"You're right. We do need to talk about it."

"I'm not sorry it happened. Are you?" Please say you're not Please say you're not.

"I can't say that I'm sorry. But I gotta be honest with you, I am filled with guilt."

"That's a good sign. It means you have a conscience. But you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. You were only acting on true feelings. Right?"

"Yes, I was acting on true feelings, but I shouldn't have had those feelings. I'm a married man."

That she didn't need to be reminded of. "Feelings are feelings. They're neither good nor bad. They're just feelings. You shouldn't beat yourself up over having them."

Driscoll fingered his wedding band. "It's one thing to have the feelings. But it's a whole other ball game when you act on them."

Time to muster some courage, she thought as her heart pounded inside her chest. "I'm about to say something, John, that'll have you thinking."

"Go ahead."

"Colette would understand."

A quizzical look filled Driscoll's face. "You're the second female inside of two days to say that."

"Well, I'm not gonna ask who the other bright visionary is, but take it from me, given the circumstances, your wife would understand."

"Part of me is beginning to believe that, but the larger part is calling for harsh punishment."

"Penance? You want penance? You're being much too hard on yourself."

"I need some space, an emotional rest so I can sort things out. For now, let's just try to get on with our lives and focus our energies back on the case."

"OK, we will. But, you don't have to beat yourself up. Trust me. I know I'm right about how Colette would feel." At least I hope so At least I hope so, her inner voice said as her mind raced.

"Space. Just a little space. OK?"

"You got it."

The telephone chimed and the Lieutenant answered it. "Driscoll here."

"I gotta talk to you." Moira's voice was filled with apprehension.

"So, talk."

"Not on the phone. I don't trust AT&T."

"Moira, you caught me at a bad time."

"They make an awesome bacon cheeseburger at the Empress Diner."

"What is it you want?"

"I told you, I won't discuss it on the phone."

"Then come to my office."

"Your office is like Grand Central Station at rush hour. It's no place for conversation."

"E-mail me." Driscoll cradled the phone under his chin and threw both hands in the air.

"Just give me ten minutes. The Empress Diner."

"You've got five. And it better be worth it."

Chapter 39.

The waitress sneered at Driscoll as he slid into the booth across from the teenage girl.

She really did resemble Nicole. The more he saw of the girl, the more he was reminded of his daughter. The likeness was uncanny. "Here I am," he said. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"I know," she whispered, sipping a cherry coke.

"You know what?"

"I know how he picks them."

"You know how who picks them?"

"The killer. I designed a program and analyzed the data."

"What data?"

"From your files."

"Goddamn it, Moira! Those files are police property!"

"Did you know all of your victims were members of an online service?"

"Yeah. So what? So is half the country."

"I think your guy is luring the women through the Internet," she said, knowing the gurgling sound of her straw irritated him. "I could hook up with him."

"Hook up with him! Moira, if you're right and he is luring his victims through the Internet, do you really think hooking up with him would be a wise thing to do? Hell, I wouldn't send my best undercover into that lion's den without plenty of backup."

"I take my assignment seriously. I'll do what needs to be done."

"Assignment! What assignment?"

"Unofficial agent investigating case number 29AW16."

"Oh, brother."

"Maybe he flirts with them in a chat room, but I doubt it. My guess is, he's planted some goody on a bulletin board. He'd have thousands of chicks, worldwide, checking him out."

"A global serial killer? That would be a stretch. I think you're getting in a little too deep."

"Since the killings are local, we can start with city ads. My program'll sniff out the ferret. I've narrowed the list of ads down to 1,876. That's where you come in."

"How's that?"

"You can have the Task Force continue the search."

The girl might be on to something. It wouldn't be the first time a criminal used the Internet as his playing field. And if Moira was right, it would be a very deadly field. This was no place for a fourteen-year-old. Driscoll knew what he needed to do. He needed to protect the girl. "Moira, I want you off this case."

"You're not gonna make Captain without me."

"I'll look into the possibilities your theory raises. But we're dealing with a vicious murderer. The last thing I want you to do is to try and hook up with him. If he turns out to be our killer, you'd be putting yourself in grave danger."

"I know the highways and byways of the Internet better than anyone. I'm tellin' ya, I can hook up with him."

"And I forbid it. It'd be no place for a fourteen-year-old girl."

"That's it. Isn't it?

"What's it?"

"You don't trust me just 'cause I'm a kid. You grownups are all alike. Afraid to admit that a kid might know more than they do."

"Granted, you dazzle me with your computer expertise. But I can't allow you to put yourself at risk."

"I'm sure I'm right about this one. All the dead women were members of an online service."

"But not the same online service."

"That wouldn't matter. They'd all have access to the World Wide Web."

"I promise you, I'll look into it. But, while I'm doing that, I want you to steer clear of any inclination you have to hook up with the guy."

"OK," she said begrudgingly, sliding out of the booth.

"And Moira."

"Yes?"

"Stay out of those police files. If I catch you nosing around in there again, I'll lock you up."

The Lieutenant sat back in the empty booth and thought about the exchange. Could Moira be right? He grabbed his cellular and punched in the number to his office. When Margaret answered, he said, "Find out what you can about each victim's online service."

"Is this you talking, Lieutenant? Or the whiz kid?"

"Moira thinks our killer may be luring his victims through the Internet."

"It wouldn't be the first time. You think she's on to something?"

"She raised the possibility. We'd be foolish to ignore it."

"I'll get on it right away."

Chapter 40.

Driscoll eyed the wooden crucifix that was affixed to the far wall inside the dimly lit parlor of St. Mary's Star of the Sea rectory. His palms were sweating, and he thought he could hear his heart beating. But Elizabeth Fahey was right. What was weighing heavily on his mind was guilt. Irish Catholic guilt. And who better to speak to about such guilt than an Irish Catholic priest? That being the case, Driscoll had asked around. Liz Butler lived in Rockaway. She was a devout Catholic and had told Driscoll her pastor was a with-it kind of guy. Driscoll had placed a call to her church's rectory and arranged a meeting with Father Sean McMahon.

The Lieutenant stood up as the priest entered the room. McMahon was a young priest with a ruddy complexion that suited his round Irish face. Driscoll figured him to be somewhere in his thirties.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Welcome to St. Mary's," Father McMahon said, motioning for Driscoll to take a seat beside an ornately carved mahogany desk.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"You're welcome."

"I gotta tell ya, Father, it's been ages since I've been inside a rectory, and years since I've been to church."

McMahon smiled. "I'm glad you've returned."

"I'd like to get right to the point, if you'll let me. I feel like my insides are about to explode."

"Our cleaning lady wouldn't like that."

Driscoll liked that the man had a sense of humor. "I wanna talk to you about certain feelings of guilt I'm having. My wife, Colette, was involved in an automobile accident six years ago. Our daughter, Nicole, was killed in the accident, and my wife was left comatose. According to her doctors she'll never regain consciousness."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"I've remained faithful to my wife, Father. That is, up until recently." Driscoll studied the priest's face for any sign of condemnation. Finding none, he continued. "I've become friendly with a woman that I work with. Her name is Margaret. She's a good woman who understands my circumstances. The thing is, I have feelings for her. Romantic feelings. The other night we had dinner together at her place. One thing led to another, and I found myself in her arms, kissing her. I haven't kissed a woman in six years. I gotta tell ya Father, I liked it."

"Were you raised Catholic, Lieutenant?"

"Yes. Catholic grammar school. Catholic high school. I even did a stint as an altar boy for four years. Back in those days, the Mass was in Latin."

"So I've been told."