“Right,” the sheriff scoffed. “For all those post office crime waves.”

Vince chuckled. “First the mini-marts, next the post office.”

“I can see it now.” Dixon laughed. “Blitz attacks led by rogue stamp collectors.”

“I’m telling you,” Mendez insisted, taking the ribbing in stride. “And I’ll come to the nursing home and rub your noses in it when technology takes over law enforcement.”

“You do that, Tony,” Dixon said. “Right now, we’ve got a case to deal with. Vince, why send the breasts to Milo Bordain?”

“The obvious reason would be basically putting an exclamation point on the murder. He destroyed Marissa and expressed his disdain for the woman who paid for her to live in this community.”

“You don’t think Mrs. Bordain is in any danger?”

“Marissa had to be the primary source of his hatred,” Vince said. “The brutality of the crime was intensely personal. Sending the breasts to Mrs. Bordain was something that happened from a distance, suggesting a certain amount of emotional detachment.”

“So the answer is no.”

“Never say never, but it seems unlikely. I know of a case in Spain where a disturbed man murdered a patron of a particular controversial artist because he believed the artist’s works sent satanic messages. He couldn’t get to the artist so he eliminated the artist’s source of support—a well-known figure in the art community,” Vince said. “Marissa Fordham’s work couldn’t be called controversial in any way.”

“Feminist, though,” Mendez said. “She did the poster for the Thomas Center for Women, celebrating the strength of women’s spirits. That might be considered controversial by some people.”

“Jane does say they get a certain amount of mail from strict ultra-conservative religious groups,” Dixon said.

“If this is supposed to be some kind of crusade, then you’d be looking at a very different UNSUB,” Vince said. “That would be someone more apt to want attention to get their point across. I think we would have heard from the killer either directly or through the press if that was the case.”

“So, we’re no farther along than we were,” Dixon concluded. “Lots of questions, not many answers.”

“We need to find Gina Kemmer,” Mendez said.

Detective Hamilton knocked on the door and stuck his head into the office. He was bleary-eyed and one ear was red from keeping the phone pressed to it for too many hours.

“What have you got, Doug?” Dixon asked.

“I got Marissa Fordham’s social security number from the bank yesterday,” the detective said. He came into the open doorway and propped himself sideways against the jamb. They were all exhausted. “It belongs to a woman named Melissa Fabriano. I’m running the name for a record, wants, and warrants in California.”

“So you were right,” Mendez said. “Marissa Fordham didn’t exist before 1981.”

“It looks that way. We don’t know if Melissa Fabriano exists either, though,” Hamilton said. “Could be another alias.”