“To continue our analysis,” he stated formally.

“Okay.”

“Pat plans ahead. In this case, the Rose Killer had to approach the victim during the day. Given the victim’s age and health, however, Pat probably wasn’t worried about overpowering her even if she was awake and fully conscious. Just to be safe, however, the killer appears to have brought a colorless, odorless and tasteless sedative; Ben recovered a vial from the trash can with traces of Rohypnol. Most likely, Pat drugged Janet Sgarzi first.”

“There are dishes for two in the sink,” D.D. reported. “As if Janet shared refreshments with a guest beforehand. Fig Newtons.”

Alex grimaced.

“Chances are, Janet Sgarzi never felt a thing,” Alex said quietly. “Compared to what the cancer was doing to her body, perhaps you could argue this was . . . easier. At least, a less painful way to die. And yet . . .”

He stepped back, revealing the oversize, metal-framed hospital bed. And despite herself, D.D. gasped.

Postmortem, she reminded herself. Postmortem, postmortem, postmortem. And yet, as Alex had said, it didn’t help.

True to the first two crime scenes, the Rose Killer had flayed the skin from Janet Sgarzi’s torso and upper thighs. Unlike the first two victims, however, young, relatively healthy females, Janet had already been wasting away from a terrible disease. She’d been nothing but skin and bones. Meaning once the killer had removed the skin . . .

D.D. put a hand over her mouth. She couldn’t help herself. As crime scenes went, this one would leave a mark.

“There are hesitation marks,” Alex said.

“What?”

“Along the edge of her outer thigh, and ribs. You can see . . . The skin is jagged, not evenly sliced. Third time out, a killer should have less internal resistance. He/she should be growing even more adept and elaborate with his handiwork. Instead, our killer struggled with this one.”

“Her age?” D.D. guessed. “Harder to attack an elderly woman?”

“No fur-lined handcuffs,” Alex said. “Which are the most blatantly sexual objects left behind at each scene. If we’re thinking a female killer obsessed with attacking young women in order to collect ribbons of unblemished skin—”

“An elderly woman doesn’t fit. She’s not the Rose Killer’s type. Are we even sure this is the Rose Killer’s handiwork and not a copycat crime?”

“Yes,” Alex said.

“But the hesitation marks, lack of restraints—”

“Janet Sgarzi is his third victim,” Alex interrupted her. “One hundred and fifty-three, D.D. That’s what I’ve been doing. Counting flayed strips of human flesh. And I hope to God I never have to do that ever again in my lifetime, but it did yield the magic number: one hundred and fifty-three ribbons of skin.”

D.D. didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t swallow, much less talk. No wonder Alex had appeared so . . . somber. Of all the scenes he’d ever had to analyze . . .

“I’m sorry,” she said at last.