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evidence, hair and fiber, can cling to clothing even
     after long-term exposure to the elements. And so can DNA, as evidenced by the skin
     cells still in the collar of the blouse. Semen had been found in the underpants of
     victims after months of exposure,and it had been used to convict offenders. Did our killer know this? Was he educated
     in evidence collection? I thought about where those girls had been held. Was it damp
     and dark? Or were they positioned so they could see the free world passing by? Wherever
     they were, their terror must be painted on those walls.
    Rauser was standing over me when I opened my eyes. I’d fallen asleep in the second
     hour of reading and rereading. “Braves won,” he said. “It’s after midnight.” He’d
     taken the reports I had in my lap and stacked them neatly on the table. He smiled,
     held up the new smartphone I’d given him for his birthday, and snapped a picture.
    “I’m going to take that phone away from you.”
    He held out both his hands for me, pulled me to my feet. “Get your shoes on.”
    We walked under the Midtown streetlights, holding hands, talking about our day—his
     cases at APD Homicide and the reports I’d received from a small-town sheriff—with
     Hank straining against his leash, sniffing at everything, seemingly unaffected by
     his Viagra incident. We didn’t talk about the silverware drawer or Rauser’s anger
     this morning. We walked home and Rauser closed the bedroom door as I undressed. His
     arms came around me. He kissed my bare shoulders. I felt his breath in my ear, his
     hands brushing my nipples, running down my body, between my legs. He knelt and pulled
     me hard against him—my hands in his thick hair, his mouth hot and wet. When he stretched
     out and I slipped easily down on him, felt his hands holding on to my hips, saw the
     muscles flex in his shoulders and arms, we kissed and rocked and I rode him until
     I felt him pulsing inside me. And then we slept that heavenly, dreamy, connected,
     after-sex sleep that’s so good once you’ve learned each other’s bodies. Our movements,
     even in sleep, were perfectly synced now.
    Just before sunrise, I left Rauser in bed and slipped out for a jog with my brother.
     We peeled off the concrete path at Piedmont Park and jogged up the hill toward 10th
     Street in the foggy predawn.Dewy fescue glistened under the skyline and soaked my running shoes. Jimmy kept the
     pace next to me.
    We turned right on 10th and eased into our cooldown, dodging branches from the young
     maples planted in little strips between sidewalk and street. This was our new routine,
     the quiet time we carved out three days a week since Jimmy had returned to Atlanta.
     We’d run together as kids too—Jimmy pushing me, encouraging me. He’d never had my
     competitive streak, but that didn’t stop him from showing up at high school track
     meets and rooting me on. Jimmy had always been my greatest supporter. Even at home
     when I’d butted heads with our mother, Jimmy’s even temper and cool thinking restored
     the peace. He had always balanced out our high-strung family nicely.
    We stretched tight calves while holding on to the darkened balcony railings on a row
     of town houses. Across the street, a men’s bar was closed up tight for the day. The FOR LEASE signs that had papered the windows at what was once Outwrite Books had come down
     and a new restaurant had taken the space in Midtown’s ever-changing landscape. On
     the opposite corner The Flying Biscuit was gearing up for breakfast. And Caribou Coffee
     was calling my name.
    We walked into the coffee shop to the usual mix of bleary-eyed customers dressed for
     work and those of us still hopped up on endorphins. Jimmy’s roving eye slyly checked
     out a guy in red bicycle clothes that didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. What’s
     up with that anyway? I mean, just how far are you people willing to go in the name
     of aerodynamics? He looked like an