have been cruel to small animals.

The wording was general, the findings broad enough to apply to many serial killers, not just this one. Most of the second paragraph was blacked out; what remained suggested that the suspect would have to be familiar with a variety of tools and adept at using them. He would be neat, intelligent, and organized; a stickler for detail; a patient, persistent person who might have a background in medicine, anatomy, hunting, fishing, engineering, carpentry, or design.

I held the paper up to the light but couldn’t read the blacked-out section. I assumed, though, that it referred to specifics of the recovered victim’s dismemberment, details of which Nick wasn’t ready to reveal to a “civilian,” even if she’d personally found one of the dismembered parts.

I read on. The suspect was probably but not necessarily white; his victims had no consistent racial makeup, and victims usually matched the race of their killer. He was precise and planned carefully. He believed he was empowered to kill because of his own innate superiority, the value of his mission, or the power of a superior being who directed him. He might or might not be torturing his victims. His father might have been an alcoholic or drug abuser; his mother might have abused him, possibly sexually. Also, he might or might not have had a nanny or babysitter who’d abused him. The increasingly bold and open nature of his kidnappings implied that he was confident, even taunting authorities, growing bolder with each crime.

The report so far seemed general and indefinite. Nothing particularly insightful or striking. Was this vague garble the kind of work that had earned Beverly Gardener world renown as a forensic psychologist?

The next paragraph was highlighted in yellow. It said that the killer might insert himself somehow into or close to the investigation, possibly pretending to protect potential victims or to help solve the crime. The fact that significant evidence had been left out in the open indicated that he intended to keep on killing. He might, in fact, leave significant clues in significant places where they would be found by significant parties. An arrow was drawn to a handwritten comment in the margin. It said, “E.g., finger? Z. Hayes? Significance?”

A chilled ripple slid down my back. With equally cold certainty, I understood why Nick had asked for my help.

TWENTY-EIGHT

FOR SEVERAL MINUTES, I SAT AT MY DESK, SHAKEN BY DR. GARdener’s notation. Had the finger been dropped in front of my house deliberately? Was my doorstep a “significant” location to the killer? If so, why? Who was he?

The faces of local men stampeded through my mind. Victor. Charlie. Joe. Gene. Stop it, I told myself. Calm down. Think. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, made the faces stand in an orderly line. Victor was first. He was the right age, somewhere in his thirties. I didn’t know much else about him, beyond rumors. supposedly, he’d lived with his mother all his life, until her death. Maybe something unnatural had been going on. Had he been abused? Victor was a loner, dysfunctional at everything, probably at sex, too. But Victor was so afraid of violence that he holed up in his house. Unless that was just an act. Maybe Victor wasn’t phobic at all. Maybe he actually snuck out his back door, grabbed nannies, and chopped their fingers off in his spare room. Who would know? Agoraphobia would be a great cover.

What about Charlie? He insisted that he knew all about the evil around us. He said the evil guy was “in his head,” controlling, monitoring his thoughts; that sounded like a “superior power.” Oh Lord. Was the dangerous person Charlie’d warned me about none other than Charlie himself? Had Charlie left the grisly clue at our door as a warning? He had a carpentry background. And skill with tools. And he’d inserted himself into the investigation, promising to protect me. He fit the profile in many ways. But that was ridiculous. Charlie had bad knees. He was no killer. Was he?

Then there was Phillip Woods. He’d seemed almost obsessed with Dr. Gardener. Here was a thought: He’d followed Dr. Gardener’s career and read her books; he knew she was a forensic consultant for the police. Could he have killed women just to get her attention? To be the subject of one of her chapters? How infatuated was he? He was almost forty, a little old for the profile, but he fit it in other ways. He