Lucy asked, "What do you want us to do?"

"You know what Dr. Vigo needs. Give it to him."

Sean wasn't happy. "You want us to do your paperwork?"

"You created it."

Lucy was elated. "I'm happy to do it."

Sean glanced at her and frowned. She ignored him. Sean was all action, but Lucy loved picking through reports for the gold nuggets that solved puzzles.

Suzanne said, "This isn't a punishment. Dr. Vigo asked me to do this, and I'm trusting that you know what you're doing. Otherwise I'll be the one who looks bad."

"I promise, you'll look good." Lucy hesitated, then said, "Sean might be more use to you outside the building."

"That's okay," Sean said. "I'll help you."

"No, you'll hinder me. I know what I'm doing."

Suzanne said, "I don't need a partner."

Sean grinned. "You got one." He winked at Lucy and mouthed thank you.

After Suzanne and Sean left, Andie asked, "Are you related to Dr. Dillon Kincaid?"

"He's my brother."

"I worked on a case with him years ago when I was in the L.A. office. He's probably the best forensic psychiatrist I ever worked with."

"He's good."

"Tell him I said hi. Is he still in San Diego?"

"Washington. He's married now, to an agent, has a private consulting practice but works mostly for the Bureau of Prisons." Lucy walked over to the whiteboard. "This is Jessica Bell's autopsy report. I need all four. Do you know where they are?"

"Certainly. Suzanne might seem disorganized, but she's logical, if you know the way she thinks."

"And you do."

"I've been here seven years, and if I were murdered, she's the one I'd want investigating the crime."

Sean gave Suzanne some s.p.a.ce. Even though she'd accepted their a.s.sistance-almost seemed to appreciate and want the help-she was irritated that the case was getting out of her control. Sean understood that feeling.

She parked near the coffeehouse where Erica Ripley had worked and wrapped up a phone conversation. "If you can stay there for another hour, I'll be there." She hung up. "That was the cousin of the first victim. She works at an art gallery near Central Park."

"Erica Ripley was the second victim, correct?"

Suzanne nodded. "The only victim who didn't attend Columbia."

"But she was on the Party Girl site," Sean reminded her.

Suzanne shot him a glance. "Right, the website I can't access."

"I'm working on that."

"How?"

"My partner, Patrick Kincaid, used to run the San Diego P.D. e-crimes division, before cybercrime was as big as it is. He's rebuilding the site from the cache on my computer in D.C., and through Google, which usually retains cache information only seventy-two hours, but if you know what you're doing you can pull out older data. We might not get everything, but it'll be good enough for court."

"I don't know-the defense could argue that the data was manipulated when it was rebuilt."

"Patrick is an expert witness. He has clearance up the wazoo; I'm not worried about the defense."

"Kincaid, huh?"

"Lucy's brother."

"She is well connected. You are, too. I checked your file. You have high clearance."

"I have to. I've been hired by federal agencies to hack their security. I break in; my brother Duke plugs the holes."

Suzanne was obviously surprised. "What are you doing looking for a missing teenager?"

"Long story. But Kirsten's my cousin."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"She's a cousin by marriage. I haven't seen her since she was little, but Duke is very loyal to family, even family that we don't talk to. Kirsten's dad called, we jumped."

"And you don't want to?"

"Of course I do. It's not what RCK usually works on, so I'm stumbling a bit in the dark."

"Could have fooled me."

Suzanne went up to the counter and spoke to the manager, then motioned for Sean to sit down near the back. "The manager is sending over the two people closest to Erica."

Less than a minute later, a pet.i.te girl with short, dyed red hair and a skinny guy, both in their early twenties, came over.

Suzanne glanced at their name tags. "Jordan, Ken, thank you. I'm sorry about your friend."

Jordan nodded soberly. "It's just so awful."

"I still miss her," Ken said. "Erica was always happy."

Jordan agreed. "Our manager said you needed to talk to us?"

"I just have a few follow-up questions. You told Detective Panetta that Erica didn't have a regular boyfriend."

"Right."

"What about past boyfriends?"

The two looked at each other and shrugged. Jordan said, "Erica really wasn't into the dating scene. I mean, she saw a few guys, but nothing that was remotely serious."

Suzanne put out a picture of Wade Barnett. "Do you recognize this man?"

"No," Jordan said.

Ken looked longer at the picture. "Yeah, I think so. He came in once near closing to see Erica. Erica was surprised to see him, but happy, too. I asked her about it and she said they'd had a one-night stand the week before and he wanted to go out again."

Jordan added, "Erica was way casual about s.e.x. She used to be really overweight, but lost it all and was in totally great shape-worked out all the time. Kind of an obsession." She looked at Ken for confirmation.

