nanny case. He said one of the missing women is your friend.”
“Did he?” sonofabitch discussed me with her? What else had he said? That I was easy? That I’d hopped into bed after just two slices of pizza? “He must have caught me at a bad moment.” Damned if I was going to let on that I was upset.
“Look, sugar, you don’t need to impress me with your strength. This case is brutal. Horrible. You’d be nuts not to be upset.” Her eyes were jade green. “Professionals like us don’t like to admit that we can have problems, too. We’re supposed to be invulnerable and help everybody else. But guess what? We’re only human. sometimes we need a shoulder to lean on just like everyone else. so if there’s anything I can do for you—anything at all—just call. You hear?” she seemed sincere. Despite the food nicknames and the fact that she hadn’t answered my calls for three days, I found myself oddly drawn to her. Warmed by her energy, flattered by her attention. Almost believing her sincerity Almost wanting to.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m really fine, though.”
“I hope so.” Her voice was husky, like smoke. Her eyes glowed like green embers. “We’re on the same team, after all.”
We were a team? I pictured us in football uniforms, huddled around Nick. Not a good image. I blinked it away.
She was leaving. Heels clacking on my floor, reviving me. I remembered the message I had for her.
“Oh, Dr. Gardener?” Damn, why hadn’t I said “Beverly”? “There was a man at your office, Phillip Woods. He was waiting to see you—”
“Woods?” Her eyes widened. “He was? Oh, Christ. When?”
“Monday morning. He said he was your friend.”
“I’m sure he did. Actually, he’s more like my devotee. He’s a groupie. An infatuated fan. He writes letters and e-mails, sends me flowers, hangs around the radio station hoping to catch sight of me. I guess it was only a matter of time until he showed up here.”
Were we talking about the same Phillip Woods? “Really? He didn’t seem the kind of person who’d intrude that way.”
“Actually, he’s not that unusual. I’ve come to expect that sort of thing—it comes with celebrity. When you’re in the public eye, people begin to think they actually know you, even that they’re in love with you. Like Phillip Woods. He has a crush on me. It’s a nuisance, but no big surprise.” She shrugged. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it.”
When she waved good-bye, the air shimmered around her; after she’d left, the room seemed empty and deprived. Except for the lingering scent of her perfume, I was alone with her profile.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS IN A PLAIN WHITE ENVELOPE WITH NO COVER LETTER, no return address, no instruction as to what I should do when I’d finished reading it.
The report itself was surprisingly short and contained few surprises. It said that the likely perpetrator was male, probably under forty, probably a loner, probably with low self-esteem. He probably lived, worked, or had lived or worked in the neighborhood where the crimes were committed. He likely had some sort of sexual dysfunction as well as a history of violence and/or abuse in his childhood. He hated young women or nannies, might have been a chronic bed wetter, might have started fires, might 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