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searched for users with the handle Redeemer in it. Most of them are churches. There’s a newspaper.”
    “Maybe Bingham belonged to one of those churches.” Jack directed the hands-free system to dial Nadia Webber.
    Nadia worked out of our home office in Quantico as a technical analyst.
    She answered on the second ring.
    “I need to you get together a list of the churches in the area around Salt Lick, take in all of Bath County. I believe there should be a list of about thirty, according to the good Sheriff anyhow. I also want to know if any are of Catholic denomination or go under the name of Redeemer.”
    “Of course.”
    “Give that information to Zachery.” Jack hung up and turned to me.
    “I can see his history.” I had clicked the link to his profile on Twitter. “There’s not much here. His last tweet—”
    “I like twit better.”
    I’m sure he did. “Was two weeks ago,” I paused for a second. “The file says he’s on Twitter every morning, but I guess he doesn’t have a lot to say? Or maybe he sends personal messages and deletes them afterward?”
    “What was his last tweet?”
    “He quoted a scripture.”
    Jack rolled his eyes.
    “You don’t believe in God.”
    He sucked in on his cigarette and crushed the glowing butt in the SUV’s ashtray. He didn’t say anything.
    I studied Jack’s profile for a second. “Bingham’s last tweet said, let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.”
    “I hate it when cases cross over like this.” Jack put up his window, but I kept mine lowered. “Now we’re not just dealing with a psychopath and narcissist, we’re likely dealing with a religious fanatic. They’re the worst kind.” He looked over at me. “Welcome to the FBI.”

     
    I worked down through the list of Bingham’s two hundred followers, curious what they were tweeting and where their interests lay.
    “How do you know so much about this Twitter anyway?”
    I glanced at Jack not sure whether to explain.
    “You have an account.” He pulled around a slow-moving tractor and headed down the side road back to the hell house .
    “I used to.”
    “You still do.”
    I turned to face out the window and watched the cows in the field. A few of them were lying down. Rain was coming.
    “Kid?”
    “I don’t use it much.”
    “Hmm.”
    “I started it as an experiment.”
    “Uh huh.”
    “You don’t believe me? That’s all right. I just thought I’d see how many I could get to follow me.”
    “How many?”
    I looked down at Bingham’s following.
    “Not as much as the psycho killer I take it. Maybe you need to spout scripture.”
    This man made me pull on every portion of self-control. He could never know why I had started on Twitter or the people I connected with online.
    “You’re part of a knitting club. Not many sign up with Tweeter?”
    “Twitter,” I corrected him again, “is the site where when you share a brief message, it’s called a tweet. What’s so hard—”
    Jack’s lips curled upward.
    “You’re testing my limits.”
    “Not hard to get there either, is it?” Jack’s face turned serious as he parked the SUV and took his keys from the ignition. “If you’re not secure with who you are, this job will eat you alive.”
    “It’s—” My words stopped there. My eyes were on the screen. “Jack.”
    “Yes.” He stuck his head into the vehicle through the opened door.
    “He just twitted. I mean tweeted.”
    “So much for just ten in the morning.” Jack tapped the clock on the dash. Two in the afternoon.
    I read off what Bingham had shared.
    “What the hell is confess, repent, respect the authorities, and vengeance is mine supposed to mean?”
    “I believe they’re a bunch of scriptural verses melded together. He’s ordered a hit on me.”
    “You’re over-reacting.”
    “He told me that I would need to confess my sins to be forgiven. He went further to say if I didn’t I