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M.O. is similar to two others I'm investigating. Although the causes of death were different, two of the victims had their dicks stuck in their mouths. Do you think there's some sort of connection?"
    "Who knows?" George replied. "This is no ordinary case. Two, no, three, seemingly unrelated murders and yet there is a connection, of sorts. Think about it."
    He walked into the outer office. They'd been there for six hours, already. Three o'clock and no lunch. A long day. His stomach began talking to him, and Krastowitcz was finally able to think about dinner. Tonight would be a good night to go to The Tap. A thick, artery-choking steak, corn on the cob, dripping butter, and lots and lots of beer. That would make him feel better, even if it killed him slowly inside. Trent would be there and he'd fill him in on what happened with the woman doctor downtown. Maybe she'd given him some more information.
    Yes. He needed his friends around him. Needed to laugh. Needed to get the memory of another mutilation out of his mind. Tonight especially--that's what he'd do, go to The Tap.

Chapter IV
     . . . TO SHARE MY SUBSTANCE WITH HIM AND RELIEVE HIS NECESSITIES IF REQUIRED . . .

         The ride to police headquarters took only fifteen minutes; but to Andrea, it seemed endless. Was she a suspect? Impossible. She had no motive. She loved Milton. No, love was too weak a word. She'd worshipped him, in a professional sense, of course. The man was a genius, his research brilliant.
    Now, here she was, almost to police central. Possibly a suspect. No. It was routine, Krastowitcz had said so. Then why did she feel like a criminal?
    "You all right, Miss Pearson?" Trenton said.
    "That's Doctor , Sergeant. And I'm okay."
    "Sorry, Doctor . We don't usually have physicians involved in a murder."
     Touché' , Andrea thought. He was quick. "I'm a total mess. I wish there was more I could do to help."
    "You'll help plenty when you make your statement at the office."
    "All I want to do is hide somewhere, so I can't see his face." She shuddered at the memory of Milton's slitted, glazed eyes, his open mouth filled with--she shook her head to banish the horrid image.
    "I'm sure this has been awful."
    "Every time I close my eyes, he's all I see." Her eyes glistened with tears. One slipped over its dam to slide down her cheek. She clamped down her emotions and allowed neither a sob, nor a sigh.
    "We're almost there," Trenton said. "Just a few more minutes and you'll be on your way."
    Police headquarters, a giant concrete waffle jutting into the clear Nebraska sky, was a perfect square with vertical and horizontal partitions. She imagined thick syrup sliding down over the sides obscuring the windows. If today's events hadn't been such a tragedy, she might have laughed at the incongruity. Only in Nebraska.
    The Stars and Stripes, royal blue Nebraska State, and Omaha Police Department flags, the only splashes of color around this drab gray building, whipped loudly in the plains-driven wind. Parked black and white cruisers surrounded the edifice as though they waited for attack from some unknown danger.
    An ugly danger. A sadistic, crazed killer was out there. . . somewhere. Waiting. Maybe for her. Andrea shivered. It was July and she was cold. She shivered again, willing the shaking to stop, but it didn't. She longed for the comfort and warmth of her own bed, but it wouldn't help this. The cold was deep within, in a place she tried to keep buried.
    Trenton turned into his parking stall and slanted her a curious glance. "Are you all right?"
    "I think I'm in shock. I'm beginning to realize what's happened." She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands into impotent fists.
    The main entrance revolved into a small, sparsely adorned lobby with a glassed door where only secret codes allowed admittance. A large bronze