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herself, to remain upbeat, to sound as if every question was new to her. She was supposed to be a professional cheerleader. Give me an
M
, give me a
U
, give me an
R...
    “Miss me?” asked Kip.
    D, E, R,
she thought.
    He didn’t wait for an answer, merely settled into his broadcast paraphernalia, signaled the engineer, and started talking.
    “We have the pleasure of hosting the Queen of True Crime tonight, Ms. Elizabeth Line. She’s here to talk about her latest book,
A Magnolia Hanging.
It’s the story of a young Kentucky woman found hanging in a small town’s showcase magnolia tree. The circumstances of this woman’s death are, to say the least, mysterious. No one’s quite sure whether she hung herself or went unwillingly to the noose. But there she was found one June morning, swaying in the midst of all those resplendent magnolia blossoms.
    “You stayed for a time in the town of Little River, Kentucky, where all this happened, didn’t you, Elizabeth?”
    “I was there for six months,” she said. “Whenever I write a book, I always include a lot of background and history of the area.”
    “The local color,” said Kip.
    “That,” she said, “and more. Sometimes there are histories and patterns to certain locales that seem to repeat themselves. It’s almost as if people get caught up in webs they’re not even aware of.”
    Kip’s eyes glazed over. There was no way
he
was going to be drawn into some metaphysical discussion. He changed the subject, offering a safer question.
    “What did people think of you, an outsider, coming in and nosing around?”
    “Most of them realized I was there to do a job. On the whole the citizens of Little River were very accommodating to me.”
    “Well, we have a lot of listeners waiting for you to accommodate them, Elizabeth. Here’s Ken calling from the city of angels, Los Angeles, California.”
    “Hello, Ken.”
    “You’re attracted to the rough stuff,” he said, “aren’t you?”
    Ken’s voice was gravelly, making his question sound all the more harsh. His words were slightly slurred.
    Another caller emboldened by alcohol, Elizabeth thought. “Violence is unfortunately a fact of life in this country,” she said. “There are over twenty thousand homicides in America every year, and at any given moment the FBI estimates there are more than thirty-five serial killers out there trolling for victims. That’s my beat, so to speak, and yes, it is a rough one.”
    “Ever stop to think a lot of bitches out there need killing?”
    Elizabeth took a long breath. She and Kip exchanged glances. His hand signal deferred to her.
    “Is that your opinion, Ken?”
    The caller laughed—harsh, barking, mirthless. “It’s more than my opinion,” he said, his voice mocking.
    “Do you know anything about such killings, Ken?” she asked.
    “Oh, I’ve got a couple notches on my belt. Plan to get a few more, too.”
    “Have you murdered any women?”
    “I’ve done me a few bitches,” he said.
    Elizabeth suddenly heard the engineer’s voice in her right headphone: “We just bleeped that out, Kip, and we’ll be goingfrom the jingle to commercial break. But if Ms. Line can keep him talking, we’ll put a trace on the line.”
    She turned to the engineer and signaled that she understood. She was glad that half a million listeners weren’t going to be privy to this particular conversation.
    “Can you tell me about what you did?” she asked.
    “Why should I?”
    “Because I’m curious as to what those women did to anger you.”
    “Curiosity killed the cat,” he said, then laughed. “Here kitty, kitty.”
    “You didn’t really kill anyone, did you, Ken?”
    “I got two ex-wives, and I do mean ex, who’d beg to differ, lady.”
    “You’re saying you killed your wives?”
    “Yeah. And a couple whirly-girlies aren’t trading anymore because I put them out of business in a permanent way.”
    “Whirly-girlies?”
    “Whores. Hookers.”
    “Have you been