“But Superintendent Horgan recommended her,” Alex insisted. “Meaning she’s known by the department, which has previously used her services. Meaning maybe not so unlikely that an injured cop would end up in her offices.”

D.D. scowled at him.

“Did you say she was a psychiatrist or a psychologist?” Phil spoke up.

“Psychiatrist.”

“So she’s a doctor, right? Went to medical school, with full medical training,” he continued, the skills-with-scalpel part being implied.

D.D. wanted to argue. She liked her new doctor. Adeline Glen was intelligent, tough, challenging. She was also . . . compelling. For all her composure, there was a sense of aloneness to the woman, of resigned isolation. D.D. would’ve thought not being able to feel pain would be the greatest gift in the world, especially lately. But having talked to Dr. Glen this afternoon, having had a rare glimpse into the woman’s world . . . The doctor was forever set apart, studying her fellow man but never truly able to walk in anyone’s footsteps.

And the woman knew it.

“Can we back up for a second?” Neil asked, raking a hand through his mop of red hair. “Our killer could be male or female. Possibly an embalmer, comfortable with dead bodies, or a hunter, comfortable with skinning, or even a licensed psychiatrist with a full medical background. Why not? What’s throwing me is that you’re saying these murders might have something to do with a guy who’s been dead for forty years. Or, I guess, to be more precise, his surviving daughters?”

Phil nodded. “Gotta say, you lost me on that one, too.”

“I’m not saying anything yet,” D.D. clarified. “More like, here are some questions worth asking. Look, ViCAP exists to catch similarities in MO. According to it, our current killer has a match—Harry Day. Now, given that Day has been dead for four decades, I don’t think we need to be concerned about him personally assisting our predator. Then again . . . in this info-mad day and age, where hundreds if not thousands of websites exist to idolize the careers of various serial killers . . . I wonder if it’s as simple as our antisocial killer is a big fan. He researched Harry Day, and the way things work in the twisted mind of a psychopath, he read about jars of preserved flesh and his brain went ding, ding, ding. I want that!”

“He recognized Harry Day,” Alex clarified. “Or at least, related to him.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” D.D. observed, thinking again about Dr. Glen’s point: Given enough pieces of warped wood, at least some were bound to be warped the same way.

“Does Harry Day have his own website?” Neil asked.