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tends to keep records of the attacks.’
    ‘And how does this relate to the victims we have?’ Miller asked, something of a challenge in his tone. Though the FBI’s invasion of Washington PD territory was not Miller’s doing, he believed that a failure to act aggressively would be considered a failure to lead. He had been assigned the case, and from this moment forward he would have to demonstrate his willingness to take the first step.
    ‘We have a marauder,’ Killarney said. ‘But we have no clear indication of which of the four categories our friend falls into. Closest is anger-excitement, but there appears to be no sadism, no desire to terrify the victim. In this last case he even restrained himself, did not beat her face as he did the first three. But there are anomalies. He does not torture. There is no extreme violence.’
    ‘What about the beating?’ Miller asked.
    Killarney smiled knowingly, patiently. ‘The beating? The beating he gave them was just a beating. When I say extreme violence I mean extreme violence. The beating these women received was quite restrained in comparison to much of what I have seen.’
    Silence.
    ‘So?’ Miller prompted.
    Killarney looked around and then returned his attention to Miller.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Miller . . . Robert Miller.’
    Killarney nodded. ‘Miller,’ he said, as if to himself, and then he looked up, eyes wide. ‘I understand that you are now heading up this investigation.’
    ‘So I’ve just been informed,’ Miller said, and then realized the real source of his provocation. He had been cornered. He had been given something he did not wish to own. Killarney was perhaps there to help, nothing more nor less than that, but regardless he represented not only the removal of Miller’s power of choice, but also the implication that Miller - now given complete responsibility for the investigation - was not capable of handling it without assistance. Such was the nature of high-profile cases: the chief of police had to trust his captains, they in turn had to trust their deputies and lieutenants, but always the sense of uncertainty, the recognition that as the chain of command stretched further so the liabilities increased.
    ‘So tell us what you think, Miller . . . tell us what you think about the Ribbon Killer.’
    Miller was suddenly self-conscious. He felt Killarney was putting him on the spot because he’d interrupted him mid-flight, some desire to re-assert his control over the proceedings.
    ‘I was there at the first one,’ Miller said. ‘Margaret Mosley.’ He looked around the room. The other detectives were watching him. ‘I went in there and found her . . . didn’t find her, you know? I mean I was the first detective there. There were uniforms there when I arrived. Coroner was already on her way. I went in there . . . into her bedroom, saw the victim there on the bed.’ Miller looked down, shook his head slowly.
    ‘What was your first impression, Detective Miller?’ Killarney asked.
    Miller looked up. ‘First impression?’
    ‘The first thing you felt.’
    ‘First thing I felt was like someone had punched me in the chest.’ He raised his fist and thumped a point in the middle of his ribcage. ‘Like someone hit me with a baseball bat. That’s what I felt.’
    ‘And did you move through the scene, or did you survey the scene from a stationary point?’
    ‘Stationary . . . like we were taught. Always survey the scene from a stationary point . . . look for anomalies, things out of place. Look for the obvious before anything else.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘The ribbon, of course.’
    Killarney nodded. ‘Yes . . . the ribbon, the tag. And then?’
    ‘The smell of lavender.’
    ‘No doubt?’
    ‘No, it was lavender . . . same as the other two.’
    ‘You were at the other two?’ Killarney asked.
    ‘No,’ Miller said. ‘I just happened to be on duty when the first one occurred. I wasn’t officially assigned to this case. I did see the