He tossed her a manila envelope. “These are not to leave this office.”

“Understood. What’s your profile on the man?”

“I won’t go into detail. I don’t want to overly influence your opinion. He’s obviously a white male between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five. He’s exceptionally handsome. Because he can travel at ease and rent impressive accommodations, he’s independently wealthy. He does not have a nine-to-five job. He was probably married in the past and was betrayed by his wife. The chances are that his wife is dead. He’s not from England but he’s spent time there. He’s extremely intelligent and disciplined. He’s not specifically trying to impress us. He’s trying to scare all women everywhere. He’s probably upset his exploits have not been made public.”

“You call him the Acid Man?”

“Yes.”

“I take it you have not heard from him?” she asked.

“No. What do you think of our assessment? You may speak frankly.”

Kelly shrugged. “It’s not very useful. I assume you have more.”

Slate stood. “Not much more. I want you to work on this matter all day today. Review the video as many times as you feel necessary. I’ll call you at home this evening. Be prepared to share your thoughts with me.”

She stood. “I appreciate the chance to help.”

Slate nodded and left the room. He had not told her the whole truth. The FBI had interviewed the friends and families of the victims and constructed some kind of pattern in regards to when and where the wives met with the stranger. Five prominent women could not see a mysterious man without somebody noticing. The FBI might also have scraps of his clothes—perhaps a fingernail or skin tissue. Slate did not want to share everything with her because he did not want her to independently solve the case. He had not even told her his theories on the source of the acid. He wanted her input, but in a narrow vein. He did not take her seriously and that annoyed her. Also, he did not fully trust her and that bothered her even more.

“Politics,” she muttered.

She had to look on the bright side. It was a hell of an interesting case, and she had her foot in the door. Charlie would have died for a piece of the action. She felt frustrated she couldn’t share it with him.

“Tony,” she whispered, sitting back down. She realized she did not immediately think of her husband when it came to sharing—the very concept of doing things together. There was truth in what he was trying to tell her. Tonight, she would go home early and make him and Anna a wonderful dinner. Both loved roast turkey and mashed potatoes. She could stop at the grocery store on the way back, pick up a bottle of wine. It had been a long time since they had all sat together and watched TV. Of course, she hated TV but that didn’t matter. They could always rent a movie.