„Rachel can’t want to be a lawyer. She’s just a little girl.“ His parents’ late-life surprise. Actually, more of a shock. There were twenty-two years between himself and his youngest sister, so she was more like a daughter to them all.

„Rachel’s thirteen,“ his mother pointed out sharply.

„And you’d do well to remember it on her birthday come May. No silly stuffed animals this year, she’s grown out of it.“

Abe huffed in frustration. Rachel couldn’t be thirteen. It just wasn’t possible. Thirteen meant makeup and boys and… boys. He shuddered at the very thought. He and his little sister needed to have a talk. „Then what does she want for her birthday?“

„Cash.“ She turned back to Kristen. „She’s talking about being a lawyer like you.“

Kristen’s eyes widened. „Like me?“

„Sure. She sees you on the TV. Would you be willing to have a chat with her?“

Kristen’s mouth curved in amusement and Abe’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. It was impish and fun and not like any expression that had crossed her face so far. „You want me to talk her out of it, Mrs. Reagan?“

„I don’t know. Should I?“

Kristen shrugged. „Some days yes, some days no. But I’d be glad to talk with her. Your son has my office number.“

Your son. It rang of the same formality she’d used in addressing him all day, since last night. It was starting to annoy him. He had a first name, dammit. She called Mia and Jack and Marc by their first names. It was a damn courtesy. „We need to be going, Mom. They’re waiting for us to start the meeting. Be careful driving home.“

His mother blinked at his brusque tone. „I will. Don’t forget to return my dishes.“ With a wave she was gone.

Kristen looked up at him warily. „What dishes?“

„Dinner plans have changed. Mom brought a little snack.“

Kristen started up the stairs, unbuttoning her coat. „How little of a snack?“

„How does fried chicken strike you as a breakfast meal?“

She shrugged. „Like normal.“

Thursday, February 19,

7:15 p.m.

Spinnelli was just scraping the last morsel from his plate when they came in. „I was about to send a search party.“

„Not me.“ Mia licked her fork. „If you never came back, there’d be more for me.“

„Did you leave any for us?“ Abe asked, peering into a casserole dish.

Mia grinned. „Only the vegetables.“

Abe set Kristen’s paper bag on the table and retrieved two of the Styrofoam containers. „Well then, let’s get started. Julia, what can you tell us about the bodies?“

Julia drew out a notepad. „I received all five bodies by two o’clock this afternoon.“

Handing Kristen one of the containers, Abe took the seat next to her and once again she felt the heat of his body, reminding her of how he’d stood behind her at the Dorsey house. Of how safe she’d felt. What she felt now was crowded. He took up all his space at the table and some of hers, but to scoot her chair a few inches out of his way seemed rude so she stayed where she was and focused on the subject at hand. There were five new dead bodies in Julia’s morgue. And the man who put them there was still walking around, likely planning number six. „Cause of death, GSW to the head?“ she asked.

Julia shook her head. „If only life were that simple. This is going to get complicated so everybody get your score-cards ready. Five bodies. All had gunshot wounds to the head, but the head shots only killed your three gang boys.

Head shots on Ramey and King were inflicted postmortem and by a different gun.“

She had the attention of everyone in the room.

„Ramey was strangled. X-ray shows his larynx was crushed. I was able to get a good picture of the ligature marks. Your killer pulled hard. The grooves are deep.“ She handed a photo to Jack, who studied it before passing it down the line. „I may even be able to make a plaster cast of the chain links. I’ll let you know. Ramey also had a fracture at the base of his skull. It looks like your killer hit him with a blunt object before he strangled him.“

„Any idea of what kind of blunt object?“ Mia asked.

„Not right now. I’ll let you know if I do. Ramey has no defensive wounds, nothing under his fingernails. I found traces of gunpowder residue around the hole in his head. He has abrasions on his wrists and ankles.“

„So he knocked Ramey out, tied him up, strangled him, popped a bullet in his head, then moved him and buried him.“ Spinnelli noted the details on the whiteboard with a frown. „The head shot is overkill.“ He rolled his eyes at the snickers that rippled through the room. „You know what I mean.“

„He gets his revenge, but it isn’t enough,“ Reagan said thoughtfully. „Then he gets him to the burial site and has one more go at him. Being dead isn’t enough, so he puts a shotgun shell through his pelvis.“

„We sifted the dirt at the site,“ Jack said. „Found shotgun pellets. Same with King.“

„He couldn’t have silenced that,“ Mia mused. „Somebody heard something.“

Spinnelli nodded. „We’ll canvass the area tomorrow.“ He crossed to the board, drew three columns, labeling them Ramey, Blade, and King. „When was Ramey last seen?“

Mia flipped open her notepad. „His mother says she last saw him on January 3. His girlfriend confirms it. She was sure because Ramey stood her up for a date that night“

Kristen drew a breath as Spinnelli noted the date in Ramey’s column, his squeaking marker grating on her nerves. Blue stripes. She’d decided on the blue stripes that night, but hadn’t taken the samples down until two nights later, when insomnia prompted her to start papering that wall. „He would have put the Ramey crate in my trunk the next night or the night after at the latest.“ She glanced at Spinnelli whose mustache bent down in concern. „That’s when the samples came down. You can try asking around my neighborhood to see if anyone saw anything, but everybody is usually in bed by eleven.“

„What samples?“ Julia asked sharply.

Spinnelli tilted his head in Kristen’s direction, indicating she had the floor. She blew out a breath. „The killer left letters in my trunk.“

„I heard that part. What samples?“ Julia repeated.

„In the letter he refers to some wallpaper samples I had on my living room wall.“

Julia leaned back in her chair with a frown. „He’s been watching you?“

„Looks that way.“ Kristen felt a shiver of new worry slide down her spine. „Don’t stare at me like that, Julia.“

Shooting her an intense look, Julia brought out new photos and Ross King’s bruised face stared up from the glossy film. „Ross King had blunt force trauma to the head and shoulder area.“ She held up a photo and pointed with her pen. „Fractures behind the right ear and the left temple. Based on the shape of the bruising, I’m thinking it was a bat.“

„He was their Softball coach,“ Kristen said softly. „More poetic justice.“

Reagan pulled one of the pictures toward him. „Wood slivers?“

„No, not a trace. I’m thinking it was an aluminum bat.“

„He beat him to death?“ Mia asked.

Julia shook her head. „I don’t know. I won’t know until I’ve had a chance to open him up, but King may have died from a bullet to his chest.“ She held up another photo, an enlarged close-up of the stitches running up King’s torso and pointed to a half-moon-shaped area of missing skin.

„Could be a bullet hole,“ Reagan agreed.

„I’m guessing he went after the bullet.“ Julia handed him the photo. „His X-rays show no bullet, but half his left lung is gone. Also, there’s no exit wound. As to why your killer wanted the bullet back, that’s your bailiwick, not mine.“

„And the material he used to stitch him up?“ Spinnelli asked, coming to look over Reagan’s shoulder.

„Linen twine.“ Julia shrugged. „Available at any hardware store.“