. I had it towed in yesterday morning when I discovered it wouldn't start. It's at that garage one block back from Main Street."

"And you refused a loaner."

"I didn't need one. There was nowhere I wanted or needed to go in the few days the car would be here."

As alibis went, it wasn't bad.

Ben said, "She couldn't have walked that far, Matt, not if – not if Jill was killed in the last few hours."

"Yeah, I know. Besides – " Matt glanced at Ben as he broke off, and it was Cassie who finished the sentence.

"It's not likely I'd have the physical strength to drive a butcher knife in someone's chest to the hilt," she said, still matter-of-fact.

"No," the sheriff said. "It isn't. Possible, but when I add that fact to others, it's very unlikely that you're our killer."

Ben felt sickened. "The knife. How do you know – "

"It's still in her, Ben. It looks like the missing knife from Ivy's kitchen."

"Christ."

The sheriff kept his gaze on Cassie. "So you saw Jill being killed, but Ivy Jameson's murder was a complete surprise to you."

"I never knew Miss Jameson, though I had heard of her. I met Jill once, briefly. It was enough for a connection, obviously, because I tapped into her mind, not his."

"Why not his? He killed twice today, leaving a bloody mess behind at Ivy's. Why weren't you aware he was doing that?"

Cassie shook her head. "I don't know."

Whatever the sheriff might have said to that was postponed as a squad car and a black paneled van arrived, blue lights flashing.

"Take her home, Ben, while I get my people working on the crime scene. Tomorrow is soon enough to find out if she can tell us anything helpful."

"She" went back around the Jeep and got in without another word.

Ben wanted to censure his friend for his chilly attitude toward Cassie but knew it wouldn't help matters. So all he said was "I'll be back when I've taken Cassie home."

"Don't rush. I said you didn't need to see this one, Ben, and I meant it."

"It's my job to view crime scenes, Matt."

"Not when you were personally involved with the victim. Bad idea."

"We were not personally involved, not anymore. It was months ago."

"Still."

"I can handle it," Ben said flatly.

"Will you, for once in our lives, take my advice and my professional opinion and stay the hell away from this crime scene?"

"And when I prosecute the bastard in court? You don't think I'll need details from this crime scene?"

"I think you can get what you need from photographs and reports. Ben, I am asking you, as sheriff and as your friend, to let us handle this." Without waiting for an answer, Matt turned away and went to meet his team.

Ben watched them go into the store, then got into the Jeep and started the engine.

"He's right," Cassie said.

"I can handle it," Ben repeated.

"Probably. But why should you have to? Why put yourself through that if there's a choice?"

"Maybe there isn't a choice. It's my job, Cassie."

She didn't respond until the lights of town faded into the night behind them. "Ask yourself if Jill would have wanted you to see her like that. And if you have any doubts, the answer is no."

She was right, and Ben knew it. "All right." He was silent for a few more miles, then said, "I'm sorry about the way Matt treats you. He's just pigheaded. And all this is a lot more than he bargained for."

"I know."

"Don't let him get to you."

"He isn't. I've run into the same kind of attitude before, believe me. It's perfectly natural for him to mistrust me."

"He just can't believe we have a monster here."

"It isn't an easy thing to believe."

Ben realized his shock was wearing off just enough to let horror creep in. "My God. Three women murdered in less than a week. We have no idea who killed them or why. And we have no idea how many more he'll kill before we catch him. You were right. A serial killer."

"I'm afraid so."

"Becky… Ivy… Jill. Aside from being female and white, they had virtually nothing in common."

"Did they go to the same church?"

Ben thought about it. "No. Becky and Jill did, the same Baptist church I belong to, but Ivy was a Methodist. Why?"

"I don't know. Something about the way he had those coins laid out, as though they were on an altar or something, made me think of church." Cassie shook her head. "At this point I'm just guessing."

"Keep going, you might hit on something."

"Something helpful, you mean? Probably not without more information. The mind of a serial killer is so… unique, so subjective, it's almost impossible to generalize beyond a few basic suppositions. And we already know those. White male, since he's killing white females. Young, possibly abused background. But apart from those facts, this man's motivations are bound to be completely unique to him and his experiences. Guessing about them is not going to be productive, not until we know a lot more than we do now."

"There must be a pattern."

"There is – to him. But whether we'll even recognize his reasoning is doubtful. There's no logic in madness."

"So to catch a madman, we have to think like a madman?"

"I wouldn't advise it," Cassie said very quietly. "That abyss is darker and colder than you can even imagine."

They reached Cassie's house a few minutes later without further discussing the situation. With no reason to hurry back to town, and all too aware of how sleepless the night ahead was likely to be for him, Ben had no intention of just dropping her off and leaving. But he was acutely aware of Cassie's weariness – of spirit as well as body – and doubted she would welcome even casual company.

He was wrong.

"I could use some coffee. How about you?" she asked, unlocking the door.

"I'd love some, thanks."

Cassie disarmed the security system with the tentative touch of someone to whom the steps were still unfamiliar, then led the way to her bright and cheerful kitchen.

Ben was too restless to sit while she made the coffee but wasn't aware he was prowling the room until she spoke again.

"It wasn't your fault."

He checked the back door, making sure it was locked and the new dead bolt thrown. "What wasn't?"

"Jill's death."