After a sleepless night, Huck strode from his office up to Laurel’s, finding the reception area empty. Considering it was five in the morning, he wasn’t surprised. He continued through the door to locate Laurel in the conference room, butt on the glass tabletop, staring at the two whiteboards. She’d placed pictures and notes about the victims on one and had taped photographs of suspects on the other. Then she’d drawn lines between them, noting all connections.

He looked at the suspects but didn’t get a feel for any of them. “The mayor has a verified alibi for Charlene Rox’s murder as well as during the time Christine Franklin was taken yesterday.”

She stood and yanked the mayor’s picture off the glass. “This is all too perfect. Too textbook. The killer might be taunting us.”

“I know.” Huck rolled his shoulders. “We have to find this guy before he beats another woman to death. Do you think he’s speeding up? If so, how soon will he kill Christine?”

“Yes. I think he has a taste for killing and hungers for more. It makes him feel powerful, and he needs that. He craves that. Christine doesn’t have long to live unless we find her. Fast.” She tossed the mayor’s picture onto the table and stared at the remaining suspects.

That left Steve Bearing, Tommy Bearing, Dr. Joseph Keyes, and now Davie Tate. “None of these are good suspects,” Huck mused, looking at the connections. “This is a small town and most people are connected. Anybody who attended one auction would be connected to both Sharon and Abigail. Besides, with ritual killings like these, are connections key?”

“No.” Laurel retook her seat, her gaze still on the board. “He could have found them all on the Internet. Professional women in the area who have advanced degrees. The word doctor in front of their names. He might not know any of them personally.” Stress vibrated from her.

“We’ll find him.” Huck drew out a chair and sank into it. “All criminals screw up.”

“No.” She turned those dual-colored eyes on him. “We only catch the criminals who screw up. Just think of the ones we don’t even know about.”

He didn’t want to do that. Instead, he glanced at his watch. “The search team is back in the air, but we’re flying blind as to where to even look. Canvassing of Forest Ridge and the outlying neighborhood hasn’t led to any results, and I went back over the autopsy results for Charlene Rox and Sharon Lamber last night and didn’t see anything new.”

Laurel placed her stocking-covered feet on a chair. Today she wore gray slacks, a blue cashmere sweater, and cream-colored socks. Sage green stones made up her earrings and her necklace—they looked like they belonged to her mother. Most likely were a gift.