hell she found out. Maybe the killer told her. Maybe he got tired of us being so slow in finding the other two."
"Or maybe he wanted us to know the identity of this one," Maggie said.
Racine nodded, instead of coming up with a competing theory.
"So what do you suppose he does with the rest of the body?" the tech asked both women.
"I don't know." Racine shrugged and began to walk away. "Maybe our anonymous woman caller can tell us. They should have her number tracked down by the time we get back."
CHAPTER 3
Washington, D. C.
Dr. Gwen Patterson tried to see the crime scene from her office window, only she was on the wrong side of the Potomac. Even with binoculars the overpass blocked most of her view. But she could make out Maggie's red Toyota parked up on the road next to the mobile crime lab van.
There was an annoying tremor in her fingers as she ran them through her hair. Was it excitement? Nerves? It didn't matter. She knew the stress was starting to take its toll. And why wouldn't it? Three weeks, three victims. And yet today she had expected to feel a sense of relief. She expected the tension to begin to leave. Except there was no relief. Instead, the knot between her shoulder blades only seemed to tighten. Maybe it was silly to think that just because Maggie was on the case she would feel she had gained some sort of control over the situation. How did she ever let it get this far?
She was meeting Maggie later for dinner at their favorite hideaway __ Old Ebbitt's Grill. She'd order the pecan-crusted chicken. Maggie would have steak. Maybe they would share a bottle of wine, depending on Maggie's mood. And her mood would depend on what she had seen down by the river, under the overpass. But it didn't matter. She could count on Maggie sharing with her what evidence had been left behind. Maggie would be her eyes and ears. Gwen would ask questions, play devil's advocate like she usually did. And hopefully Maggie wouldn't recognize that Gwen already knew some of the answers. She could make this work. What other choice did she have?
It was ironic that something like this would happen, now that she had purposely distanced herself from patients and assignments that included criminal behavior. Gwen left the window and glanced at the walls of her office. The sunlight reflected off the glass of her framed credentials, creating prisms of color. A whole wall full of certificates and degrees __ and what good were they in a situation like this? Gwen rubbed at her eyes __ the lack of sleep was catching up with her, too, but she smiled. Yes, it was also ironic that the older and wiser and perhaps even the more deserving she became, the less those framed credentials mattered.
She was at the top of her game, or at least that's what her colleagues kept telling her as they referenced her articles and books in their own studies and research. All of those hard-earned credentials had gained her entrance to Quantico, the White House and even the Pentagon. She had contacts with United States senators, members of congress, ambassadors and diplomats, many of them patients. Several even had her number on their speed dial. Not bad for a little girl from the Bronx. And yet, here she was, all those contacts and credentials worthless.
The notes had all been brief, the instructions simple, but the threat had been ambiguous, that is, until today. If there had been any doubt before, she knew now that he wouldn't hesitate to follow through on his threat. But finally she would have Maggie. Yes, Maggie could go where Gwen could not. Maggie would describe the crime scene, create a profile and help her figure out who the bastard was. They had done it before, together, plenty of cases where they took the evidence, examined the victims' similarities, considered all of the circumstances and then followed a trail that led them to the killer. She would simply be Maggie's guide, just like the old days when Maggie had first come to Quantico as a forensic