Julie wore loose, breezy clothing. Her hair was long, a light blonde mass of waves. Everything about her said she was a free spirit, until Vallejo took that spirit from her.

Some nights, in her nightmares, Ruby still heard the wailing sobs of Julie’s single mother. The woman lost her only child. She lost everything.

It was Asher that had soothed her, not Ruby.

Julie was the opposite of all the present day victims in that way, an only child like Ruby herself.

Julie and her car, though, that was what spurred Asher to write the note.

“He wants us to realize how smart he is,” Ruby repeated to herself, under her breath. Vallejo wanted her to know. He wanted her to see the pattern and recognize his genius. Everything he did was intentional. Everything he did was planned.

Vallejo knew she would see the pattern. He must have planned for the possibility of her visit and planned for the possibility of forced solitude. He knew close tabs would be kept on him, so what contingencies had he put in place? How was he orchestrating his newest symphony from behind bars?

The gears were spinning in Ruby’s mind. She stood up abruptly. At the late hour, there was no one around, but she didn’t even want to risk someone overhearing her.

Ruby walked briskly through the empty halls.

When she finally pushed through a set of double doors to the outside air, it was crisp and quiet. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. Bellisario wouldn’t like it, but Ruby couldn’t let bureaucracy stand between her and answers.

Ruby dialed a number, looking around as she listened to the ring. The chilled bite of the late-night wind whipped her blonde hair around her face.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answered.

“Mr. Woodward? It’s Agent Hunter with the FBI,” she said. “How has Vallejo been doing in isolation?”

More importantly, what did Vallejo want her to know? What clue was he just waiting for her to see?

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Ruby huddled against the outer wall of the building. The darkness and late hour gave the phone call a clandestine feeling.

No doubt the call would come back to haunt her when upper management got wind of it, but she didn’t care. Deep down, she knew that Vallejo expected this of her.

“I can assure you, everything is being done to limit Vincent Vallejo’s contact. No correspondence, no visitors, isolation from other prisoners,” Woodward said, “so you have nothing to be concerned about.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned,” Ruby promised, hoping that might soothe her superiors concerns later if she didn’t imply incompetence on the prison’s part. “I’m curious how he is spending his time. Has his behavior changed at all?”