"I wouldn't be surprised. The other victims ranged in age from fifteen to thirty-two – Jameson was considerably older. The other victims were quite attractive by any yardstick – Jameson was not. She was the only one killed in her home, and she may have let the killer into the house. And while the Ramsay girl was dismembered in an apparently violent rage, it's important to note that he killed her first. Jameson died in the struggle that left the crime scene a bloody mess."
"So he may have had some reason to hate Ivy in particular, which is why he chose her – is that what you mean?"
"It's a possibility. The other three victims seem to have been chosen by some combination of appearance and vulnerability, but Jameson doesn't fit into that. Wouldn't hurt to try to figure out why."
Matt nodded." Okay. I'll send a few of my people out to question the neighbors and her acquaintances one more time. Ivy pissed off people on a regular basis though, so narrowing the field might take a while."
"In the meantime, have you found out whether there were missing items from the first three victims?"
"Yeah, it looks like there are – and I could kick myself for not asking sooner."
"It won't make any difference until you have a viable suspect. It probably won't tell us anything helpful about the killer, or offer any indication of where we might look for him. But it will provide a few nails in his coffin once we have him in custody."
"If we ever do." Matt paused, then went on briskly.
"We can't be absolutely positive, but last night and this morning I've had my people double-checking with the families and, in the case of Jill Kirkwood, searching her home. Becky Smith, according to her mother, almost always wore a thin gold chain. It wasn't found on the body and isn't in her jewelry box at home. Ivy's mother claims she always wore a peacock pin to church, and there's been no sign of one. Panties are missing from the Ramsay girl's effects, so we can assume that he took something from Jill Kirkwood as well, even though we have no clue as to what that is."
"Trophies," Bishop said. "He'll have the items in his possession, probably in a drawer or box."
"Like you said, it'll help. If we catch him." Matt sighed.
"You'll catch him. The one mistake he's consistently made is to operate in a small area within a close-knit community. Sooner or later he'll have an identifiable connection to one of his victims."
"Yeah," Matt said. "But how many victims will he get before we get him?"
There wasn't a lot of traffic on the roads because of a night of sleet and a cold, overcast morning, but that was all to the good. And he doubted they would be expecting anything so soon, so that was good as well.
But the best thing of all, he thought, was that they would never, in a million years, expect him to lure his target from such an unquestionably safe haven.
The church bells began to ring, and he smiled.
They spent most of Sunday morning in bed, getting up around ten only after Max insisted, in canine terms, that enough was enough. But it wasn't until they had finished their late breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen that Cassie reluctantly brought up a touchy subject. "I really should try again."
Ben's mouth tightened, but his voice was calm when he said, "You tried yesterday when Matt got back to his office, and you were still being blocked. Why would today be different?"
"Ben, he can't keep blocking me indefinitely. Sooner or later I'll be able to get through. Frankly I'd rather it was sooner. Don't you want this to be over?"
"Of course I do. It's just that it takes so much out of you, Cassie."
"Only when I actually make contact." She gazed at him steadily. "Testing the waters isn't hard at all. And we have to know. If he's stalking somebody else. If he's planning to kill again soon." "Cassie – "
"Once, just once, I'd like to be able to tell Matt something other than where to find the latest body."
Ben came to her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "I know."
She rested her cheek against him, her own arms lifting in a gesture that was still tentative and sliding around his waist. She wondered if he had any idea at all that he was the first person since her mother's death to offer a comforting hug. "There can't be any peace as long as he's out there." "I know."
"And almost anything would be better than this damned music," she said somewhat ruefully. "That's still bugging you?"
"Umm." She drew away from him, not made uncomfortable by the physical contact, but so unaccustomed that she was hyper-aware of it. "The moment I'm not thinking about anything, it creeps back in."
"Identify the song and it'll go away."
"Probably." Cassie shook her head. "Never mind, I just need to concentrate on something."
Ben didn't protest again. They left Max in the kitchen working on a rawhide treat while they went into the living room so Cassie could get comfortable. When she did have something to concentrate on, focusing on the effort to touch the killer's mind, she once more encountered a block she was unable to get past.
"Damn."
"You said he couldn't block you indefinitely," Ben reminded her.
"I know. But the block feels awfully solid." She reached up to rub her forehead. "This damnedmusic."
"Do you often get an unidentifiable tune in your head?"
"No, almost never." She stared at him, suddenly very uneasy. "Almost never. When you're tone deaf, music isn't something that sticks in your mind. And this sounds like it's coming from a music box. I haven't listened to a music box in a long, long time."
Before Ben could respond the phone rang. Cassie had to get up from the sofa to reach the receiver, since it was on a side table.
"Hello?"
Ben saw her face tighten as she listened for a moment. Then she cradled the receiver. He was on his feet and moving toward her without thought.
"Cassie?"
"Wrong number," she said softly.
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "I don't think so. What did they say?"
"Nothing important." She let out a small laugh that sounded more resigned than amused. "Remember you said I'd probably get a few calls from upset and suspicious citizens? That was one. But don't worry. I've been called worse things than a witch, believe me."
"Dammit." Ben pulled her into his arms and held her. "There had to be a few, I guess. But most of the people around here are pretty tolerant, Cassie. They're just afraid and panicked right now." "I know. I'm all right, really."
