I pause outside the subway entrance. “Find out if Naomi’s late husband played. My gut said he did. If we find a circle of people who play, we might find a killer and a motive. And look up Michael Young. He’s the sous chef who was supposed to be at my house last night. Maybe he has a game connection.”

“On it,” he says. “I did talk to Murphy about a warrant to get user information, but that may take time. I’ll let him know there’s a second murder. I didn’t even ask. Another wedding dress and jar of blood?”

“Neither.”

“And that means what to you?”

What does it mean to me? I think. I should have an answer, and if I was in the right headspace, I would. I force myself to focus, really focus, and see where that leads me. “The killer wants me to look one place when I should be looking another,” I say, basically repeating what I thought when I was at Naomi’s house but taking it one step further. “We need to think about the murder weapon,” I say and it’s then that I realize Danica Day hasn’t called me. “Let me call the ME from Emma’s case. I’m waiting on details on what exactly caused her wound. I’ll call you back.”

I disconnect and eye the subway that isn’t well-timed right now. Not when I need to make phone calls. I spy a coffee shop and head in that direction as I dial Danica Day.

“Special Agent Love,” she greets. “I was about to call you. I just finished up the autopsy and I’ll email you the report. And I’ve already talked to the ME on the new case. It’s daunting but rather exciting to be a part of a serial killer case.”

I walk into the coffee shop and straight to the counter staffed by a young woman with red hair and glasses. “Skinny white mocha, no foam, add whip,” I instruct her, and then respond to Danica, “Look here, DD the model, I’m not sure what your story is, but serial killers are not exciting and that’s the kind of talk that gets people in trouble and dead. And two murders do not make a serial killer anyway. Not conclusively.”

I prepare to swipe my card. The redhead stares at me, her eyes wide, paler than moments before. I motion to my badge. She nods but still looks like she wants to throw up. Good. Maybe she will live life a little more cautiously after hearing this. I may have just saved her life. All in the day of an FBI agent. I swipe my card and keep talking. “By the books, technically two murders can be a serial killer,” I add, “but not by my standards. Intent to kill again does.”