Royce looked up. "A clock."

The cop looked surprised.

"It's Waterford crystal."

Jade bit his cheek to keep from laughing aloud.

"Then you went to your kid's room?"

Violent nodding from Royce. His cheeks were flushed and the tears kept coming. Jade was amazed they hadn't run out.

"There she was . . . strangled." More sobs.

"Don't you think strangulation's a pretty personal way to kill someone?" Jade asked.

The husband gave him a horrified look, then collapsed back on the bed, burying his face in the comforter. "I'm not talking to him," he sobbed.

"Look, buddy," the burly cop said to Jade in a loud whisper, "I don't know what kind of training they give you in the FBI, but-"

"Yeah, okay. We got a car in the driveway, two lights on upstairs, and you want me to buy that someone broke in for petty theft. Someone who'd leave a watch on the nightstand but take a clock. Thieves generally don't know their crystal, Tedlow. They have a hard time telling Waterford from Baccarat."

He circled the bed, trying to get a look at the husband's eyes.

"That body was laid on the bed with care. With guilt. Robbers don't treat bodies like that. He would've just knocked her, robbed the place, and split. Not taken time to lay the body out." He paused. "We all know this wasn't a random offender."

Travers watched Jade as he spoke. Her anger faded as she realized where he was going.

"You want to know who killed her?" Jade continued. "It was someone who knew her, someone who wanted to look at her face-to-face when she died. Someone who knew the boy was out, someone who has to sob nonstop so he can stall for time when he's being questioned."

He turned to leave.

The burly cop shouted after him, "What are you implying?"

"Oh please. Don't pretend this is news to you. You know you're gonna head right back to the station, meet with your captain, and discuss exactly the same s.h.i.t," Jade said. He had very little patience for a bad murder.

The burly cop was quiet, still glaring at Jade, but with doubt starting to show on his angry face. He ran his hand across his bull neck.

"Look, we don't have time for this s.h.i.t," Jade said. "Brand-new glove downstairs." He looked over at Royce. "At least you could have come up with something a touch more original. Give me a break."

"The robber had time to separate this from the stack of bills just to leave it for us?" Travers asked, a.s.suming Jade's aggressive tone. She picked up the deposit slip, careful to hold it only by its corner. "No way. The only people who have to try this hard to point at someone else are the most obvious suspects." She waved the deposit slip in front of the husband. "Like the glove. Bulls.h.i.t."

Jade looked at her and grinned. He was beginning to like her.

Another cop cleared his throat, then spoke softly to the burly cop. "Look, Ed, we might have enough to move on this now. Some pretty glaring discrepancies. I mean, if the robber knew people were home, he would've gone after the man first. Why go after the little woman?"

Jade nodded. "Exactly. Always neutralize the biggest threat right away. Then take your time with the valuables and the woman."

Everyone stared, first at Jade, then at the husband, his face still buried in the comforter.

"What about the money?" the burly cop asked.

"Probably buried somewhere with the other glove," Jade replied. "Check for a shovel with fresh dirt on it. Might even find dirt in the trunk of his car. See if they match."

Travers nodded. She was beginning to understand how Jade operated, how he cast himself as the killer in order to understand how the murder was carried out. She realized that even as they had walked up the driveway, he had been thinking about how he was going to break into the house, how he was going to get upstairs, how he was going to kill the woman if he had to. She glanced at the husband; he was a murderer, but he wasn't a predator. Not the way Jade was. Travers felt a cold shiver run across her back, and she realized that she was sweating.

The burly cop turned to his partner. "All right. We'll run a few more questions on him while the crime scene's fresh."

"Whatever," Jade said. He turned to Travers. "Let's go."

The husband was suddenly on his feet, facing Jade. The tears were gone. His eyes were alive now. "You don't know. You don't know anything about this."

"Look, pal," Jade said. "I'm sure you're right. But I also really don't care. I'm just in a rush here." He tapped Travers on the shoulder and she followed him out of the room.

They heard one of the cops reading Royce his rights as they stepped into the hallway.

"Nice, Marlow," Travers said out of the side of her mouth as they descended the stairs.

"Glad you finally spoke up there, Travers."

"Anything turn up?" one of the cops downstairs asked as they headed for the door.

"Nothing important," Jade answered as he swept by.

30.

W E L L rested after a comfortable night's sleep in the Mercedes, Allander whistled the first motif of the Jupiter symphony as he emerged from the alley and walked past the broken-down machinery that littered the grounds. The blue of his shirt was resplendent against the dreary colors of the deserted lot.

A DANGER DO NOT ENTER sign lay in a patch of weeds by the side of the gate, and Allander picked it up, admiring it in the waning sunlight. He wedged its corners between the links of the fence, then smacked his hands together to rid them of dust.

Having whistled his way well into the recapitulation, he turned and headed toward the bus station.

Jade began the next morning by carefully studying the photographs from the first crime scene. He sat on his couch in the middle of his living room, chewing ice from a cup that he rested against his crotch.

The room was becoming cluttered as Jade collected more background information. He had stacked books on the gla.s.s table in front of him, and the files he had gotten from the FBI were piled up everywhere. It seemed as if the first one had reproduced, sp.a.w.ning an extended family. Now files littered the floor and the couch, many of them opened to important pages.

Jade was trying to hold all the material in his head, but it was difficult. There was just too much to absorb-audiotapes of Allander's psychological interviews, videotapes of his trial and old crime scenes, photographs of Allander, jail records, psychology reports, and victim profiles and photographs.

