„A bullet for his head and a bullet for his heart.“ Kristen stared at Julia. She knew the woman well enough to know there was more. „What else?“

Julia stared back, her eyes worried now. „King’s knees were popped, Kristen.“ She pulled another photo from her stack and handed it to Jack, who sat to her left.

„We saw the knee damage when we dug him up,“ Jack mused, „but we didn’t know what caused it.“

„A bullet caused it,“ Julia said. „My information is from X-rays, because I haven’t had a chance to probe inside. The films show both kneecaps are shattered. Pulverized, actually. The shot was a direct hit. Whatever weapon your guy used had one hell of a kick.“

„He immobilized King so he couldn’t get away,“ Kristen murmured. Somehow, the thought of it bothered her more than the actual killing itself.

Julia brought out one more set of photos. „That’s what I thought. One more piece of data for your board, Marc. Your gang boys were brought down with a single bullet to the forehead. No powder residue. No blows to the head like the others. No defensive wounds of any kind.“ She looked up and caught Kristen’s eye. „Again, you’ll want to get an opinion from ballistics, but from the angle of entry and exit wounds on each boy, I’d say your killer shot from above. Coupled with the absence of powder residue, well above.“

Mia leaned across the table to look at the photos, her face intense. „How far above?“

Julia shrugged. „Twenty, thirty feet maybe.“

„He could have cleaned the residue away,“ Mia said, but her tone said she didn’t believe her own words.

Kristen let out a breath. Now Julia’s worried frown made sense. „He didn’t knock them out first, so they were conscious when he shot them. I can’t imagine even a junior Blade going down without a fight.“ She looked up to find Reagan’s blue eyes fixed on her face and this time found it oddly comforting. „They never saw him,“ she said quietly. „He waited for them on a rooftop.“

Reagan nodded soberly, then said the words they were all thinking. „We have a sniper on our hands.“

Mia leaned back in her chair. „Who disables his victim with premeditation, then beats him senseless.“

Kristen shivered, suddenly ice-cold despite the heat radiating from Reagan’s body beside her. „And he’s watching me,“ she murmured.

Spinnelli capped his marker. „Shit.“

Thursday, February 19,

7:45 p.m.

The whiteboard was covered with Spinnelli’s notes and Kristen had the feeling they’d only touched the tip of the iceberg on their humble servant.

„So we know he killed his victims in one place, moved them somewhere indoors where he took the Polaroids and cleaned them up, then moved them to yet another place where he buried them.“ Kristen stared at the facts on the whiteboard. She’d been shaken, knowing the man watching her had a sniper’s rifle and scope, but she’d pulled herself together with the help of a slice of lemon meringue pie Reagan’s mother had left behind. Mrs. Reagan was a good cook, better than Owen, she was forced to admit.

„You forgot the postmortem pelvic-ectomies,“ Mia said, tongue-in-cheek.

Kristen sighed. „No, we can’t forget about that.“

Reagan sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. „The murderers he dealt with cleanly and efficiently. The sex offenders got something extra.“

„Maybe he’s a victim, too,“ Jack said.

„Or someone in his family was,“ Spinnelli countered.

„Or both,“ Kristen said quietly. She looked up and her eyes skirted away from Reagan’s. „The family members exhibit a different kind of victimology, it’s true.“

Abe frowned. There was something in her tone, in the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. „Stan Dorsey is proof positive of that,“ he said, wondering if she was still shaken by Dorsey’s display. He knew he was, and he’d faced Dorsey’s kind before. The sight of those crazed eyes and all those guns… He didn’t imagine it was a sight Kristen Mayhew saw every day.

Her smile was distant, brittle. „He certainly is.“ She turned to Mia, effectively shutting him out. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and turn her back, but of course he didn’t „What did Miles Westphalen say this morning?“ she asked.

Mia shot him a look over Kristen’s head before answering. „He thought our guy had a life-altering event recently which caused him to snap. That if he’d been a victim or had a family member that was a victim, the actual crime happened some time ago. But that something happened recently to trigger all this.“ Mia looked over her shoulder at Spinnelli, then back at Kristen. „Miles wanted to know if you had protection.“

Kristen kept her composure. „He thinks I need it?“

„Yes,“ Mia said unflinchingly.

Her fingers drummed against the table once before she flattened her hand. Abe would have missed the slight tremble in her fingers had he not been looking. No wonder she was so good in the courtroom. Kristen Mayhew had control down to a science. „He hasn’t threatened me specifically.“

„If it were me, I’d request it, Kris,“ Julia said earnestly. „The idea of a peeping Tom with a scope scares me.“

Her jaw hardened. „I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For right now I don’t intend to be a prisoner in my own home or be forced out of it. What else did Westphalen say?“

Mia apparently knew when to concede. „He was interested in the grave markers.“

„So let’s talk about them,“ Spinnelli said. „Jack, anything on the stones?“

Julia stood up. „I don’t have anything more to give you until I start the autopsies tomorrow, and I have a babysitter on the clock at home. Do you need me anymore?“

Spinnelli shook his head. „Go on home, Julia. You want some of this pie?“

Julia shook her head. „No, thanks. I’ll be starting the autopsies at nine a.m. if anyone wants to join me.“ She gathered her purse and notepad. „Night, everyone.“

„Jack?“ Spinnelli tapped the table and Jack’s head whipped around.

„Hmm?“ Jack’s face heated. „Sorry. What did you say?“ With humor and pity, Abe noted how Jack’s gaze had followed Julia’s every movement as she left the room. Jack was smitten, and Julia either didn’t know or didn’t care. Poor guy.

Spinnelli blinked at him. „The grave markers? What did you find?“

Jack cleared his throat. „The markers are made from marble. The inscriptions are sandblasted versus hand-carved, which makes sense. He would have needed a week to hand-carve just one.“

„Sandblasting?“ Kristen asked. „How does it work?“ Jack settled back in his chair. „Generally the craftsman makes a template from rubber or a vellum film, like a photographic negative – the parts he wants inscribed are cut out. He puts the template on top of whatever he’s blasting, then puts it through a sandblaster. Fine sand is blasted at the rock, eating away everything but the rubber. When he’s done, he peels off the template and the inscription is complete. But it’s harder to get all the template material off the flat surfaces when the letters are blasted deep into the rock, like these markers.“

Mia looked impressed. „You’ve done this?“ Jack’s smile was wry. „I gave up handcrafts after I almost cut off my thumb in high school shop class. No, I did an Internet search on sandblasting. There are a few major memorial manufacturers in the area, but I don’t think this guy went outside. I’d bet he did these himself. From what I read, with the right equipment it wouldn’t be that hard to do.“

„Where would he get the equipment?“ Spinnelli asked.

„Again, there are only a few major manufacturers of equipment powerful enough to do such a big job. There were traces of the template material on King’s marker, and the lab says it’s not rubber. It’s vellum. That narrows it down a bit.“

„I’ll follow up on this one,“ Mia said. „Jack, I’ll get the names of those companies from you tomorrow, then I’ll get a list of Chicago customers.“