“Do you really believe that?” the doctor asked.

“Absolutely,” Mia assured her.

“What has he told you about himself so far?”

“Well, there’s the control thing.” Mia looked at Beck. “We’ve already talked about that. How he likes to be in control of the entire situation, probably from the first moment he picks out his victim. If her flesh hadn’t decomposed, I’d expect to see signs of restraints, bruises or marks on her wrists, her ankles. He would have had her every move under control.”

“The first victim, the Preston woman, she did have those marks,” Beck recalled.

Mia nodded. “For however long he’d had her, she would have been restrained except for those times he either wanted sex or wanted to reward her.”

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll untie you for a while,” Beck said.

“Exactly. And he’s a neat freak, efficient. He kills his victims in a way that lets him maintain maximum control and watch every last excruciating breath she takes, while it also eliminates any messy cleanup on his part.” Mia crossed her arms over her chest. “No fuss, no muss, no nasty smell, as long as she’s all wrapped up. He could keep them for months, for years, even, and they’d remain nice and tidy. A bit mushy inside the plastic, but nothing he’d have to deal with.”

“Don’t you wonder how a soul gets that twisted?” the doctor asked.

“All the time,” Mia said simply.

“I mean, what makes someone want to do something like this?”

“The mayor’s pretty adamant that we ask the FBI for a profiler,” Beck spoke up. “That’s what she wanted to talk to me about when she called me out of the meeting this morning. Are you going to be insulted if we do that?”

“No. As I told you earlier, I’ve had a lot of training, but standing here, looking at what he did to this woman, I’m thinking you’re going to need to explore the why in order to find the who. And we’ll need someone with more experience than I have to help figure out why. I have pretty good instincts, but I’m not a psychologist. And frankly, I think that’s what you need here.”

“Do you want to make the call, or should I?” Beck asked.

“I’ll do it. I’ll call my boss. We have several really good people, but there’s someone I’d like to request.”

“The sooner, the better,” Beck told her.

“While I do that,” Mia said, “if you could get the audiotape you found with the body to Beck, and give us a sample of hair we can get DNA from, we’ll be pretty much finished here. Unless Beck has something else in mind?”

“No, just the tape and the samples.”

“I’ll get both right now,” The ME told him.

Mia called her office and spoke for several minutes. When she was finished, she told Beck, “My boss has agreed to check into the availability of the person I’ve requested. At the very least, we’ll have someone by tomorrow.”

“Great.” He held up the evidence bag with the tape in it. “Too bad we won’t have this ready by then, but the other tape will be available.”

Dr. Reilly approached with another small bag, which she handed to Mia.

“Hair. You’ll let me know if it matches?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” She turned back to the gurney that held the body. “We want to be able to send her home as soon as we can. I hate to see them stay here for too long. It just doesn’t seem right.”

“We’ll do our best,” Beck promised. “And I’ll let you know as soon as we have a positive ID.”

“Thanks.” She smiled wanly and turned her back, and prepared to return her charge to the cold drawer where she’d been kept.

“Here’s the copy of the file I promised you.” Beck handed the fat brown envelope to Mia. “There’s a copy of the tape that was found with Colleen Preston, copies of the photos of both victims, and copies of the statements. Everything you asked for.”

“Thanks. I’ll read it over tonight, bring myself up to speed.”

“Good.” He nodded.

“So.” She stood and hoisted the heavy file. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right.” Beck nodded again.

“Any particular time?”

“We start early, so whenever you get here, someone will be here.”

“Okay, then. See you tomorrow.” She started toward the door, then stopped and dug into her pocket. “Here,” she said, “here’s one of my cards. In case something comes up and you need to get in touch with me.”

“Good idea.” He took a card from the supply on his desk and held it out to her. “Here’s mine. In case you have a flash of inspiration while you’re reading the file.”

Mia slipped it into her wallet. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you in the morning then.”

She gave a small wave and left his office. Her heels clicked on the tiled hall and he heard her say something to Garland in passing. The heavy front door slammed shut and the sound echoed across the lobby. The municipal offices closed at five. It was now almost seven, and everyone had gone home. Everyone except the police.

Beck stretched to get the kinks out, and decided to take a walk into town to get some dinner. The rumbles from the direction of his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten all day. He could grab a quick bite at Lola’s up there on Charles Street and be back at his office by eight for the meeting with the town council. Everyone was stirred up-not that he blamed them-but making wild assumptions like some of the ones he’d heard that day would only serve to make the residents panic. No need for that. The situation was serious, he wasn’t going to downplay that. But they’d approach it in a professional manner and they’d catch this bastard, sooner or later.

It was the later that had Beck and everyone else in town nervous.

When he reached the corner of Charles and Kelly’s Point, he glanced across the street and saw movement in Vanessa’s shop. He crossed when the traffic moved on and pushed open the door to Bling, where he saw his sister waiting on a pair of customers. Vanessa looked up and smiled broadly when she saw him.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she told him.

“No hurry.”

He wandered around the shop, poking at this item and that, all the time wondering why women bothered with such things as beaded handbags with rows and rows of fringe hanging down in uneven strands, or necklaces made out of small pieces of colored stones that wound around and around the wearer’s neck.

“Make a good weapon,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Vanessa called to him from the cash register. “Are you talking to me?”

“No. Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”

When he heard the bell over the door jingle, he walked to the front counter.

“Boy, you’d think with all the buzz about St. Dennis on the news people would be staying away in flocks,” she told him as he approached. “But it looks as if this is going to be another busy weekend.”

“Well, it could be one of several things. Either they haven’t heard about the killer-”

“They have. No one’s talking about anything else.”

“Then maybe they figure if he’s going to strike again, it’s not going to happen to them, or else they’re a little excited about being here, tempting fate.”

He turned and looked out the window. “Maybe they’re thinking, it might even be someone right here in town. Maybe someone I passed on the street today. The guy who gave me change at the drugstore, or the guy who waited on me at lunch. Or maybe the guy who-”

“Stop it, Beck. That’s creepy.”

“This guy’s a creep, Ness. He could be anyone. If he’s here in St. Dennis, chances are he’s someone we know.”

“Don’t say things like that.” Vanessa visibly shivered. “I don’t know anyone who could do such terrible things.”

“Ah, but that’s the point,” Beck told her. “This guy doesn’t have the mark of the devil on his forehead. Shit, if he did, we’d have a lot easier time finding him. He looks just like anyone else. He fits in, and maybe has for a long time.”