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knife that has connections to Southeastern Correctional Institute comes so close to Murray?
    Well, there has to be a fair number of murderers from the prison, so maybe it’s not impossible and Francis Tate didn’t seem this capable of calculated destruction when I heard about him from Grace and old news reports.
    I get a new pair of gloves and walk back to Dr. Carter.
    “Dr. Carter, once you get a DNA sample, can you check it against the records for a particular state?” I ask.
    "Yeah, I can do a search filtered by agency identifier,” she replies without looking up.
    “Could you check Ohio?”
    "Why Ohio?"
    "The car is from Ohio. The pamphlet saysSoutheastern Correctional Institute, which is in Ohio…”
    “Maybe the owner has a relative in prison,” she says. “Of course, I will look, but it seems like the killer was going through different states unless this victim is the car thief. The killer could have come from anywhere.”
    “Just please check it and do it as quickly as possible,” I say. “I…I just have a hunch…”
    "You okay, Dr. Meadows?" she asks, glancing back at me. Blood is all over her plastic gloves from where she has touched the victim.
    "No." I swallow.
    "It's all right. I'd like to say that seeing these murder victims gets easier, but they don't. But not many of them are this bad. You should head home. I’ll call you when I know something."
    I nod. I need to see Grace. I need some reassurance that she’s safe and that this whole idea of mine is crazy. He couldn’t have escaped. He couldn’t be free and stalking Grace. I can’t risk almost losing her again.

Chapter Ten

Sam, 2014
    ( T hanksgiving ; Sam’s House, Murray, Virginia)
    GRACE’S MOTHER, LOUISE, and my parents come over to my house for Thanksgiving. Louise insisted on cooking the turkey because she has a special recipe that includes Dijon mustard and soy sauce, which was fortunate because neither Grace nor I knew how to cook turkey. Grace always had Thanksgiving with her mother’s side of the family, and I was always so busy on Thanksgiving that I just ate Chinese takeout or bought a ready-made turkey. This is something new and, honestly, I like it.
    “The turkey is ready!” Louise yells out from the kitchen. Mom peeks out from the kitchen with a glass of wine dangling from her hand.
    “Can you carve it, Rupert?” she asks. “I always end up hitting the bone and Louise says that she always has trouble doing it as well.”
    Dad sighs, lifting himself off his chair. I offer him my hand, but he only smirks at me.
    “I’m fine, Sam,” he says. “I think my heart is stronger than it has been in years.”
    “Maybe,” I say. It’s medically impossible, but he seems happier and more energetic than he was back when I was a teenager. As Dad walks into the kitchen, Grace scurries out. Her cheeks turn red when she sees me raising my eyebrow.
    “I’m not quite ready to be in the same room as a carving knife,” she says. “Don’t judge me too harshly; that thing looks like a hatchet.”
    “I wouldn’t ever judge you,” I tell her. She walks over to me and slides onto my lap. We kiss. “Except maybe for the fact that you like spinach dip. That’s a bit weird. And chicken on your pizza. Chicken was never meant to be on pizza.”
    “Both of those are delicious. Don’t hate buffalo chicken pizza until you’ve had it,” she says, as I run my finger along her clavicle. “I’m glad everyone could be here.”
    “Me, too,” I say. “I hope it’s not too weird without your dad here. I wish I could have met him.”
    “He would have loved you,” she says. “He was always interested in the medical field. You two would have had a lot to talk about.”
    I nod. I hear her mother’s infectious laugh from the kitchen. “How did you tell your mom that we had moved in already?”
    “Are you kidding? I didn’t have to explain anything. I’m pretty sure she’s expecting a wedding and a child any minute now,” she