Once Gone. Blake Pierce

in herself returning.

      But then her spirits sank. Another woman had died a terrible death. That was no cause for celebration. She had wished, actually, that she had not been right.

      Why can’t I enjoy being right once in a while? she wondered.

      A gigantic map of Virginia spread out over the main flat-screen monitor, then narrowed to the northern half of the state. Flores tagged a spot high up on the map, near the Maryland border.

      “The first victim was Margaret Geraty, thirty-six years old,” Flores said. “Her body was found dumped in farmland, about thirteen miles outside of Belding. She was killed on June twenty-fifth, nearly two years ago. The FBI wasn’t called in for that one. The locals let the case go cold.”

      Riley peered at the crime scene photos Flores brought up on another monitor. The killer obviously hadn’t tried to pose the body. He’d just dumped her in a hurry and left.

      “Two years ago,” she said, thinking, taking it all in. A part of her was surprised he had been at this for so long. Yet another part of her knew that these sick killers could operate for years. They could have an uncanny patience.

      She examined the photos.

      “I see that he hadn’t developed his style,” she observed.

      “Right,” Flores said. “There’s a wig there, and the hair was cropped short, but he didn’t leave a rose. However, she was choked to death with a pink ribbon.”

      “He rushed through the set-up,” Riley said. “His nerves got the best of him. It was his first time, and he lacked self-confidence. He did a little better with Eileen Rogers, but it wasn’t until the Reba Frye killing that he really hit his stride.”

      She remembered something that she’d wanted to ask.

      “Did you find any connections between the victims? Or between the kids of the two mothers?”

      “Not a thing,” Flores said. “The check of parenting groups came up empty. None of them seemed to know each other.”

      That discouraged Riley, but didn’t altogether surprise her.

      “What about the first woman?” Riley asked. “She was a mother, I take it.”

      “Nope,” Flores said quickly, as though he’d been waiting for that question. “She was married, but childless.”

      Riley was startled. She was sure that the killer was singling out mothers. How could she have gotten that wrong?

      She could feel her rising self-confidence suddenly deflate.

      As Riley hesitated, Bill asked, “Then how close are we to identifying a suspect? Were you able to get anything off of those burrs from Mosby Park?”

      “No such luck,” Flores said. “We found traces of leather instead of blood. The killer wore gloves. He seems to be fastidious. Even at the first scene, he didn’t leave any prints or DNA.”

      Riley sighed. She had been so hopeful that she’d found something that others had overlooked. But now she felt she was striking out. They were back to the drawing board.

      “Obsessive about details,” she commented.

      “Even so, I think we’re closing in on him,” Flores added.

      He used an electronic pointer to indicate locations, drawing lines between them.

      “Now that we know about this earlier killing, we’ve got the order and a better idea of his territory,” Flores said. “We’ve got number one, Margaret Geraty, at Belding to the north here, number two, Eileen Rogers, over to the west at Mosby Park, and number three, Reba Frye, near Daggett, farther south.”

      As Riley looked, she saw that the three locations formed a triangle on the map.

      “We’re looking at an area of about a thousand square miles,” Flores said. “But that’s not as bad as it sounds. We’re talking mostly rural areas with a few small towns. In the north you get into some big estates like the Senator’s. Lots of open country.”

      Riley saw a look of professional satisfaction on Flores’s face. He obviously loved his work.

      “What I’m going to do is bring up all the registered sex offenders who live in this area,” Flores said. He typed in a command, and the triangle was dotted with about two dozen little red tags.

      “Now let’s eliminate the pederasts,” he said. “We can be sure that our killer’s not one of them.”

      Flores typed another command, and about half of the dots disappeared.

      “Now let’s narrow it down to just the hardcore cases – guys who’ve been in prison for rape or murder or both.”

      “No,” Riley said abruptly. “That’s wrong.”

      All three men stared at her with surprise.

      “We’re not looking for a violent criminal,” she said.

      Flores grunted.

      “Like hell we’re not!” he protested.

      A silence fell. Riley felt an insight forming, but it hadn’t quite taken shape in her mind. She stared at the doll, which was still sitting grotesquely on the table, looking as out of place as ever.

      If only you could talk, she thought.

      Then she slowly began to state her thoughts.

      “I mean, not obviously violent. Margaret Geraty wasn’t raped. We already knew that Rogers and Frye weren’t either.”

      “They were all tortured and killed,” Flores grumbled.

      A tension filled the room, as Brent Meredith looked worried, while Bill was staring fixedly at one of the monitors.

      Riley pointed to close-up pictures of Margaret Geraty’s hideously mutilated corpse.

      “His first killing was his most violent,” she said. “These wounds are deep and ugly – worse even than his next two victims. I’ll bet your technicians have already determined that he inflicted these wounds really rapidly, one right after another.”

      Flores nodded with admiration.

      “You’re right.”

      Meredith looked at Riley with curiosity.

      “What does that tell you?” Meredith asked.

      Riley took a deep breath. She found herself slipping into the killer’s mind again.

      “I’m pretty sure of something,” she said. “He’s never had sex with another human being in his life. He’s probably never even been on a date. He’s homely and unattractive. Women have always rejected him.”