“You’re late,” Dixon said. He turned back toward Vince. “Vince, this is my chief deputy, Frank Farman. Frank, Vince Leone.”

Vince had specifically asked the sheriff to keep things casual. The less people said those three magic letters, FBI, the better.

“Vince is an expert on serial killers,” Dixon explained.

The deputy gave him a hard look and said flatly, “You’re a Feeb.”

Vince smiled like an alligator. “Have a seat, Deputy.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

There was one in every crowd.

“I’ve got feelers out in other parts of the country,” Vince said, “looking for any murders with a similar MO and signature. But I’ll tell you right now, based on what I’ve heard and seen so far, this guy is no amateur. He’s acting on fantasies he’s held for a long, long time, and he’s been acting on them long enough to have his routine down pat.”

“You talk about this dirtbag like he’s some kind of genius,” Farman said. “Looks to me like he’s just one sick son of a bitch.”

“Then why haven’t you caught him?” Vince challenged. “I’m assuming you’re a top cop, or you wouldn’t be in this room right now. If your perp is just some crazy guy, foaming at the mouth, running around attacking women at random, why haven’t you caught him?”

Farman had no answer for that.

“I’ll tell you why,” Vince said. “Because he’s not just some sick son of a bitch. Not in the way you mean.”

He turned back to the board and wrote 3. Crime Assessment. A: Crime Classification. B: Organized/Disorganized. (And under that heading) a: Victim Selection. b: Control of Victim. c: Sequence of Crime. C: Staging. D: Motivation. E: Crime Scene Dynamics.

He tapped the chalk at B. “A disorganized offender sees a potential victim and commits a crime of opportunity. The crime scene will be sloppy. He’ll leave the body there. This guy isn’t very smart. He’s socially immature. He’s impulsive.”

“Sounds like you, Tony,” Hicks joked.

“Very funny.”

“He isn’t interested beyond the immediate act,” Vince went on. “He isn’t looking for publicity. He’s not the kind of creep you’re looking for here. And too bad, ’cause he’s not that hard to outsmart. If this was your animal, you’d catch him today and we could all go fishing.”

“So,” Farman said, “are you going to look into your crystal ball and tell us who the killer is?”

“I’m going to tell you what he is,” Vince said. “If I were psychic, I’d be in Vegas with a wad of cash. I sure as hell wouldn’t be here looking at your ugly mugs. Sure, I’d miss all the glamour and adoration . . .”

A single sharp pain pierced his brain like a lance. He hid the automatic wince by turning quickly back toward the chalkboard.