“Are you sure the boy didn’t go home with a friend?”
“We called other parents. His friends remember seeing him start walking up the sidewalk toward home. And we found his soccer ball. It’s autographed by some famous soccer player. His mom says it’s one of his most prized possessions. She insists he wouldn’t have just left it.”
He scraped a sleeve across his face. Maggie recognized the panic in his eyes. He wasn’t prepared to handle a situation like this. She wondered what experience he had in crisis management. She sighed and raked her fingers through her tangled hair. Already she regretted that it would be up to her to keep him focused.
“Sheriff, maybe you should sit down.”
“Bob Weston suggested I compile a list of pedophiles and known sex offenders. Do I start hauling them in for questioning?
Can you give me any idea who I should be looking for?” He glanced over the papers spread out on the table in one of his passes.
“Sheriff Morrelli, why don’t you sit down?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“No, I insist.” She reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders, gently shoving him into a chair behind the table. He looked as though he’d stand up again, thought better of it, then stretched out his long legs.
“Did you have any suspects at all when the Alverez boy was taken?” Maggie asked.
“Just one. His father. His parents are divorced. The father was refused custody and visitation because of his drinking and abusiveness. We were never able to track him down. Hell, the air force can’t even find him. He was a major at the base, but went AWOL two months ago. He ran off with a sixteen-year-old girl he met over the Internet.”
She found herself pacing as she listened. Perhaps it had been a mistake to make him sit. Now that he gave her his full attention it dismantled her thought process. She rubbed her eyes, realizing how exhausted she was. How long could a person function without sufficient sleep?
“Have you made any progress in tracking him down?”
“We stopped.”
“What do you mean you stopped?”
“After we found Danny’s body, Weston said it couldn’t be the father. That a father wouldn’t be able to do that to his own son.”
“I’ve seen what fathers can do to their sons. I remember a case three, no, four years ago where a father buried his six-year-old son in a box. He dug a hole in the backyard and left just a small airhole with a piece of rubber hose. It was punishment for something stupid. I can’t even remember now what the kid had done. After several days of rain, he couldn’t find the air hole. Instead of digging up his entire backyard, he tried to make it look like a kidnapping. The wife went along with his crazy scheme. She probably didn’t want to end up in a box of her own. Maybe you should continue searching for Mr. Alverez. Didn’t you say he was abusive?”
“Yeah, the guy’s a real asshole. Beat up regularly on his wife and Danny, even after the divorce. She’s had a half-dozen restraining orders out on him. But what possible connection could there be with this boy? I don’t think Matthew Tanner even knew Danny Alverez.”
“There may not be a connection. We don’t know for sure that this boy was taken. He could still show up at a friend’s house. Or he may have run away.”
“Okay.” He sighed, not looking convinced. He slid down farther in the chair to rest his head against the back. “But you don’t really believe he ran away, do you?”
Her eyes searched his. Despite his confusion and panic, he wanted the truth. She decided to level with him.
“No. Probably not,” she said. “I knew the killer would strike again. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”
“So tell me where to begin. Have you had time to figure out anything about this guy?”
She came around the table and stared at the montage of photos, notes and reports.
“He’s meticulous, in control. He takes his time, not only with the murder, but in cleaning up after himself. Though the cleaning isn’t to hide evidence—it’s part of his ritual. I think he may have done this before.” She fingered through her notes. “He’s definitely not young and immature,” she continued. “There was no sign of struggle at the site, so the victim was tied beforehand. That means he has to be strong enough to carry a seventy-to-eighty-pound boy at least three hundred to five hundred yards. I’m guessing he’s in his thirties, about six feet tall, two hundred pounds. He’s white. He’s educated and he’s intelligent.”
At some point during her description, Morrelli sat up, suddenly alert and interested in the mess she poked through.
“Remember at the hospital after I examined the Alverez boy, I told you he may have given the boy last rites? That would mean the killer’s Catholic, maybe not practicing, but his Catholic guilt is still strong. Strong enough that he’s bothered by a medallion in the shape of a cross, so he rips it off. He performs extreme unction, perhaps to atone for his sin. You might check to see whether this boy, Matthew Tanner,” she said, looking at Nick to make certain she had the name right. When he nodded, she continued, “if he belonged to the same church as the Alverez boy.”
“Right offhand, I’d say it’s unlikely,” Nick said. “Danny went to school and church out by the base. The Tanner house is only a few blocks from St. Margaret’s, unless the Tanners aren’t Catholic.”
“Chances are, the killer doesn’t even know the boys.” Maggie started pacing again. “It could be he simply looks for easy targets, boys out alone, with no one else around. I do think he may still be connected somehow to a Catholic church, and quite possibly in this area. Odd as it might seem, these guys don’t often stray too far from their own familiar territory.”
“He sounds like a real sicko. You said he may have done this before. Is it possible he may have a record? Maybe child abuse or sexual molestation? Maybe even beating up a gay lover?”
“You’re assuming he’s gay or that he’s a pedophile?”
“An adult male who does this to little boys—isn’t that a safe assumption?”
“No, not at all. He may be worried that he is, or he may have homosexual tendencies, but no, I don’t think he’s gay, nor do I believe he’s a pedophile.”
“And you can tell all that just from the evidence we’ve found?”
“No. I’m guessing that from the evidence we haven’t found. The victim didn’t appear to be sexually abused. There were no traces of semen in the mouth or rectum, though he may have washed it off. There were no signs of any penetration, no indication of sexual stimulation. Even with Jeffreys’ victims, only one—Bobby Wilson,” she said, checking her notes. “Only the Wilson boy showed signs of sexual abuse and those seemed very obvious. Multiple penetration, lots of tearing and bruising.”
“Wait a minute. If this guy is only copying Jeffreys, how can we be sure any of what he does is an indication of who he is?”
“Copycats choose murders that often play out their own fantasies. Sometimes they add their individual touches. I can’t find any indications that Jeffreys gave his victims last rites, though it could easily have been overlooked.”
“I do know he asked for a priest to hear his confession before he was executed.”
“How do you know that?” She looked down at him, only then realizing she was half sitting on the chair’s armrest. Her thigh rubbed against Morrelli’s arm. She stood up. Perhaps a bit too suddenly. He didn’t seem to notice.
“You probably know that my dad was the sheriff who brought