Spinnelli was examining each item. "We've got Caitlin's purse, a necklace from Penny, fourteen sets of keys… shoes, more necklaces… My God."

"These keys belong to Dr. Thompson," Reed said. "These are Brooke's. We think he took them Wednesday night when she'd had too many beers. These belong to Tania from the hotel, these are Niki Markov's, the saleswoman. The rest we don't know."

"Now we can tie him to the Burnette and Hill murders," Spinnelli said with satisfaction. "I still want forensics, but this is a hell of a lot better than what we had."

"Atlantic City is sending someone to look at this stuff," Aidan said. "The women he raped there say he took their keys, his way of saying he could come back anytime."

"Sonofabitch," Reed muttered.

"I think we'll all second that emotion," Spinnelli said. "Sam called. He said the urine tox on Yvonne Lukowitch showed Valium laced with cyanide, not the Ambien in her prescription."

"We found a receipt from a photography shop," Jack said. "He bought the cyanide there. It's used in film developing. Sam said she never would have felt a thing."

She sighed. "Later on it will mean something to Jeremy that his mother didn't commit suicide. Now it's not much comfort to a terrified seven-year-old. Jeremy said his mother met White when she was leading a dog training class in the park last June. His mother came home talking about this new man she'd met. White brought her wine and roses. She asked him to move in within three weeks."

"That's fast," Jack said.

"She was lonely," Mia returned. "We found a scar on her body, collarbone to breast, from a knife slice. Jeremy said White did it the first night he moved in. He told her if she told, he'd do worse and to Jeremy. Jeremy and his mom have been living in terror since the end of last June."

"And we still don't know his name," Murphy said bitterly.

Spinnelli looked hopeful. "I may have something for you. I got a call this morning from Impound. They recovered a car that was reported stolen on Thursday. It was found in the area Murphy was searching. Impound found a book under the seat."

Reed sat up. "A math book?"

Spinnelli's smile was sharp. "Algebra One. Somebody should be bringing it in the next few minutes. Until then, what will we do next?"

"I'm following leads from the photo on the news," Aidan said. "And I'll be the liaison to Atlantic City PD. I sent the photo to Detroit PD, but we don't have anything yet."

"Keep calling," Spinnelli said. "Mia?"

"We have the list from DCFS of all the kids Penny Hill placed with the elder Doughertys. We're going to follow up on that today. We've got nine names with no known address to track down and a few alibis from the known ones to verify."

"Okay," Spinnelli said. "Did we get anything out of the two boys from Hope Center?"

"Miles talked to them," Mia said. "Thad admitted after he learned Jeff was dead that it was Jeff who assaulted him. He said Jeff and Regis did it and Manny watched the door. They threatened to gut him like a pig if he told. So, he didn't tell. Regis Hunt gets moved to adult prison pending an investigation and trial. Thad will transfer to another juvie facility. But Dr. Bixby's still missing."

"He's not home, dead or otherwise," Spinnelli said. "I've got an APB out for his car."

"And it doesn't appear that his keys are in the pile," Reed added.

"So he could be alive and hiding, or dead and hidden. What else?" Spinnelli asked.

"Just something Jeremy said," Mia mused. "Remember, Murphy, he said that White buried something in the backyard last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. If he killed somebody then, we haven't found them yet."

There was a knock at the door and an officer stuck his head in. "Lieutenant Spinnelli? I'm from Impound. I have some evidence for you."

"Thank you. We hope this is good." Spinnelli handed the book to Mia when the officer from Impound was gone. "Do the honors, Mia."

Mia pulled on a pair of gloves and slid the book from the paper evidence sack. "One math book. And inside…" She looked up. "Newspaper clippings. Hill and Burnette." She grimaced. "And me. Here's the one of me taking down DuPree and here's the one with my address, thank-you-Carmichael, and… hello." She grinned. "One clipping from the Gazette in Springdale, Indiana, thanksgiving night fire leaves two dead. It's dated the day after Thanksgiving."

"The first time Jeremy saw White burying something in the backyard," Murphy murmured. "Who did he kill?"

Mia scanned the article, her heart picking up. "One of the victims was Mary Kates."

Mia scanned it, her heart picking up. "One of the victims was Mary Kates. Kates is one of the names on the DCFS list." Hurriedly she found the list. "Two names. Andrew and Shane Kates. They're brothers. Andrew would be the right age."

"This is good." Spinnelli paced. "Very good. Now that we know who the hell this guy is, we need to know where he'll strike next or where he'll hide or run. The four of you find out. I'm going to call the captain and tell him we finally made some progress."

Mia felt invigorated. Renewed. She stared at the table with all his souvenirs, her heart pumping gallons. "Andrew Kates. Your days are numbered, you sonofabitch."

Saturday, December 2, 5:15 p.m.

The wig was making his head sweat. "How much is the rent?" It was an empty apartment in Mitchell's building. The super held the key in her hand. He was waiting for the right moment to get the information he needed If she couldn't tell him, he'd take her keys and investigate Mitchell's place himself.

"Eight fifty," the old woman said. "Due first of the month."

He made a point of looking in the closets. "And is the neighborhood safe?"

"Very safe."

No more than a couple shootings a week on the street outside. The woman lied like a rug. "I read about that detective in the paper."

"Oh, that. She's moved out. It'll be very quiet from here on out."

Panic rose in his throat. But she was probably lying again. "That was fast."

"Well, the movers haven't come yet. But she's out of here. No need to worry."

But there was every need to worry. He wanted Mitchell. He needed to get into her place before she moved all her things. Surely there was some clue to where she'd gone. He considered shooting the old bag where she stood, but the new gun in his back waistband would be loud. Tyler had built quite a gun collection. He'd wanted to take them all, but he still had to travel light, so he'd taken only two. A.38 and a.44, both of which would bring people running if he fired them. So he'd do it the oid-fat›hioüed way. From under his jacket he pulled his pipe wrench and smacked the old lady's head. Like a rag doll she crumpled, blood from her wound starting to soak the carpet. He bound her hands and feet and gagged her before stuffing her in the closet.

With her key he let himself into Mitchell's place. She needed a good decorator Methodically he checked the coat closet. Other than a trifolded flag on the shelf, it was empty. Her kitchen cabinet was filled with boxes of Pop-Tarts, her freezer with microwave meals. She needed a good nutritionist more than a decorator.

Her bedroom was a mess, blankets in a pile on the floor. But interestingly, a box of condoms sat opened on the night-stand. Her closet was such a mess, there was no way to know if she'd taken clothes or not. Frustrated, he returned to the living room. A pile of mail covered a lamp table. Greedily he searched it. The only thing remotely personal was a postcard with a crab on the front. "Dear Mia, wish you'd come with us. Miss you. Love, Dana." Dana? A friend with whom Mitchell might stay?

He opened the lamp table drawer and pulled out a photo album with a grin. He'd struck gold. He lifted the cover and sighed. Mitchell was no more organized about her photos than she was about anything else. None of the photos were put into the plastic sleeves. It was just a pile, as if she threw everything in here with the plan to someday do it right. How had she ever managed to get as far as she did?