Once Jade had reviewed a photograph carefully, he taped it to the wall. The first photograph in the upper-left-hand corner was Allander's mug shot at age eighteen. The rest of the photos progressed in a more or less chronological order: Allander through the years, his victims through the years. His killing pace had slowed when he went to prison, but still his victim count rose steadily-here another prisoner, there a guard.

Jade looked at the files, books, and photos spread out around him and closed his eyes. What was Allander proving? What was the pattern of his pleasure? And most important, what was his weakness?

The phone rang and Jade s.n.a.t.c.hed it off the hook.

"What."

"I got a good one. In light of your case and all," Tony said. "Okay. This guy comes home, finds his girlfriend packing. He's shocked. He says, 'What's going on? What are you doing?' Girlfriend says, 'I'm leaving you.' He says, 'You're leaving me? Why?' She says, 'Because you're a pedophile.' 'Yeah, yeah,' he says. 'Big word for a nine-year-old.' "

Jade laughed, tilting his head back. "You're a sick f.u.c.k, Razzoni."

"Thank you, thank you," Tony said. "And how's the case heard 'round the world?"

"Gonna have my hands full. I think we have a serial."

Tony whistled. "Well, I knew he was a killer of serial killers-he got three in the Tower, didn't he?"

"Five."

"I just thought little kids were more his speed."

"Well, he's progressed. Those years in prison helped him evolve. We had a scene last night that looks like it could be the first in a string. Time will tell, though. Press blackout, so keep a lid on it."

"Consider me lidded. Just wanted to check in, make sure you're not howling at the moon or anything."

"Not yet, but I'll let you know." Jade hung up the phone, then stood and circled the living room, staring at the pictures on the walls.

Heading back to the couch, he stretched out so that his legs were sticking up in the air over the back of the sofa, and his head was slanted off the seat. He picked up Introductory Lectures on Psycho-a.n.a.lysis and began to read intently.

It had been years since he'd read Freud. Most of the psychology he kept up with was much more practical, but if the prison records showed that Allander had read it, he had to at least review it. He needed to get inside Allander's head so he could use his own thoughts against him.

The ring of the doorbell startled him. Shifting his weight, he twisted awkwardly, landing with a crash on the floor. Rising sheepishly, he went to answer the door.

"Hope you didn't hurt yourself," Agent Travers said as she brushed past Jade into the room. "I know how difficult answering the door can be."

"Only when you're behind it."

Reaching the center of the living room, she stopped and looked about her, admiring Jade's intensity-intensity so great it led him to transform an entire room into a virtual shrine to the man he was hunting.

"Love what you've done with the place." She glanced at the stack of books on the table. "Learning to read?"

"What the f.u.c.k do you want?"

"Your patience runs out quickly."

"I'm gonna run you out quickly."

She stuck her bottom lip out in a mock pout. "Now we wouldn't want that to happen," she said, sinking into a chair. "Then you'd be denied the afternoon with me."

"Look, Agent Travers-"

"Cut the s.h.i.t, Jade. You can call me Jennifer."

"Fine. I'm in the middle of something here, Travers, and I don't have time to-"

"Oh please. You think I stopped by on a social visit? There are files to go over, and-"

"I've already been over all of them. I don't need your help, and I don't have to help you. It's not in the deal."

"'It's not in the deal,'" she repeated, mimicking him. "For Christ's sake, you sound like a ten-year-old."

Jade bit his lip as he looked at her, then he laughed and fell back on the sofa. "Fine. You got a half hour. Then I have some business to take care of."

They were silent for a few moments, staring at each other.

"I got him pegged as a cla.s.sic DSM-IV antisocial personality disorder, but it's really hard to define him neatly," she finally said, moving to sit on the floor.

"What's that give us?" Jade asked.

"Lacking empathy, social responsibility, conventional morality. Displaying impulsiveness, abusiveness, sensation-seeking, and sometimes showing charm and seductiveness."

Charm and seductiveness, Jade thought. Allander had sounded very captivating on some of the tapes. He had argued several of the psychologists to a standstill without ever raising his voice or using rude language. He'd just overpowered them with intelligence.

"Sounds like a pretty good fit, but I'd imagine he's also got some form of anxiety driving him, maybe a simple phobia. The combination means it won't be long until his next strike."

"Unless he flees."

"He's not going to flee," Jade said. "I can feel it. The timing of his prison break, the method of his killings-everything indicates he's playing out a fantasy."

"What's with the timing?" Travers asked.

"He's thirty-three. Guess how old his molester was?"

"Oh G.o.d."

"Thirty-three. All this has been brewing inside him for a while. He's not roaming too far."

"But why here? Why can't he play out his fantasy anywhere?"

"Because serial killers usually confine themselves to one geographic area."

"We don't know that he's definitely a serial killer," she said in a neutral tone.

Jade raised his eyebrows and gave her a disbelieving stare.

"Sorry," she said. "I've been dealing with McGuire all day."

"The Federal Bureau of Procrastination. Don't act on a hunch unless it's proven beforehand," Jade said disdainfully.

"Why did you join, then?"

"Welding school was full that week." He glanced at the files. "Look, are we gonna get down to business here? We both know he'll kill again, and probably soon. It's a game for him; it's up to us to figure out the pattern. He's choosing his victims to fulfill some symbolic equation he's worked out in his head. We gotta get into that game. Into his head."

"What's the deal with 'S N E'?" Travers asked. "We ran it through the computer as initials of friends, relatives, prisonmates, everything. Came up empty."