“You want anything from In-n-Out Burger?”

I looked up and realized it was dark already, and that, actually, I was starving.

“If they have a grilled chicken sandwich, that’d be good. And an orange juice, thanks.”

She laughed merrily. “You want a hamburger or a cheeseburger?”

Since my sleep and personal life were something of a mess, I was trying to keep the junk food intake in check. I hadn’t worked out in days. The last thing I needed was to get sick out here. I told Maureen never mind, I’d get something eventually.

A minute later, Agent Page was hovering at my desk. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Anything yet?”

I spread my arms to indicate the breadth of information on the desk. “She doesn’t fit in.”

“Which was probably true for about half the female serial killers in history at the time of their activity,” said Page. The young agent was impressing me more and more.

“So what about our good friends at LAPD? Anything new from them?”

“Sure is,” he said. “Ballistics came back on that gun of hers. Hear this—it’s a golden oldie. A Walther PPK, same one every time. There’s a full briefing tomorrow if you want to be there. If not, I’ll cover.”

That was surprising news, and very odd—the age of the murder weapon.

“How old is the gun? Do they know?”

“At least twenty years, which deepens the mystery some, huh? Could be hard to trace.”

“You think that’s her reason? Traceability?” I asked, mostly just thinking out loud. Page quickly ticked off a handful of possibilities.

“She’s not a professional, right? Maybe it’s a weapon she’s had for a long time. Or maybe she’s been killing a lot longer than we think. Maybe she found it. Maybe it was her father’s.”

All solid guesses from a rapid-fire mind. “How old are you?” I asked, suddenly curious.

He gave me a sideways glance. “Uh, I don’t think you’re supposed to ask that.”

“Relax,” I said. “It’s not a job interview. I’m just wondering. You’re a lot quicker than some of the folks I see coming out of Quantico lately.”

“I’m twenty-six,” he said, grinning widely.

“You’re pretty good, Page. Need to work on that game face, though.”

He didn’t alter his expression. “I’ve got game; I just don’t need it here in the field office.” Then, affecting pitch-perfect surfer-speak, he said, “Yeah, dude, I know what you’re thinking about me, but now that my surfing scholarship fell through, I’m like, totally dedicated to being here.”

It felt good to laugh, even if it was mostly at myself.

“Actually,” I said, “I can’t imagine you getting up on a surfboard, Page.”

“Imagine it, dude,” Page said.

Chapter 49

Chapter 49