"Like I said in the beginning of this conversation, I cant comment," I said. "But, now Ive got a question for you."

"I cant tell you who my source is," he objected. "Im grateful for the interview, but thats someplace I cant go."

"Thats not my question. I already know Detective Nelsons your mole," I said. I paused and Matthews didnt object, but I wasnt sure Id guessed right. He didnt react to Nelsons name, and I wondered if Id been wrong. "Youve been all over this story. Youve had it right from the beginning. What I want to know is, why havent you run the San Antonio composite?"

Matthews looked almost embarra.s.sed, stared down at his cigarette and frowned. "The directive from your office said this guy may have been a witness in the Gonzales killing and was wanted for questioning. My editor, in his vast wisdom, went with the story about the murder and suspicions it was connected to the Lucas killings, but then, somehow, I still cant figure out how, decided not to run the composite. We were short of s.p.a.ce that day. He wouldnt run the sketch without confirmation that this guy was a suspect in the island killings. No one at your office or the FBI would talk. Not even my source," he said. "Funny thing. At times, Ive had a feeling my mole, as you called him, really didnt want this guy found."

Just what Id suspected.

"Now," I said. "With what Ive told you, will you run it?"

"Yeah, now I can run it."

With that, I took a copy of the new sketch out of my pocket.

"Then run this one, too," I said. "Its Gabriel as a kid. It could help get this guy caught and save some lives."

Matthews took the sketch. "Ordinary-looking b.a.s.t.a.r.d to be this evil."

"One more thing," I said. "If Im not overstepping my bounds, Ive got a suggestion for you."

"Shoot."

"Bad choice of words when youre dealing with a Texas Ranger," I said, chuckling. He laughed along with me, and I thought maybe Evan Matthews wasnt such a bad guy after all. "First, you have to warn people to lock their doors and windows, especially if theyre living anywhere near a railroad track. Like I said, this is just like the Resendiz thing, and thats how this guys been getting in, through open windows."

"No problem."

"Second, how about running profiles on the victims with your piece, especially Dr. Neal and Mary Gonzales? Your article will be about a serial killer who claims to be an instrument of G.o.d, punishing sinners. Mary and Dr. Neal were truly good people."

"I dont know..."

"Listen, Evan, we both want this guy caught, right?"

He didnt answer, but I went on as if he had. "A story on his victims, one that shows them for what they were, just good, ordinary people, will make him angry. We need him angry. Thats when h.e.l.l make mistakes. Right now, hes just too d.a.m.n careful. We need him rattled."

"Ill see what I can do."

"Make sure you describe this guy as he really is," I said, staring hard at him. "Hes not an archangel. Hes a sniveling coward whos killing for no reason other than to appease his own sick fantasy."

I got up to leave and said, "You can quote me on that."

In the car on the way home, I felt the weight of the last few days slip away. No matter what happened the next morning when the story broke, I knew Id done the right thing, and I understood that I had no real choice. There was something else: recounting the past two weeks for Matthews had brought a lot of the investigation back into focus, including those first days. I dialed David on my cell phone, without looking at the clock.

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e from sleep.

"David, its Sarah."

"What time is it?"

"Not too late," I said. "Listen, I want to head out early tomorrow morning and drive back to Bardwell. You up for it?"

"Why? We already-"

"No we didnt. We both planned to stay there longer. We cut the trip short to try to talk Judge McLamore out of signing the arrest warrant," I reminded him. "What if Miss Fontenot was his first victim? Maybe Gabriel knew she was the town gossip because he grew up in the Thicket."

"Yeah, but Quaker said our guys Southern," David objected.

"Lots of East Texas folks talk with a little Louisiana in their voices," I pointed out. "It wouldnt be a stretch."

David was silent for a minute. "Im supposed to be back out on the stakeout tomorrow."

"Do you really think thats the way youll stop him?"

"Well," said David, cautiously. "Tell you what. Pick me up at five and have a Thermos of coffee with you. Well be there when the sun comes up."

Twenty-nine.

David was waiting on his front porch, a newspaper tucked under his arm, when I drove up at precisely five the next morning. He slipped into the pa.s.senger seat beside me, motioned away the Thermos I offered, and said, "Ive already had a pot. My phones been ringing since three. Did you see the Galveston newspaper? I ran out and picked one up this morning."

"No, but I brought apple crullers," I said, holding up the white paper sack. He waved it away, uninterested. "Apparently youve had breakfast, too?"

I claimed a cruller and took a bite, the sugar coating sticking to my lips. Knowing the furor Id begun by talking to Matthews, before bed Id taken the precaution of turning off my cell and leaving the ranch phone off the hook. In hindsight, it was an excellent decision.

"The captain, my boss at the Bureau, everyones calling. Youre in a mountain of trouble," David said, slapping the newspaper open on my lap. "Sarah, how could you have put your career on the line this way?"

The banner headline screamed: RAILROAD KILLER COPYCAT ON RAMPAGE.

TEXAS RANGER ADVISES: "LOCKYOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS."

The Daily News had my interview with Matthews front and center. As I skimmed the article, I couldnt help thinking how the story had undoubtedly thrown the newsroom into chaos. As Id suspected he would, Matthews had called everyone reachable for comment, including psychiatrists who detailed the traits of such killers. The captain, probably roused out of a deep sleep, had choked out a "No comment."

The editors had devoted more than a quarter of the front page to the main piece. To my great satisfaction, the dominant images were the two sketches of Gabriel, side-by-side, front and center. My picture was tucked into the copy, a file photo taken at a drug-bust briefing Id given a few years back, but in large block print theyd run my parting quote from the night before: Gabriel is "a sniveling coward, killing for no reason other than to appease his own sick fantasy."

