“Earlier today,” D.D. said, “when I pictured our unsub in my head, I kept seeing a lone guy, small of stature, limited social skills. If you think about his MO, ambushing his victims while they’re still asleep, drugging them quickly, killing them expeditiously . . . Feels to me like our killer’s primary goal isn’t venting displaced rage or satisfying twisted sexual cravings but to carefully and judiciously harvest strips of flesh. Which, theoretically speaking, means we’re looking for a socially awkward homicidal maniac with a fetish for collecting human skin. Sound good?”

Everyone nodded.

D.D. continued: “Except here’s the problem: Two problems, actually. One, my shoulder. Meet Melvin,” she introduced her injured left arm to her squad. “And two, the scene upstairs. Returning to problem number one and assuming for a moment our perpetrator is a male, since when does an antisocial skin collector have the balls to personally revisit his first crime scene? Crawling under the police tape, an act that would certainly call attention to himself, if not lead automatically to his arrest. Let alone, confront the female lead investigator of the case, and in some way I can’t yet remember but someday will, shove said investigator down the stairs? Those are some pretty bold moves for a killer who only attacks sleeping women.”

Alex pursed his lips. Slowly, Phil and Neil nodded.

“Same goes with the little scene staged upstairs. Suddenly, Mr. Antisocial is breaking into a cop’s house? In broad daylight? Staging his wardrobe and vehicle to appear as if with a security company, waltzing right through the front door, then leaving his personal calling cards next to my bed? I mean, the level of social engineering, let alone pure gamesmanship . . .” D.D. scowled, twitched her icing shoulder uncomfortably in the hard-backed chair. “Seems to me the same predator who’s interested in this level of direct confrontation and just plain nah, nah, na, nah, nah, na is not the same guy who’d be content to ambush women in their sleep. So I’m wondering, especially given the lack of sexual assault and detailed physical description, maybe our killer is a woman, a female collector obsessed with human skin.” She couldn’t help herself; she thought immediately of Shana Day.

“For a woman, attacking other women would be more of an equal playing field,” Phil spoke up. “So not a socially awkward, low-self-esteem predator, but a female prepared to do whatever she has to do to pursue her compulsion. For someone like that, targeting the lead investigator, engaging in gamesmanship, wouldn’t even be so much of a stretch—especially if she perceives you as threatening to come between her and what she wants most, which is additions to her collection.”

“Except the card upstairs read, Get well soon,” Alex muttered. “If D.D.’s presence is a threat to our killer, why encourage her speedy recovery?”