„He could have bought the equipment some time ago,“ Abe said.

Mia nodded contemplatively. „Perhaps. But these guys have to buy materials somewhere. I’ll ask about that, too. I mean, I don’t think you’re going to get tombstone-quality marble at the local Wal-Mart.“

Spinnelli noted it on the whiteboard. „What else?“

„We’re still checking the clothing we found in the crates. I expect some results in the morning. We’ll also run the notes the Ramey victims got through the lab tomorrow,“ Jack said. „Though if we find anything, I’ll be shocked.“

Kristen sighed. „We still have to visit King’s victims and the parents of the two kids killed by the Blades.“

Abe could see it was something she was dreading. „I can go by myself, Kristen.“

She shook her head, just as he’d known she would. „No, I need to do this. Can you wait until after ten in the morning? I have motion hour at nine.“ Her cell phone jangled, a digitized Pachelbel’s Canon. „Mayhew… Hi, John, yeah we’re almost finished.“ She paled and jumped to her feet, moving to the television in the corner. „Oh, hell. What channel?“

The set came to life, revealing Zoe Richardson reporting from a familiar street.

„Fuck,“ Mia snarled.

„Bottom-feeding bitch,“ Jack muttered.

Abe studied Kristen, standing in front of the flickering screen, the remote visibly shaking in her hand. But this time it wasn’t fear on her face. It was rage. He understood how she felt. Richardson must have been following her all afternoon, lurking in the shadows until they were gone and she could get her pound of flesh.

„And so a chilling chapter in the lives of three women comes to a close,“ Richardson said, her hair barely moving in the brisk evening breeze. The camera zoomed to frame Sylvia Whitman’s home. „First they were victims of rape, then denied justice by what many termed incompetence within the State’s Attorney’s Office, but today these women are finally vindicated. Today each of these three innocent women received visits from Assistant State’s Attorney Kristen Mayhew accompanied by two CPD detectives to inform them that Anthony Ramey, the man who allegedly terrorized and victimized them has paid the ultimate price.“

The anchor’s voice cut in, sober and concerned. „What do the police and the State’s Attorney’s Office have to say about this, Zoe?“

„We were unable to reach the police for comment this evening. We can only assume they are working to uncover clues to the identity of Ramey’s killer.“

„Were the three women able to provide any additional information, Zoe? Anything that might be helpful to the police?“ the anchor asked.

„Son of a bitch,“ Jack muttered. „Like we need her kind of help.“

„Not the letters,“ Mia urged under her breath. „Don’t mention the damn letters.“

Richardson widened her eyes, as if she’d only just remembered something important and Mia smacked her palm against the tabletop. „Dammit.“

Kristen flung her hand up, signaling for quiet and Mia gritted her teeth.

„Yes, Andrea. Each of the three women received an anonymous letter today, saying Ramey was dead and that justice had finally been done.“ Zoe’s eyes gleamed. „He signed each letter ‘Your Humble Servant.’ This is Zoe Richardson, reporting.“

The camera flashed back to the serious face of Andrea me Anchor. „Thank you, Zoe. We’ll be anxiously waiting for more details on this exclusive breaking story.“ Her face brightened, almost comically. „Now back to our regularly scheduled program.“

Viciously, Kristen turned off the television and for a long moment no one spoke.

„How did she know?“ Spinnelli finally asked, his own temper under an obviously tight leash. „How the hell did she know?“

Kristen stood staring at the dark screen, her rigid back to the rest of them. „She was following us.“ Her swallow was audible. „Me.“ She placed the remote on top of the television with precise care. „I don’t believe this.“

„My mom can smack her for you,“ Abe said lightly. „I have it on good authority that she packs a wallop when she’s mad.“ He let out a silent breath when Kristen’s back slumped and she turned to him with a tight little smile.

„And just how many times did you make your mom mad, Reagan?“ she asked.

Abe forced a grin. „More times than I can count.“

The tight smile relaxed to a wry grimace. „Now, that I can believe.“

Spinnelli dragged his palms down his face. „Well, the cat’s out of the bag, people. I’ll schedule a press conference tomorrow. Abe, you make sure we get whereabouts for all the vies for the times of the murders, as close as you can and find out if any of them are sharpshooters.“

„Besides Stan Dorsey?“ Abe asked dryly, and Spinnelli lifted his eyes heavenward.

„God help us. I want to know every step Dorsey took on the days in question. I’ll start checking all the cops and lawyers on the list for anyone with enough skill to make those shots. Mia, see what you can find on the sandblasting angle. Hopefully Julia will come up with something more when she’s done with the autopsies.“

„What about his next victim?“ Kristen asked. „Are we going to wait for another crate to appear on my doorstep?“

Spinnelli shook his head. „I’m going to get surveillance cameras installed around your place tomorrow. If he visits you again, we’ll know.“

She shook her head, hard and fast. „No, that’s not what I meant. We know he has a special rage for sex offenders. I can get you a list of all the sex perps I’ve prosecuted. Maybe we can head him off at the pass.“

Spinnelli nodded. „It’s a good start. And Kristen?“

Warily, she eyed him. „What?“

„Do you have a dog?“ She shook her head. „No.“

„Then I’d advise you to get one.“

„And make it big,“ Mia added. „No cute puppies.“

„And make it a barker.“ Jack bared his teeth. „With sharp teeth.“

Kristen turned to Abe, one russet brow lifted. „Any more recommendations?“

He tucked his tongue in his cheek. „Cerberus would give you a matched set and would get on well with Mephistopheles and Nostradamus.“

To his surprise she laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full, throaty laugh that went all the way up to her eyes. And listening, it was like he’d been slugged in the chest.

Thursday, February 19,

9:00 P.M.

Zoe topped off her wine, her bones finally warm after a soak in the tub. When she hit the big time, she was going someplace warm. To hell with Chicago in the dead of winter.

Dead. Her lips curved. Anthony Ramey was dead and CPD had a vigilante on their hands. And she, Zoe Richardson, had made the scoop.

Mayhew will be furious, she thought gleefully. How very marvelous. Zoe carefully removed the tape from the VCR. This piece was definitely a keeper. She’d neatly printed half the date on the label when she was startled by loud banging on her front door. Eyeing the peephole, she felt the smallest bit alarmed, but quickly dismissed it.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t say a word. She could and would expose him. He was putty in her hands. She opened the door, feigning her surprised doe look. „I wasn’t expecting you. Didn’t you get my message canceling tonight?“

He pushed open the door and closed it hard before grabbing her shoulders even harder. His face was dark and angry, a vein throbbing at his temple. Excitement shivered down to her toes.

„What the hell do you think you’re doing?“ he demanded, shaking her.

She blinked, even as her mouth watered. Who would have guessed he’d had it in him? „What do you mean?“

„This is Zoe Richardson, reporting,“ he mimicked nastily. He shook her again. „What the fucking hell are you doing?“

„You’re hurting me.“ Instantly he released her, but his chest still heaved like a bellows. She met his eyes, all pretense gone. „I am doing my job. I am a reporter. I report the news.“