He drew back just far enough to be able to kiss her, the first reassuring touch rapidly becoming something else. His hands slid down her back to her hips, holding her tighter against him, and Cassie made a muted sound of pure pleasure.
She felt a little embarrassed when he raised his head to smile down at her, but the look in his eyes was familiar evidence of his own arousal.
"Have I mentioned that I have a very difficult time keeping my hands off you?" he asked, his hands moving caressingly.
Cassie cleared her throat, but her voice still emerged huskily. "You haven't, no. But I've sort of noticed since last night."
"I've said it before. For a man with thick walls, there's a lot I can't seem to hide."
She considered that. "To be honest, I'm glad. I'm not experienced in these matters, so I'm very grateful you haven't kept me guessing."
He chuckled. "No, I haven't done that." "Because of my lack of experience?" she asked curiously. "Because I can't keep my hands off you." He kissed her again, hunger unmistakable. Against her mouth he added hoarsely, "I am so glad you changed your mind about us. I don't know how much longer I could have stood it."
Cassie slid her arms up around his neck, rising on tiptoe because the fit was better. Much better. "It's probably a good thing I can't read you."
"Why?" He was exploring her throat.
"Nevermind."
Ben raised his head and looked at her. "Why?" he repeated.
She was embarrassed now. "Let's just say I'm having a hard time understanding why you want me."
"If you're talking about all that baggage again, I don't know why you thought it would keep me away. Everybody past the age of twenty-one has baggage of some kind. Or should." He shrugged. "God knows you haven't seemed too worried about mine."
Cassie was glad he was focused on the emotional aspects; she really didn't want to have to explain that it was his physical passion for her she found somewhat baffling. "How bad can yours be?" she asked, easing further away from the question of desire.
"Oh, mine's textbook." He returned to exploring her throat. "Domineering father, childlike mother who didn't have the faintest idea how to be a parent. Boring stuff." His voice was deliberately light, almost flippant.
"Looks to me like you grew up just fine despite that," she told him, allowing her fingers to venture into his hair and enjoying the sensations.
"Mmm. And yet… there are these walls."
"They seem to worry you a lot more than they do me," she commented absently, wondering if Max would be very upset if they went back to bed.
"I hope that's a good sign rather than a bad one."
Cassie was saved from having to reply when he kissed her, and her response was even more passionate, because this talk of baggage and walls had reminded her that fate would seldom be denied.
When the phone rang again, she could have sworn aloud, and Ben did. And he was the one who answered it – with considerable annoyance that was heightened by his suspicion that it was another crank call.
"Am I interrupting something?" Matt asked, and then went on immediately. "Never mind. Sorry to intrude on your love life, but we have this killer running around. You may remember."
"I do," Ben told him. "What's up?"
"A couple of maybe interesting developments. I think we should have a council of war. Can you and Cassie come to the office?"
Ben resisted the impulse to say no. With Cassie in his arms, her slender body pressed fully against his, it was more than a little difficult to think about anything else.
"Ben?"
Recalling that the killer knew who Cassie was and posed a huge threat to her safety made him answer, "We're on our way."
"Be careful on the roads. Slippery as hell out there."
"Right."
As he hung up the phone, Cassie said dryly, "I gather we're leaving?"
"Yes, dammit." Ben held her against him for a moment longer, then eased away. And it didn't take a psychic to see his reluctance. "Matt wants to talk to us. And he'd better have something important to say."
Cassie sighed. "I'll get my jacket."
"Abby?" Hannah Payne stood in the doorway of one of the classrooms and looked in to see Abby collecting the lesson books left behind by her Sunday school class. "Hi, Hannah. What's up?"
"Kate and Donna are handling the nursery during preaching, so I'm free. Do you need me to do anything?"
"There's nothing I can think of – unless you want to finish up in here while I go upstairs and make sure the music is in place."
"Sure, happy to."
"Okay, thanks. See you upstairs."
Alone in the basement room, Hannah gathered the lesson books and put them away in a cabinet, then straightened the chairs and picked up a pair of gloves somebody had dropped. Men's gloves, black leather, and very nice. She turned one in her hands, studying it, wondering if Joe would like a pair for his birthday the following month. He didn't usually wear gloves, but…
The wetness she felt on two of the fingers stained her own hand pink. Staring, Hannah felt a chill of unease. Just paint, probably, or… something like that.
A sound from the doorway spun her around with her heart in her throat.
"What have you got there?" he asked.
"No luck, huh?" Matt asked.
"No, sorry." This time Cassie and Ben were on the leather sofa while Bishop occupied one of the visitors' chairs in the sheriff's office. Cassie had just attempted once more to contact the killer's mind, without success.
Matt shrugged. "Worth a try."
"I'll try again later," Cassie said.
He nodded. "Well, like I told you two, we have a bit more on the killer – we think. He's collecting trophies. Andmaybe he killed Ivy Jameson out of spite. We've got a growing list of people Ivy pissed off in the weeks beforeshe was killed, so it looks like the trick there is going to be narrowing the list to something manageable."
The music in Cassie's head was beginning to madden her, but she said, "Matt, remember what I told you yesterday, what Lucy Shaw said to me?"
"I remember. That somebody was the devil."
"What do you think about that?"