"Every day," he said. "I think she liked the attention she was getting."

Suzanne showed the two the pictures of the other victims. They didn't recognize them.

Sean asked, "In the days before Erica was killed, did she express any concern that she was being watched? Maybe followed?"

Ken shook his head, but Jordan piped up. "Yeah, she did. I didn't think about it, but for two years she rode the subway here from Brooklyn. Then she started asking me to walk with her. At first she said she just wanted to talk, but then I asked her if she was worried about something. She said she thought someone was following her, but wasn't totally serious, you know? Like she thought she was being stupid."

Suzanne wrapped up the interview and they left. "We have time to swing by Jessica's building."

On the way there, Suzanne got a call. She didn't say much, but Sean knew immediately that she was livid about something. She said, "Make sure Panetta knows," then hung up.

"Bad news?"

"The f.u.c.king press released the news that Wade Barnett is our suspect. No one knew!" She glanced at Sean.

"Not me."

She shook her head. "I'll bet a million bucks it was the manager at Barnett's apartment building. Mousey little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Just makes my life more difficult. My idea of h.e.l.l is standing in the middle of a sea of reporters shoving cameras and microphones in my face, wielding little stubby yellow pencils like swords, and all of them shouting questions at me."

Neither Lauren nor Josh was at home, so Suzanne drove around the top of Central Park and down the east side to their next destination: an artsy dessert place. She explained, "Whitney Morrissey is the cousin of the first victim. According to Alanna Andrews's closest friend, Whitney is the one who introduced Alanna to underground parties when she was seventeen."

Suzanne approached a leggy blonde with enough curly hair for three women, dressed impeccably in a stylish blue suit that matched her eyes. "Thank you for waiting for us," she said to the attractive woman. "This is Sean Rogan; he's a private consultant helping on my case."

Whitney nodded and gave him a half-smile. She seemed preoccupied to Sean, but she had been waiting for them quite a while.

"You work at a gallery?" he asked her as he and Suzanne sat.

"The contemporary art museum across the street. I give tours on the weekends, unless I have an art show."

Suzanne said, "I've been reexamining each victim's background, specifically men they were involved with in the weeks or months before they were murdered. Do you know if your cousin was seeing anyone in particular?"

Whitney shook her head. "You should talk to her friend Jill. Alanna and I weren't all that close."

"But she stayed with you for half a summer."

"And I liked her, but I'm twenty-four, she was nineteen. We didn't have a lot in common."

"Other than the raves?" Suzanne said.

"We went to a few together."

"Do you know if your cousin was romantically involved with a real-estate investor named Wade Barnett?"

Whitney was noticeably surprised.

"You know him?" Suzanne asked.

"Of course. The Barnetts are major benefactors of the arts. They give away numerous art grants every year. I'd be stunned if Alanna was dating a Barnett."

Suzanne said, "I have proof they were involved; I'm just trying to figure out when and why they split."

"I wouldn't know," she said. "But-I think I might have introduced them. It was a long time ago. Probably the first party I took Alanna to. But I didn't know they kept in touch."

"That helps," Suzanne said. "Confirms what we already know."

"I worked on that drawing you asked for," Whitney said. She reached into her wide purse and handed Suzanne a manila file folder. "I finished it last night, but have been tweaking it on my breaks. It's not perfect, but it's close."

Suzanne opened the folder and Sean leaned over to take a look. Whitney was talented. The pencil drawing was as good as those of any FBI sketch artist. "You could have a career doing this," Sean told her.

"Thank you," Whitney said.

The man seen with Alanna the night she died was a young, attractive Caucasian roughly the same age as the victims. "I gather you don't know what his eye color is?"

She shook her head. "He had brown hair. I made the shading about right in terms of color density. Not dark, not light."

There was something familiar about the picture, but Whitney hadn't drawn a full-on head shot. The man's face was turned partly away, as if to kiss someone.

It definitely wasn't Wade Barnett.

Of course, that didn't mean Wade Barnett was innocent.

"Did this guy kill my cousin?" asked Whitney.

"I don't know," said Suzanne. "All I know is what you told me-you saw him with her the night she died. No one has come forward from those parties to say they've seen anything, and that's the crux of our problem. I'd bet if I could talk to six people who were there, I could piece together what happened to Alanna. People observe things they might not necessarily realize are important. But-that was four months ago. Memories fade." She leaned forward. "The party last Sat.u.r.day in Sunset Park. Were you there?"

"I told you I wasn't."

"Do you know anyone who was?"

She shrugged. "I might, I don't know. I can ask around, see if I can get anyone to talk to you."

"I'd appreciate it."

Sean followed Suzanne out. "I can't believe it took that woman four months to come forward with that sketch," Sean said. "And that you didn't call her on the carpet for it."