Bentz sifted through the papers and found the Missing Persons Report for Garrett and Gavin Reeves, who had disappeared in early February, three days before their twenty-first birthday. “Men?” he said, staring at the photos from the driver’s licenses of the two brothers. They appeared identical.

“I know that 21 usually targeted women.”

“Only women.”

“That you know of,” she said, then added, “or until now. Sometimes a killer’s MO changes due to outside influences.”

Unlikely. The homicides had been ritualistic, the victims left naked, a sexual element to them. And yet . . . Bentz shifted the pages and read the next reports. As he scanned the information, the knot in his gut twisted. According to what was written, Beau January of Dallas, Texas, and his twin sister, Belle, had vanished. Beau, who lived in east Dallas, hadn’t shown up for work about a month before his twenty-first birthday. After his family had no luck locating him, his twin sister, Belle, had gone looking for him nearly three weeks later and never returned. “Beau January went missing the middle of April and his twin sister the first week in May?” he said aloud, scanning the reports, then their pictures. “Their twenty-first birthday was May tenth.”

“That’s right.”

His jaw tightened. “And the LAPD knows about these?”

“They do now. I faxed over the information to Detective Hayes last week, once I found out about it.”

“Wait. You live here, right?” he asked, and she nodded. “So if you didn’t have proof when you went to LA, why did you go?”

Her gaze flickered and he wondered if she was going to lie to him. “I was out there visiting relatives. Including Donovan Caldwell,” she admitted. Then quickly added, “The point is, 21 is still at large. He didn’t just land in Louisiana, Detective. He came here with the express intent of flaunting the fact that he’s smarter than the first detective in the case against him.”

“You think you can see inside the mind of a serial killer?” he asked.

“Maybe.” She was suddenly defensive, her patience obviously wearing thin.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a psychologist.”

Holy Mother Mary. A shrink. Just what he needed. “Criminal psychologist?”

“Crime isn’t my speciality, but I’ve taken classes—”

“Perfect.” A shrink, but also a student of criminal psychology? And related to Donovan Caldwell? This was going nowhere and fast.

As if reading his mind, she said, “My credentials aren’t important. If I’m right, it means that the 21 Killer is still out there and he’s got Zoe and Chloe Denning and we have to find them. ASAP. I need your help, Detective.”