Under a black-and-white shot of the outside of the Lucas familys Galveston beach house, the caption read: Barred by a gag order, Lt. Armstrong refuses comment, but other sources speculate that the Galveston double murders may also be tied to the serial killer, who calls himself Gabriel.

"Youre smiling?" David said. "This makes you happy."

"It looks like a lot of folks didnt sleep well," I said. "And it looks like Matthews got it right."

On page four, the main article wrapped around ads for a local Internet service provider and one touting free interest and no payments for six months on waterbeds. Theyd also run a spate of accompanying articles, quickly thrown together by other reporters, including a recap of the gruesome career of the Railroad Killer, Resendiz. I found what I was hoping for on page six, profiles of Gabriels victims. In the photo that accompanied a piece on Dr. Neal, he examined a woman in the clinic where he volunteered. The article explained that the doctor had been instrumental not only in founding the much-needed facility but bringing in the federal and state funds necessary to keep it running. In the second paragraph, a young woman whod survived cancer credited the doctor with saving her life. Near the end, a nurse speculated that without Dr. Neal the facility would be forced to close. "Our patients are poor, and they need this clinic. Where will they go?" she lamented. "How could anyone do this to a man who did nothing but good work for others?"

"Apparently, the killer mistakenly believed Dr. Neal performed abortions," the reporter wrote. "In fact, the doctor worked with infertile patients hoping to have children."

As happy as I was about the coverage of Dr. Neals career, the next photo was the one that washed away any lingering doubts that Id done the right thing. In a snapshot from the previous Christmas, Mary Gonzales stood before her familys small tree decorated with homemade ornaments, surrounded by her children. "Mother dreamed of Americas promise for her children," the headline read. "She was a wonderful woman and a devoted mother," said the manager at the restaurant where Mary worked. "She worked hard and dedicated herself to improving her familys life."

Id nearly forgotten he was there when David demanded, "Sarah, why?"

"I didnt have a choice," I said. "We had an obligation to warn people as soon as we were sure."

"But you know what this could mean for you," he said.

If I didnt, I soon found out. Id turned my cell phone on only as I drove up to Davids front door. Although it was barely sunrise, it rang. When I clicked on, the captains voice left no room for misinterpretation. He was furious.

"I thought we agreed that you wouldnt do this," he said. "The governor, everyone in the department, is up in arms, asking how you could have gone public against explicit orders."

"Im sorry this has caused a problem for you, Captain. That wasnt my intention. Believe me," I answered.

"Sarah, I have orders for you to report to my office today to turn in your badge. Im instructed to tell you that youre suspended without pay until further notice, so that this matter can be fully investigated," he said.

"Captain, Im not coming in. Not until tonight."

"Youre disobeying another direct order?"

"Yes," I said. "I am."

"Sarah, I cant cover up for you. What will I tell headquarters?"

"I dont care. Tell them I refused. Tell them you couldnt reach me," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. "Ill have my badge on your desk before morning, but I cant come in now. Its just not an option."

"Where are you?"

"I have a few days off, remember?" I said. "I have a personal matter to take care of."

The captain was quiet, considering, and then said, "Garrity called in. He said he didnt feel well and wouldnt be at his checkpoint this morning. Is he with you?"

I looked over at David.

"Ill talk to him," he said, taking the phone.

"Captain, yes, I do understand," he said. I wished I could hear the captains side of the conversation. I should have considered how asking David to come with me would affect his career. This was my war, not his. I hadnt been fair to him, I now realized.

"Im acting on my own accord, and Ill accept responsibility," David said. He listened for a minute before he said, "Im sorry you feel that way. Ill put Sarah back on."

"Captain, this is my decision. David had nothing to do with the article. He didnt even know about it until a reporter called early this morning," I protested. "He agreed to accompany me today at my request."

"Youre both about to lose your jobs," said the captain, ignoring my explanation. Rather than angry, however, he now sounded resigned. "I wont say anything about Agent Garritys involvement unless or until it becomes an issue."

"Thank you."

"What should I tell the governor, Sarah?"

"Tell him that this is about only one thing, saving lives," I said. "Tell him Im sorry, but I had no real choice."

"Sarah."

"Yes, Captain."

"Be careful."

Thirty.

The drive uneventful, we arrived in Bardwell before seven. Wed called ahead, and Sheriff Broussard waited for us at his office in the center of town.

"I didnt figure Id see you two again," he said with a warm handshake and a smile. "Seemed like youd moved on."

"We did, but were back and we need your help," I said.

"Anything I can do."

"We need you to paper the town with these," David explained, handing him a stack of the flyers Id made the night before, displaying both sketches.

"That looks like that poster your office sent us. Ive got it up on the wall in my office," Broussard said, pointing at the original composite. "This the same guy as a kid?"

"Yeah, we had it age-regressed," I explained. "Sheriff, dont just post one in your office. We need you to make sure these are displayed in all the main spots in town. Hand them out on the street. As many people as possible need to see this flyer as quickly as possible."

"h.e.l.l, thats easy. Ill have the town papered with these by noon," said Broussard, looking over the drawings. "You think this kid killed old Miss Fontenot?"

"Yeah, we do," I said.

"He looks a little familiar, but Im not sure why," said Broussard. "Ill think about it. How long you staying?"

"Until weve done all we can here," said David. "Were here to finish the canva.s.s we started. We need someone to guide us through the Thicket, to help us find the places someone might hide, as well as to help us connect with anyone we missed interviewing the first time. Who knows the area better than anyone?"

"You gotta talk to Gus Warren," he said.