"How does he even know I have a digital? How will he get my number? It’s private. For that matter, Joe’s number here is unlisted too."
"There are ways if you’re determined enough and smart enough. As I said, one of the characteristics of the organized serial killer is average to above-average intelligence. But you’re right. One of the first things I’ll do is run a check on the phone companies and see if there’s been any detected infiltration into their computer banks." He stopped at the door. "I have a skull in my car. Come out and get it, Joe.”
“What are you going to tell Joe that you don’t want me to hear?" He hesitated and then shrugged. "That I’m sending Charlie down to guard the cottage while you’re working on the skull. I have to go back to Talladega to meet with Spalding from the Child Abduction Serial Killer Unit and explain why I’m stepping on his toes by giving you a skull. CASKU might have their own forensic sculptor on tap."
"I don’t need Charlie. Joe is here."
"A little more protection won’t hurt. A hell of a lot more protection wouldn’t be bad. I’ll try to arrange it as soon as possible. One of the other marks of the organized killer is that he targets his victim." He frowned. "Though the victim is almost always a stranger. It makes me uneasy that he wants to establish an intimate link with you."
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"I’m sure he’s sorry to upset your profile," she said ironically. "It could be he’s not going to play by your rules."
Spiro’s lips tightened grimly. "You’d better hope he does. It may be our only way of catching him."
"When will Charlie be here?”
“A couple of hours. Why?"
"I want Joe to go back to Atlanta and get me photographs of those boys. I’ll need to verify after I do the reconstruction."
"Joe should stay here," Spiro said. "I’ll have the Bureau fax me the photographs to Talladega and I’ll bring them to you myself."
"Thank you."
"Don’t thank me. I should tell you to leave this place and go to the city. You’re too isolated here."
"I need the isolation to work on that skull."
"And I need to get my hands on that killer." He shrugged. "So I guess I’m willing to risk your neck to get him."
"Nice," Joe said.
"Don’t give me that." Spiro suddenly whirled on him. "I warned you both of the danger of working on a skull, and you wouldn’t listen. Well, don’t blame me for doing anything I can to get that asshole. I’ve just spent a week staring at those nine graves. God knows how many more he’s killed. Can you guess how many serial killers are out there? We probably catch only one in thirty. The dumb ones. The ones who make mistakes. The smart ones walk away and kill and kill again. This is one of the smart ones. But this time we have a chance. I don’t know why, but he’s giving us a shot at him, and I’m damn well going to take it."
"Okay. Okay." Joe lifted his hands in surrender. "But don’t expect me to let you use Eve as bait."
“Sorry." Spiro struggled for control. "I didn’t mean to— Maybe I need a vacation."
"It wouldn’t surprise me," Joe said.
"Hell, I’m in good shape. Half the profilers in my department need therapy. Just be careful. I don’t like this. There’s something…" He shook his head. "Come on and get your damned skull."
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sardonically at her. He raised his hand in farewell and slammed the trunk shut.
What had Charlie said about him? A man who stares at monsters.
She knew how close to the edge that could push you. She’d been there. Joe came into the cottage and shut the door. "Well, you’ve got it. I suppose you’re going to want to start right away?"
She nodded. "Put it on the pedestal. Be careful. I don’t know how much damage it’s already sustained."
He unwrapped the cloth and placed the skull on the pedestal. "It’s the younger boy," she said.
"What’s his name?”
“John Devon. If he is one of Fraser’s vic—"
"Don’t give me it’s right now, Joe. I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s just getting in my way." She stepped closer to the pedestal and stared at the small, fragile skull. Poor child. Lost child. "John Devon," she whispered.
Bring me home.
God, I’ll try, John.
She straightened her glasses and turned to the worktable. "It’s getting dark. Will you turn on the lights? I’ve got to start measuring."
came to the cottage the next morning shortly before noon. He waved the manila envelope in his hand. "Got the photos. Do you want to see them?"
"No." Eve wiped her hands on a towel. "I never look at the photos until I’m finished. They might influence me."
He studied the skull. "Neither of those kids looked like that. Those little sticks sticking out all over make him look like a torture victim from the Spanish Inquisition. What are they?"
"Tissue-depth markers. I measure the skull and cut each marker to the proper depth and then glue it on its specific point on the face. There are more than twenty points of the skull for which there are known tissue depths."
"Then what?"
"I take strips of plasticine and apply them between the markers and build up to all of the tissue-depth points. When that’s done, I start the smoothing and filling-in process."
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“Measurements go only so far. Then technique and instinct have to take over." He smiled. "I’m sure they do." He turned to her. "Have you gotten any more calls?"
"No."
He glanced around the cottage. "Where’s Quinn?”
“Outside somewhere."
"He shouldn’t have left you alone."
"He hasn’t left me alone more than five minutes in the past twenty-four hours. I told him to go take a walk."
"He shouldn’t have listened to you. It’s not—"
"Where’s Charlie?" she interrupted. "Joe’s been trying to reach him since last night. He called Talladega and was told he’d left there, but he didn’t show up here."
"Sorry if you were nervous. I knew Quinn was guarding you and I had a car patrolling the area. I sent Charlie to Quantico to make a report on Talladega. He’ll be here tonight."
"I was too busy to be nervous. It was Joe who was anxious. But I’d think you’d make the reports yourself."
"There are some advantages to being a senior agent. I try to avoid Quantico. I’d rather be in the field." He smiled. "And Quinn is usually more than adequate. The Bureau was very sorry to lose him." His gaze shifted back to the skull. "When will you be finished?"
"Tomorrow, maybe. I don’t know.”
“You look tired."
"I’m okay." She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "My eyes sting a little. That’s always the worst of it."
"It won’t be before tomorrow?"
She looked at him in surprise. "What difference does it make? I had to persuade you to even let me do the reconstruction."
"I want to know. If it is John Devon, it will give me somewhere to start. That’s more than I have now." He paused. "This is a real nasty can of worms," he muttered. "And I’ve got a feeling…"
She smiled. "One of those ‘spooky’ profiler instincts?”
“So I get hunches occasionally. Nothing spooky about that.”
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“I guess not."
He walked over to the window and gazed out. "I’m worried about this killer. Those bodies were buried years ago and he was very careful even then. What’s he been doing since that time?