I scanned the printouts on Joyce Scranton. Though the press conference had been held only an hour ago, people had already dug up and posted everything they could find on the latest victim.

I looked up from the pages. “How far is Pittsburgh from here?”

“’Bout…” Jack squinted, then looked at Evelyn. “Five, six hours?”

“And we pass through Ohio. Perfect. We can check out Kozlov’s town, then move on to Pittsburgh, see what we can dig up on Joyce Scranton.” I lifted the page. “She was living in Boston, but she’s a recent transplant. All her family is in Pittsburgh. We can ask around, get a feel for the woman and her life.”

Evelyn eased back into the sofa. “Waste of time.”

Jack glanced my way. I looked back, my face impassive.

He studied me for a moment, then pushed to his feet.

“Gotta start somewhere,” he said. “Dee? Grab your jacket.”

CHAPTER NINE

NINE

Norfolk was a city of about thirty thousand within commuting distance of Cleveland, small enough that every cop would know all the case details of Leon Kozlov’s murder, and small enough that a stranger could call the police station front desk, ask what time the day shift ended and get an answer without so much as a “who’s asking?”

There are two kinds of women who could show up in a cop bar and get the guys talking. First, the handcuffs-and-pistols groupies, women who start bar conversations with, “Have you ever shot anyone?” I don’t understand the groupies, so it’s hard to impersonate one. Besides, the guys don’t take such women seriously—not outside the bedroom anyway—and those who are interested will tell them anything to get them there, so the reliability factor is shot. I’d go with type number two. The female cop.

Evelyn had a cache of contact lenses, but I stuck with the ones Jack bought for me. All the cleaning in the world won’t make me use someone else’s contacts, though I did accept her offer of a new wig. I’m not keen on wearing another person’s headgear, but that platinum blond job had to go, so I’d taken a long-haired, dark brown wig and plaited it back.

When it comes to disguises, I know all the tricks. What shade of hair color or eye contact color works best on me. How to wear a wig so it doesn’t slide around. Where to add padding so it looks natural. All the cosmetic variations of skin tone, freckles, moles, scars. I’d mastered the nuances, too. Regional accents, altering stance and mannerisms, everything it took to become another person.