in.”
Justin scanned the print. “Positive ID by the mother. It’s Lacey DePalma all right.”
“This guy’s all over the state. No apparent pattern to where he picks up his victims.”
“Only pattern is where he leaves them.” The latest body was a young art student who’d disappeared during April vacation from Southwest Harbor, where she’d been painting on a deserted shoreline. Justin and the profiler had spent most of the day on the case. And would probably spend the night.
“Even that’s all over the state.” Tavani deposited his empty mug on the floor. “There are two more missing women unaccounted for?”
“One in June, a teenager in Waterville who didn’t make it home from babysitting. Another this month in Rockland. She disappeared in the middle of the crowd attending the North Atlantic Blues Festival. Her friends thought she’d gone off with some guy she met.”
“She just might have. The wrong guy.”
“Tavani, can’t you give me something, anything to go on?”
The agent opened his briefcase. From a thick file, he plucked a single sheet. The lines between his straight, black brows deepened. “I think I have a handle on this guy. Seeing an actual crime scene only verified what VICAP says and what I think.”
The FBI Violent Criminal Apprehension Program provided data on similar crimes and criminals around the country. That and the agent’s expertise ought to provide some clues. Anything would be an improvement over the nothing they had.
Justin drained his mug. “I’ll set up a meeting. I want this perverted fucker. Before he can snatch another woman.”
He uttered a silent prayer of thanks that Annie was stashed away on her canoe trip.
At the so-called hardships she must be enduring in the wilderness, he allowed himself a half grin.
SEVEN
Northern Maine woods
When Annie skidded into camp, the others were relaxing around the campfire. She stopped to let her heart recover.
Pungent wood smoke swirled up from dancing red and yellow flames. Carl tossed a handful of empty peanut shells into the fire, shells from the giant bag open on the picnic table.
“Help yourself. Supper will take awhile.” Sam snagged a handful of nuts, crunched a shell, and popped the nut into his mouth. “Anybody see my Buck knife? I left it on the table.”
“It was there a few minutes ago,” Nora said. “Maybe you put it in your tent.”
When Annie saw that Ray had two pots of water boiling, she said, “Give me a minute to change and I’ll pitch in.”
In her tent, she shimmied into jeans, pink turtleneck, and black sweatshirt. She tugged on socks and sneakers before crawling out with insect repellant and a flashlight.
In spite of advice from all quarters, she and Ray managed to prepare the food. When the meal was ready, the aromas of melting butter and shellfish lured everyone to the table.
Including Frank. Tin plate in hand, he slouched toward the steaming pots.
Sam headed him off. “Remember the deal, Frank.”
Stubbornness defined the taut line of the boy’s mouth. “I put up my dumb tent.”
“Nice work too. Erecting your tent’s for your comfort. Once you’ve done your shared chore, you can eat.”
Frank turned to his mom, standing beside the table.
Crimson flagged her cheeks, and she drew a deep breath. “You were supposed to help me gather firewood. Remember?”
Annie gave Nora credit for sticking to her guns. The others had helped her with the wood, so they had plenty, but Frank didn’t need to know that.
The teen stomped off, spitting anger that singed the pines. Words Annie hadn’t even heard on New York streets.
“Hang in there,” she mouthed to the boy’s mother.
During the confrontation, the adults had watched in tense silence while going through the motions of filling their plates. Now that it was over they sat down to eat.
Murmurs of appreciation stifled conversation. Annie counted the potential damage on her plate. At this rate, no amount of
Justin scanned the print. “Positive ID by the mother. It’s Lacey DePalma all right.”
“This guy’s all over the state. No apparent pattern to where he picks up his victims.”
“Only pattern is where he leaves them.” The latest body was a young art student who’d disappeared during April vacation from Southwest Harbor, where she’d been painting on a deserted shoreline. Justin and the profiler had spent most of the day on the case. And would probably spend the night.
“Even that’s all over the state.” Tavani deposited his empty mug on the floor. “There are two more missing women unaccounted for?”
“One in June, a teenager in Waterville who didn’t make it home from babysitting. Another this month in Rockland. She disappeared in the middle of the crowd attending the North Atlantic Blues Festival. Her friends thought she’d gone off with some guy she met.”
“She just might have. The wrong guy.”
“Tavani, can’t you give me something, anything to go on?”
The agent opened his briefcase. From a thick file, he plucked a single sheet. The lines between his straight, black brows deepened. “I think I have a handle on this guy. Seeing an actual crime scene only verified what VICAP says and what I think.”
The FBI Violent Criminal Apprehension Program provided data on similar crimes and criminals around the country. That and the agent’s expertise ought to provide some clues. Anything would be an improvement over the nothing they had.
Justin drained his mug. “I’ll set up a meeting. I want this perverted fucker. Before he can snatch another woman.”
He uttered a silent prayer of thanks that Annie was stashed away on her canoe trip.
At the so-called hardships she must be enduring in the wilderness, he allowed himself a half grin.
SEVEN
Northern Maine woods
When Annie skidded into camp, the others were relaxing around the campfire. She stopped to let her heart recover.
Pungent wood smoke swirled up from dancing red and yellow flames. Carl tossed a handful of empty peanut shells into the fire, shells from the giant bag open on the picnic table.
“Help yourself. Supper will take awhile.” Sam snagged a handful of nuts, crunched a shell, and popped the nut into his mouth. “Anybody see my Buck knife? I left it on the table.”
“It was there a few minutes ago,” Nora said. “Maybe you put it in your tent.”
When Annie saw that Ray had two pots of water boiling, she said, “Give me a minute to change and I’ll pitch in.”
In her tent, she shimmied into jeans, pink turtleneck, and black sweatshirt. She tugged on socks and sneakers before crawling out with insect repellant and a flashlight.
In spite of advice from all quarters, she and Ray managed to prepare the food. When the meal was ready, the aromas of melting butter and shellfish lured everyone to the table.
Including Frank. Tin plate in hand, he slouched toward the steaming pots.
Sam headed him off. “Remember the deal, Frank.”
Stubbornness defined the taut line of the boy’s mouth. “I put up my dumb tent.”
“Nice work too. Erecting your tent’s for your comfort. Once you’ve done your shared chore, you can eat.”
Frank turned to his mom, standing beside the table.
Crimson flagged her cheeks, and she drew a deep breath. “You were supposed to help me gather firewood. Remember?”
Annie gave Nora credit for sticking to her guns. The others had helped her with the wood, so they had plenty, but Frank didn’t need to know that.
The teen stomped off, spitting anger that singed the pines. Words Annie hadn’t even heard on New York streets.
“Hang in there,” she mouthed to the boy’s mother.
During the confrontation, the adults had watched in tense silence while going through the motions of filling their plates. Now that it was over they sat down to eat.
Murmurs of appreciation stifled conversation. Annie counted the potential damage on her plate. At this rate, no amount of
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