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The entire case was bizarre, but a few things in particular really bothered Quinn. The killer was a pro. The way he or she stalked the victims and lured them out. No footprints. No DNA until the single piece of hair on the Donaldson letter.

From what little Quinn knew about her, Catherine O'Rourke did not strike him as a professional killer.

The police had released the e-mails where a person posing as the Reverend Harold Pryor had negotiated with and hired Rex Archibald. Pryor, of course, vehemently denied sending the e-mails. The e-mails had originated from computers in three different public libraries, using a free AOL account set up solely for that purpose. Archibald's $10,000 retainer had been paid by five money orders, each in the amount of $2,000, procured several weeks earlier at five different Hampton Roads convenience stores. No stores kept the videotapes from store security cameras that long.

Quinn assumed that even Harold Pryor was not stupid enough to leave a string of e-mails setting up a meeting where he planned to murder a man. Unless, of course, Pryor had an alter ego, an Avenger of Blood who was not restrained by concerns about evidence trails.

More likely, thought Quinn, the Avenger tried to set Pryor up as a distraction. But this theory had its own problems. The e-mails from Pryor were sent to Rex Archibald after the Avenger sent the letter about Paul Donaldson to the Richmond Times. In other words, if Catherine was innocent, the Avenger would have been simultaneously setting up both Catherine O'Rourke and Harold Pryor, planting a piece of Catherine's hair on the Richmond Times envelope and then sending out e-mails in Pryor's name.

That seemed unlikely, though Quinn didn't like the only alternative-Catherine as the Avenger of Blood, trying to distract the authorities into suspecting Pryor. It demonstrated a level of planning that was inconsistent with an insanity defense.

Other questions also screamed for answers. If Catherine wasn't involved, what was spurring her visions about the Avenger? And why had the Avenger kidnapped babies of the first two victims but attacked Paul Donaldson and Rex Archibald directly? And finally, what was the significance of the biblical verses chosen by the Avenger, including the verse that police had found on the sign in front of the North Williamsburg Baptist Church?

Quinn's head ached as he tried to wrap his mind around these questions. He obsessed over them, turning them this way and that like a jeweler looking at a fine gem under a brilliant white light. The Avenger was crazed but not stupid. In fact, everything pointed to the Avenger having a brilliant tactical mind.

But even brilliant tacticians could make mistakes. Clever criminals could sometimes get away with a single kidnapping or murder, but serial killers eventually tripped up. In Quinn's opinion, it was usually part of their psyches. They needed to make mistakes. Somewhere deep in their subconsciences, they wanted to get caught. They craved the attention.

Quinn walked over to his window and glanced out at the plaza in front of the high-rise office building. The press trucks were beginning to converge. They had obviously caught wind of Quinn's involvement in Catherine's case. He would wait ten minutes, until the reporters reached critical mass, before he showed his face and proclaimed his client's innocence. Quinn didn't need the attention. But in his opinion, Catherine O'Rourke was getting slaughtered in the press. They needed to turn that tide soon or there would be no point in even having a trial.

His phone rang. An internal call. "Mr. Espinoza is here to see you," said Melanie.

"Tell him I'm busy."

The door opened, and Espinoza burst in. "We're all busy," he said, shutting the door behind him.

Quinn braced himself.

For ten minutes, Espinoza paced around the office and griped about Quinn's taking on Catherine O'Rourke as a client. As usual, he had his facts straight and his arguments in order. Catherine O'Rourke had no ability to pay. Quinn had not sought the approval of the firm's case-acceptance committee. The firm's clients would frown on one of their lawyers representing a serial killer.

"An alleged serial killer," Quinn said.

"Don't try that on me," Espinoza countered.

Quinn held out his hands, palms up, the universal sign of surrender. It did no good to argue with Espinoza when he was in one of these moods.

"The problem now is that you pulled the trigger," said Espinoza. "The entire world thinks we're in this case. How do you unscramble the egg?"

"Fire me," said Quinn. And he meant it. "I'm tired of apologizing for being a good-enough criminal defense lawyer that people actually want to hire me."

"That's not the point. Represent all the criminals you want. But they need to have money. And I don't care how good you think you are-you're not above following firm policies."

"Okay, I'm sorry." Quinn starting packing up his briefcase. "What do you want? A pound of flesh? Two?"

"I need you to tell me that you won't pull a stunt like this ever again," Espinoza said, his jaw tight with frustration. "And I don't want you taking any further action on the O'Rourke case until our case-acceptance committee can meet and decide what to do."

Quinn stuffed a few last things in his briefcase and grabbed his suit coat. "I really do have to go," he said. "Walk with me if you want to keep talking."

Espinoza followed Quinn out the door and down the hallway. "There's a whole mob of reporters out there," Espinoza said. "What are you going to tell them?"

"That my client's innocent."

"She's not your client yet."

Quinn stopped. "Look, Robert, I'm not backing out of this case. The firm has every right to refuse to get involved. But I'm in." He stared at his managing partner, a look that others said could melt steel. "I hope you're in with me."

Espinoza didn't respond until Quinn started walking away. Quinn knew the older man must be struggling to contain his anger; young partners didn't treat the managing partner this way. "We don't do well with ultimatums, Quinn."

The press accosted Quinn as soon as he left the building and set foot on the plaza. With the cameras rolling and mikes thrust in his face, Quinn affirmed his representation of Catherine and proclaimed her innocence in no uncertain terms. "The Commonwealth of Virginia has no body, no motive, and no real evidence," he declared. "In Nevada, this case wouldn't even be brought. And even in Virginia, there's this concept called 'innocent until proven guilty.'"

"Is Ms. O'Rourke considering an insanity defense?"

Quinn made a face, as if it were the dumbest question ever. "For something she didn't do?" he asked.

"What about the DNA?" another reporter asked.

"I don't comment on specific evidence," Quinn replied confidently, his chin held high. "But there are a thousand explanations for one piece of Ms. O'Rourke's hair being on that envelope. Nine hundred ninety-nine of them are consistent with innocence, including a scenario where the real Avenger of Blood picks up a piece of Ms. O'Rourke's hair and puts it there in order to frame her."

"What about the other DNA?" a reporter asked. "Have you seen the article just posted on the Tidewater Times Web site?"

Quinn quickly processed the possibilities. He knew the prosecutors were running DNA tests on the bloody paper towels. They must have announced a match.

"Have you been to a Vegas magic show?" Quinn asked the reporter. She didn't respond. "Things are not as they appear," he stressed. "Your eyes and your mind play tricks on you, but there's always a rational explanation."

"Care to share that explanation with us?" a skeptical voice chimed in.