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patterns—all believed to have religious significance.
    She had never felt exactly alone at Three Rivers. It was an easy place to be spooked. The weather always seemed to be changing, and the wind constantly tugged and talked. Even immutable objects never looked the same. From one moment to the next the Godfrey Hills to the north, the Sacramento Mountains and Sierra Blanca to the east, and the San Andres and Oscura Mountains to the west seemed to alter in stature and color. And below, looking northwest to the Chupadera Mesa, Elizabeth always thought she was on the verge of seeing visions.
    She had hinted to a BLM ranger how she felt, how the spot seemed to her to be alternately holy and eerie, and he told her he often felt the same way. He took her down the trail and showed her what he called The Little Man but what he said others called the God of the Petroglyph.
    “He’s the watcher,” the ranger said. “He’s the holy man looking out for this site. I’ve come up here some nights, and I’ve seen these weird lights in the area, sort of bluish and green. The Little Man puts on quite the light show.”
    Something else the detectives didn’t need to hear about. “Parker didn’t leave a drawing at Three Rivers,” said Elizabeth, “no picture of Alice Todd. He left Kathy Franklin’s body.”
    Back then, there had only been a dirt road out to the petroglyph site. Gray had brought Kathy at night, had laid her down beneath a petroglyph of one of the goggle-eyed beings. The figure looked alert, even afraid, its hands raised in alarm and its eyes wide open. Elizabeth wondered if that was how Kathy had reacted as Parker had put his hands around her neck. She coughed, not sure if it was out of reflex or sympathy, and remembered her audience.
    “It’s clear the recent homicides have somewhat paralleled the original murders. I don’t have an opinion as to whether the San Diego homicides are copycat killings, ritualized murders based on the Shame MO, or whether the killer is staging these homicides for as-yet-unknown reasons. At this juncture, though,I think it’s important that Parker’s third murder be examined. Looking back might give you the opportunity to plan ahead.”
    Elizabeth stopped talking, ostensibly to take a sip of water, but in reality to gather her thoughts about Heidi Ehrlich, another name from her personal memorial wall.
    “Heidi Ehrlich was a woman who liked to help others. She was a college student who chose to be a Good Samaritan to the wrong person. She met Gray Parker in an Albuquerque park late one afternoon. She heard him calling out, ‘Anubis, Anubis.’ Then he approached her and asked if she’d seen his dog. Heidi helped him look. When she ventured into some brush, he strangled her with a leash.
    “For those who know their Egyptian mythology, Anubis was the jackal-headed god who escorted the dead to judgment. Perhaps that had some bearing on where Parker transported the body. He took Heidi to the El Santuario de Chimayo, a famous shrine, sort of the Lourdes of New Mexico. For almost two hundred years people have been taking pinches of clay from a small well there, believing it has healing properties. And during Easter weekend a few tons of local dirt are brought in and blessed by the priest. Miracle dirt, people call it. They take it home in plastic bags.”
    Elizabeth remembered the room at the church that was overflowing with crutches, braces, and medical equipment, items left behind by those who thought the clay had cured them. She had visited on a warm summer day, had gone inside and marveled that there were so many lit candles in such a small shrine. Then, as now, there was no shortage of people looking for a miracle. Inside and outside were signs of heartfelt offerings: beads, makeshift crucifixes, photos of loved ones, cut-out pictures of the Baby Jesus, and drawings of the Virgin Mary.
    “Breaking into the church would have been easy, Parker told me. He had considered laying Heidi