“But ... ,” Anne said as they emerged back into the real world.

“But ... I want to go over these notes one more time. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s an answer in here somewhere and I’m just not seeing it.”

“Maybe you’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Can’t see the forest for the trees? Maybe so. It’s probably hiding right in front of me. I’m just beating myself up over Zahn,” he admitted. “I pushed too hard. I’m afraid I might have triggered something in him he can’t get back from.”

Anne brushed a thumb over the bruise on his cheek where he told her Zander Zahn had struck him. “We can’t know somebody else’s tipping point. Most of the time, we don’t even know our own until it’s too late.

“I looked at those pictures tonight ... ,” she said. “I’m sure not one of those men ever believed they could do what was done to that woman. And yet, one of them probably did.”

Vince nodded, then broke the darkness of the thought.

“How’d you get so smart?” he teased.

“I married well,” Anne said, smiling. “Come upstairs. You can tell me a bedtime story.”

They walked up the stairs hand in hand.

Vince spoke softly. “Once upon a time there was husband who loved his wife ...”

Chapter 70

70

Thunder rumbled. In the distance Dennis could see flashes of lightning far away. He loved it when it stormed at night. But the rain had stopped for now, which suited him fine. The fire would burn better without rain.

Dennis felt like he had a thunderstorm inside his brain. Anger rumbled and grumbled then BANG! Flashed like lightning. He was so mad he wanted to just run shouting, spinning around, flinging his arms, crashing into things. Then he wanted his hands to turn into knives and he would slash his way through crowds of people and blood would be spurting everywhere. He would spin and turn and cut people in half and cut their heads off.

And at the end of his rampage would be Miss Navarre. And he would stab her and stab her a million times like the guy that killed that lady in the newspaper. He would stick his knives inside of her and down her throat and in her eyes and through her brain. And she would be alive the whole time until he cut her head off.

She didn’t care about him. She didn’t show up again. And nobody told him she wasn’t coming. He had worked so hard to write his report about the murder like she wanted him to. Two whole pages.