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are going to comb these witness testimonies from Lowman’s and see if there’s anything we can hone in on that’s worth a follow-up. Teva and Dodd will keep poking around the crime scene a little more. Jenna, I want you to look over the Triple Shooter case file tonight, see if anything gives further insight into what might have caused his MO to change. Warning signs of escalation, patterns or cycles we’ve missed until now . . . anything.”
    Jenna gave her superior a nod. In other words, until something dislodged, it was up to them to pull leads out of thin air. The greatest kinds of cases.
    â€œIt’d be nice if he just left us his address, phone number, and copies of all major credit cards,” Porter said, leaning back.
    â€œNow, where’s the fun in that? Where’s your sense of adventure, Porter?” Jenna laughed. She tucked the case file under her arm and made for the door.
    Porter sat up and watched over his shoulder as she walked away. “Hey, I didn’t say it couldn’t be fun! He could leave the phone number scrambled. Or hey! His address could be spelled in answers in a crossword puzzle.”
    Jenna opened the door. “So in other words, you’d like our next serial killer to be the Riddler from Batman?”
    Porter lifted both hands. “Perfect. Would that be too much to ask?”
    Jenna glanced at Saleda, and they shared an eye roll. Then she looked back at Porter. “I personally like my villains a little more Wicked Witch of the West. Easier to get rid of.” She shrugged. “See you guys later.”
    She let the door close behind her. At least this way, she might get to read Ayana a story before bath time, even if her brain
was
filled with images of dead bodies draped over produce bins and blood-smeared floors.
    Besides, she was dying to ask Yancy what his thought process was when he’d told her to find Molly Keegan. They were planning to go to dinner, so she’d have a good chance then.
    Murder, pictures of dead people’s faces, and drippy, romantic candles. All in a day.

6
    H e clawed at his head, but his fingernails were chewed so low that he could only feel his stubby fingers raking against his scalp. Itching, itching. Always itching!
    Focus!
    He sat on his hands on the bleachers. They wouldn’t find him here. Couldn’t get to him here. He was safe.
    But then, on the basketball court, there they were: the numbers.
Oh, no. Not again! You swore they would stay away!
    He closed his eyes as tight as he could, shook his head. But no matter what he did, the numbers burned in front of him like they were branded onto the backs of his eyelids. He would have to follow her now. Just like always.
    No! He mustn’t! The police would find him if he did now!
    But if he didn’t follow her,
they
would find him, and
they
were far worse than others. He was their Hand of Justice, and he had to remain so.
    Maybe she’d done nothing. Maybe it was a false alarm, and there would be no reason for him to punish her. He would follow just in case, then go home safe and sound, sure they would have no reason to chase him.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Y ancy jogged around Jenna’s Blazer and opened the driver’s side door. Just because a woman drove was no reason not to be a gentleman.
    He grabbed the door and yanked it wider just as she cracked it open. “Madame,” he said, giving a little bow.
    â€œYou really don’t have to do that, you know. We’ve been dating, in some capacity, since last summer and sleeping together since Christmas Eve. I’m pretty sure the courting stage is over,” Jenna said.
    Yancy slammed her door, then reached for the duct-taped side mirror. He pressed down the end of the tape-job that was quickly losing its stickiness. “In that case, if you won’t let me pick up the check for dinner, at least let me take you to the hardware store and buy some