I’m still trying to collect myself when Will jumps back in. “This girl’s not a runner. And I don’t think we can ignore the geography piece. Sometimes these violent offenders have territories, right?”

“Sure. But the behavior doesn’t really line up, let alone the victimology. Twelve and fifteen look completely different, particularly to a predator. And you have to think about the zone of control. Where these girls would be allowed to go. Who they might run into inadvertently.”

“Do you remember the hitchhiker murders around Santa Rosa in ’72 and ’73?” Will goes on, as if he hasn’t heard Rod, or doesn’t want to. “That killer struck often and very specifically before he went underground, always within the same hundred-mile radius.”

“That was a long time ago. It would be pretty atypical for a guy like that to strike again in the same area after being dormant for twenty years.”

“I guess so.” Will leans back against the kitchen counter, but his muscles stay tensed. “I just can’t stop thinking there’s some sort of precedent here that we shouldn’t ignore.”

Fraser’s eyes move from Will to me as I think of how to safely weigh in. I’m still rattled about Eve, but more than this, I feel pressure coming from Will to agree with him about the possibility of a serial predator. The stakes are high, and this is the first chance he’s seen at getting some outside resources. Rod has reason to trust my instincts, too. If I tell him I see a link between the two cases, it might convince him to take a risk and send some of his own men our way. But pressure or no, I have to be honest.

“I don’t see it,” I finally say. “No way it’s the same guy.”

As Fraser bobs his head, I feel confusion and disappointment radiating from Will’s body. His mouth is a tight line. The tips of his ears are almost fuchsia.

“Someone took this girl,” he snaps. “I need some help here.”

Rod crosses his arms over his chest, clearly uncomfortable. He has a big heart, I know, and will be feeling for Will and the whole situation, whether or not he can act. He’s not callous, hasn’t overspent his compassion along the way. “I don’t know what I can do,” he finally says. “I’m at my limit and then some.”

Will’s sigh rattles. He cups his forehead with one hand, squeezing his temples, the headache there. The strain. “Maybe you could just make a call and remind the Bureau that we’ve got another missing girl up here. Possibly two. The Gualala PD has just posted a missing persons report for a seventeen-year-old who vanished in June.”

Clearly Fraser hasn’t heard. “Gualala?”

“Shannan Russo,” I jump in. “We have a psychic who says this is related somehow to the Curtis girl.”