'A storm blew in. A source close to the investigation said that in Malcolm's condition, he wouldn't have been able to handle the rigging. He had terminal cancer.'

'That's what Mr Bennett said, back there. What about the wife, Carrie?'

'Nobody's sure where she went. This article speculates that she was with him at the time. She hasn't turned up to claim any assets.'

'And the boat?'

'The Coast Guard did an extensive search, but found nothing.'

'Huh,' JD said. 'You'd think they'd find something.'

'You'd think. But this says the Coast Guard had warned boaters of strong currents. They think the boat got dragged out to sea and went down.'

'You'd think that something would wash ashore. Wood or something.'

She shrugged. 'You'd think. It says here that he left his estate to his wife, but that because she died with him, it went to the Church of Divine Forgiveness.'

That two men who'd known each other as boys had died within months of one another could be a simple coincidence. Except that Russell was murdered and his father had gone so very still at the mention of the other man's name. Being 'lost at sea' could be a convenient way to kill someone. Then again, simple coincidence was highly possible.

'If it was a big enough payoff,' he said, 'the church might have had motive.'

'Maybe. Here's his obit. His and Carrie's memorial service was just last week. "Malcolm Edwards was born in Anderson Ferry, Maryland, where he attended Anderson Ferry High School, lettering in football and . . ."' She faltered, trailing off.

'And?' JD prompted.

'He was on the All-Star team,' she said, her tone oddly strained. 'They won the championship his senior year.' She cleared her throat briskly. 'He is survived by no one. He and Carrie had no children and his parents died years ago.' She fell silent, staring at the phone screen, biting her bottom lip.

'What's so important about that championship football team, Lucy?'

She folded her hands in her lap primly. 'My brother played on it. He was MVP.'

'Really? Where is your brother now?'

'He died when I was fourteen. The year the team won the championship.'

'I'm sorry,' he said, but thoughts were already rolling around his mind. Edwards and Lucy's brother had played ball on the same team. A killer was taunting Lucy after murdering Russ Bennett, who'd known Edwards.

'It was a long time ago,' she said. 'The obit has a picture of Malcolm in his high school jersey. I knew him as Butch. He played defense. He was my brother's friend.'

'Did Russ Bennett play on the team?'

'No, although I imagine he wanted to. It was the big thing in Anderson Ferry. It was a way to get out, if you were a boy.'

'And the girls? How did they "get out"?'

'Some married. I went to college. Gwyn joined the-' She stopped abruptly, then continued. 'A sorority.'

He glanced over at her. That wasn't what she'd been about to say. 'I see. So, how did your brother die? If you don't mind my asking.'

She clutched his jacket around her more tightly. 'In an accident,' she said stiffly.

'I guess you do mind my asking,' he said ruefully and she sighed.

'I'm sorry. It was twenty-one years ago and I'm long over it, but . . .'

'Sometimes old hurts don't die.' Of this he was well aware.

She nodded. 'Yes.'

'And I imagine going back to your old neighborhood didn't help.'

She grimaced. 'No, it didn't.'

'Were your brother and Russ Bennett the same age?'

She turned to study his profile. 'Yes, they were in the same grade. So was Malcolm Edwards. Why did you ask me about Malcolm to begin with?'

'I told you. Westcott brought him up.'

'She also called me an "undesirable". I would have thought you'd be more worried about that instead of some seemingly coincidental death, especially after . . . well, after what happened earlier today.'

'You mean when I kissed you? And you kissed me back?'

Her cheeks heated. 'Yes. Maybe you shouldn't have. Maybe I am an undesirable.' She said it in a defiant way, as if challenging him to agree.

'I know you're not.'

Her brows lifted. 'And how could you possibly know that?'

He shrugged. 'Because I desire you.'

She started to smile, then shook her head hard. 'No, I'm serious. How do you know Westcott wasn't right? I could be . . . just plain bad. You can't know.'

'I don't think so. If you were bad, you wouldn't have cared for an old man's feet.' He hesitated, then shrugged again. 'Or cried over the body of a girl you didn't know.'

'So did you,' she murmured.

He kept his eyes straight ahead. 'I know. And I've wondered how many others you cried over when no one was watching.'

'A lot,' she said, so quietly that he almost didn't hear. 'Why did you ask about Malcolm?'

The topic change was intentional. He'd ventured too close, again. He decided to venture even closer. 'Because when Westcott said his name, Mr Bennett reacted.'

She frowned. 'Reacted exactly how?'

'He froze. Looked guilty.' He met her gaze. 'And then he ushered you out.'

'You think there's a connection between Russ's murder and Malcolm's death? And that Mr B knows what it is?' She shook her head. 'No. Just . . . no.'

'Okay,' he said quietly, refocusing on the road.

'Okay,' she repeated forcefully. 'So what are you going to do next?'

Check into Malcolm Edwards and Russ Bennett's father, he thought. 'Check out the old girlfriends,' he said, 'find any food processing plants with huge freezers, and hope Drew finds a usable print on that shipping box and/or your car.'

'You really think this guy left his prints?' she asked dourly.

