Jordan wanted to believe she cared about all her homicide victims, but some carried more weight than others. To date, there were three who never strayed far from her mind. The old woman beaten to death for the five dollars in her purse. The three-year-old girl struck by a hit-and-run driver. And the fifteen-year-old star football player shot behind the school bleachers. She’d solved all those cases. Brought all the killers to justice. And though the judge had wielded hefty sentences in each case, the victims had never left Jordan.

Only when she was really tired, say after a thirty-six-hour stint on a case, their presence was all the more acute.

This latest victim, Jane Doe, had officially joined her trio of lost souls. But so far, Jordan was not any closer to finding her killer.

There were all brands of evil, but killers like this one, the ones who tortured their victims and displayed them like a proud cat leaves a newly killed mouse on a doorstep, gave cops nightmares. If this was his first kill, Jordan would bet money it was not going to be his last.

At the crime scene, she had spent an hour interviewing construction manager Manny Bennett, and he had mentioned that he was behind schedule.

“Demo on the house was supposed to begin days ago,” Mr. Bennett said. “We’ve got more properties than we can handle. I should have been here last week.”

“Do you keep any surveillance cameras on-site?” Jordan asked.

“We don’t bother until we start moving construction supplies onto the property. There’s no point guarding a run-down house.”

“How long has the house been vacant?”

“Two years. The property has been in bankruptcy courts since then. We bought the house a month ago, but my crew only stuck our company’s sign in the front yard two weeks ago, so everyone on the block knew we were coming sooner or later.”

“Any trouble with squatters?”

“Sure. One of the reasons I came by tonight was to put new locks on the doors. Now that we’re ready to move forward, I didn’t need an uninvited guest setting a fire to stay warm or trashing the house further.”

Mr. Bennett’s background check had cleared. No arrests or priors, and he had been with his current employer for ten years. He was married with three kids.

Jordan’s phone rang, pulling her thoughts back to the blotter on her desk, the doodled circles, and the blinking light of line one. She picked it up. “Detective Poe.”

“Detective, this is Dr. Faith McIntyre with the state medical examiner’s office.”

Jordan’s chair squeaked as she leaned forward. She had called about Jane Doe’s autopsy status several times. The doc was always polite, but women like Jane Doe often ended up at the bottom of the priority lists. “Dr. McIntyre.”