“The killer is male, white, and younger than fifty,” she said, still watching the boards. “He has issues with successful women with advanced degrees. Could be from an overbearing mother or just because he has underperformed. He’s organized and methodical in the stalking but then loses control in a rage during the killings. My best guess is he tries to rape them and can’t perform the act, then goes berserk.”

“Is berserk an official term?”

She shrugged. “It fits. As does he. He can fit into society, and his neighbors or friends will be surprised he’s the killer when we catch him. I’m sure he’ll have a story to tell that he actually believes. He’s a psychopath who is good at mirroring others but only really feels when he’s stalking or killing. Or perhaps just afterward when he relives the kill in his head.”

“What about the flowers?”

“The dahlias could have something to do with a woman who betrayed him in the past, or just a generalized belief that all women are betrayers. It’s also as if . . .” She trailed off, staring into space.

“As if what?”

She returned. “It’s a good-bye. A sad gift in the snow from him to her. It’s intimate.”

Man, her mind was impressive. “How’s Walter?”

“The same. He’s not strong enough for surgery yet.” Dark circles smudged her eyes.

“Were you at the hospital all night?”

She nodded. “Yes. I shouldn’t have let him go alone with Dr. Franklin.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Walter was armed and trained. Plus, the gun was a surprise from this killer.” Huck wiped both hands down his face, wishing the ice creamery below opened before six. He needed a triple this morning. “I’ll get the interrogation room ready for the mayor and his kid.” He stood and paused at the doorway, looking back at her. Feeling protective in a way he didn’t much enjoy. “I’ll bring you a coffee at six.”

“Thanks.” She looked back at her boards.

He didn’t think the answer was there. Hopefully they’d get closer after the interviews today.

Either way, Christine Franklin’s time was limited, if she was still alive.

* * *

Laurel placed her chai latte on the scratched wooden table as she took her seat in the Fish and Wildlife interrogation room—a cold metal folding chair with worn-out padding. It matched the others in the chilly room. The walls were concrete block, the floor plain cement, and the heat blowing from the one vent near the floor weak. Huck sat next to her.

A sullen-looking Tommy Bearing was flanked by his mother on one side and his brother working as his lawyer on the other side.

“Where’s the mayor?” Huck asked after sucking down several gulps of his latte.