'No. Hopefully by the time I get back I'll have Bennett's LUDs.' Hopefully the phone company's Local Utilization Detail would offer up a clue. 'I need to find out who he was meeting the Sunday he disappeared. Hopefully you find something more on Bennett's body tomorrow.'

'Drop me off at the morgue. I've got some time yet tonight I can work on him.'

'No. I don't want you there alone.'

'I won't be. Alan and Ruby are on duty and we have a security guard. You have to leave me alone sometimes.' She lifted a brow. 'Unless you want to stand next to me while I cut up dead bodies. Mulhauser says he has four in the freezer with my name on them. You can hold the bowl when I remove their brains. They kind of go . . . plop.'

He tossed her a wry glare, swallowing hard. 'That was for tricking you earlier.'

'Pretty much,' she agreed magnanimously.

'Are we even now?'

She smiled at him and he took heart. 'Pretty much.'

'Fine. I'll leave you to your bone saws. I've got LUDs to check.'

She nodded, amused. 'I thought so.'

Monday, May 3, 8.00 P.M.

He rolled onto his back, breathing hard. He'd been wrong. Susie was much better at sex than she was at lying.

'Incredible,' Susie purred and he almost believed she meant it. 'Both times.'

'So did you get back at him?' he asked.

'At who?'

'Your boyfriend. The one who cheated on you.'

She huffed a chuckle. 'Yeah, I did.'

'How will he know?'

She sat up, looking down at him with a confused frown. 'What?'

'How will he know you've gotten your revenge?'

'Why do you care?'

He shrugged. 'Call it a hobby.'

'You're cute, but strange,' she said. She pulled her hair back and touched the rapidly darkening bruise on her neck lightly. 'Feels like a decent hickey.'

'Decent enough,' he drawled. 'That's your proof?'

'It'll do,' she said, then rolled over, hanging halfway off the bed and giving him a very nice view of primo ass. He heard the jingle of keys and pushed himself up on one elbow to peer over the bed to see what she was up to.

And none too soon. She was riffling through his pants pockets. His temper exploded and he grabbed the bitch by the arm, dragging her onto her back. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he snarled and her eyes widened in fear.

She brought her arm up, revealing the pack of Marlboros clutched in her hand. 'Looking for a smoke.' She jerked her arm away. 'What are you, some kind of psycho?'

If you only knew, baby. He drew a breath and pried the squashed pack of cigarettes from her hand. 'No, but you shouldn't go searching a man's pockets.'

She nodded, inching away from him. 'I'm sorry,' she whined. 'I smelled smoke on your jacket earlier. I figured you'd have some smokes.'

'You can't smoke these.' The Marlboros he'd bought especially for Ryan, for when the man came to claim his mother's body. He hoped Ryan would appreciate the symbolism. Marlboros for a man who worked a ranch.

They'd burn the next letter into Ryan's back. And I'll make sure it hurts. A lot. Susie was looking at him suspiciously and he realized he'd spoken too urgently.

'It's a non-smoking room,' he added, more quietly. He rolled to his feet, gathering his clothing from where it lay strewn across the room. 'I'm going to take a shower.'

She looked away. 'Can I use the bathroom first?' she asked stiffly.

He blew out an annoyed breath. 'Hurry. I've got places to go.' Bodies to deliver.

She picked up her miniskirt and the thong that had ended up under the bed. Grabbing her purse and blouse, she rushed into the bathroom. 'I'll hurry.'

He shoved the squashed Marlboros back in his pants pocket. He'd have to buy a new pack now. She'd bent them. He needed nice, straight cigarettes to make nice, uniform burns in Ryan's back. He started to pull his hand out of his pocket, then froze.

Something was missing. His credit card. He'd been in such a hurry to fuck Susie that he hadn't put it back in his wallet. Had he?

It wasn't in his pocket. And neither was his wallet. The bitch stole my wallet.

He stared at the bathroom door, his fury cold. She must have lifted it when she was pushing his pants down in supposed sexual abandon, then hidden it with her skirt.

All the credit cards and ID he'd taken from his victims were in that wallet. It was only a matter of time before one of their names turned up on the news. And she'd seen his Ted Gamble ID. She couldn't be allowed to tell.

Get her out of here. Quietly. He pulled on his pants, then took two items from his jacket pocket and casually opened the bathroom door.

She was still naked, kneeling on the floor, using the lid of the toilet as a desk. She twisted, her squeal of outrage faltering when she saw what he held in his hands. Her eyes grew wide again, first with fear, then with a kind of furious acceptance.

'Goddamn it. I can usually smell a cop a mile away.' She lifted her brows. 'You got a lot of other people's cards here, Officer Pullman. I wonder why.'

He used the gun in his right hand to point to the bed. 'Sit on the bed with your hands where I can see them.' Sullenly she obeyed. He dropped the Newport News PD badge in his jacket pocket and retrieved his cards and the paper she'd been writing on.

She'd been scribbling, more than writing. His Ted Gamble card had been under the paper and she'd used a pencil to make an old-fashioned tracing of the number. He tossed her clothes to the bed. 'Get dressed,' he said, still holding the gun.

She pulled on her thong, her jaw taut. 'Are you going to arrest me or what?'