“It’s possible. Shana refused to say. In the end, with the officer dead and the investigation inconclusive, the case disappeared, no doubt because it would also cast a negative light over the prison’s officers. Of course, then Shana struck again, just weeks later, which sealed her fate, even though that guard also had a reputation for being ‘physically aggressive’ with his charges.”

“Hang on,” Neil interjected. “Your sister is now basically saying the victims made her do it? I mean, age-old defense, right? Blame the victim.”

Adeline nodded. She remained clear-eyed, D.D. thought. Still seeking that objectivity, as she’d claimed.

“But what about Donnie Johnson?” Neil spoke up. “Twelve-year-old boy. By all accounts, a geeky bookworm. No way had he posed a threat to her. You look at those old police photos, she’s bigger than he is. And definitely tougher.”

“I can’t explain Donnie Johnson,” Adeline admitted. “And Shana won’t speak of him. Thirty years later, it’s a topic non grata.”

“He’s the outlier,” D.D. murmured. And suddenly, she had her coffee mug down and herself up as she moved to the flipchart. “For the sake of argument, let’s compare: the Rose Killer and his three victims with Shana Day and her four. Because we already know the Rose Killer has one outlier: Janet Sgarzi. While Shana has one outlier, Donnie Johnson. Which wouldn’t normally be such a big deal, but what are the odds that the outliers from two different crime sprees would belong to the same family? A nephew and an aunt. You can’t tell me they aren’t connected.”

“To Charlie Sgarzi,” Adeline said with a frown, clearly not getting it.

D.D. beamed triumphantly. “Who is doing what?”

“Asking questions about his cousin’s thirty-year-old murder,” Phil supplied.

“Which means?” D.D. prompted.

“I’m going to be pulling more ancient files from the archives,” Neil intoned. He was still working on the Harry Day files. Latest report was they might have been lost in the move from the old HQ to the new digs. Such was the fate of much precomputer-age casework.

“Ding, ding, ding, give the detective a prize. That’s our connection. The murders may be happening now, but whatever set them in motion occurred thirty years ago. Donnie Johnson, Shana Day, and I’ll bet you anything, the Rose Killer, all crossed paths back in the day. We need the names of neighbors, witnesses, known associates. Work that list and we will find ourselves a killer.”

“Or,” Adeline said, rising to standing, “we can simply wait, and the killer will find us soon enough. According to Shana, he or she won’t be able to help it. My existence calls to murderers everywhere.”

“Are you concerned for your safety?” D.D. spoke up. “We can assign you an officer.”

“Can you shoot a gun one-handed?”

“Yeah. Part of our basic firearms training, and these days, color me grateful.”