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  She thought for a moment. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “During those years, there was a student named Jovan Stokes. Do you perhaps remember him?”

  She made a small snorting noise which did not seem to align with the rest of her demeanor. “Detective, there were about seven hundred students at Glenmore Park High School every year. To assume that I remember any of them thirty years later is frankly quite absurd.”

  “Of course,” Jacob nodded. “But I would be happy if you try and recall anything about him nevertheless. He appears to be a major suspect in our investigation.”

  “Which investigation would that be?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but you’ve wasted your time coming here. I can hardly recall the teachers who worked for me in those years.”

  “Do you think that one of the teachers that taught him would remember him?”

  “I would not presume anything.”

  This woman was a barrel of laughs. Jacob sighed. “Do you have the yearbooks for those years?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  He waited for a few seconds. She didn’t move. “Can I see them?” he asked.

  She nodded curtly and got up, then went over to a tall bookcase and started scanning one of the shelves. “He graduated in 1987?” she asked.

  “That’s right.”

  She pulled out a book, yellow with age, and sat back down on her couch. Jacob held out his hand, but instead of handing the book over, she started flipping the pages.

  “There,” she suddenly said, and gave him the book. It was open to a page full of senior portraits, with names below the images. In the third row, on the left, was a picture of a boy with short, brown hair. He was smiling inanely at the camera. The name under the picture was, indeed, Jovan Stokes. Jacob could see the similarity to the picture he had of him.

  “Are there any other pictures of him?” he asked, flipping the pages. Pictures of school club activities, faculty members, and additional portraits filled the pages.

  “Possibly,” Tabitha said. “If he was involved in school activities, it’s likely there are additional pictures of him there.”

  “Can I take this book with me?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  He smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Let me rephrase that question,” he said. “I can come with a warrant, and take all of your yearbooks. They’ll be stored in the evidence storage room in the police department. You’ll be able to get them back in a few months, but it would require some paperwork, and I understand that it’s a long process. Or you can loan me this book, I’ll photocopy whatever I need from it, and return it within two weeks.”

  She looked at him, narrowing her eyes. He didn’t lower his gaze, nor did he feel the urge to cry. It occurred to him that somewhere along the way, he had grown up, and he didn’t even believe anyone’s head had ever been shaved in the school’s gymnasium.

  “Fine,” she spat. “But I want it back as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and flipped the pages to the book’s beginning. He frowned. “Who’s that?” he asked.

  She craned her head to see what he was looking at. It was a full-page image of a female student, smiling at the camera. She was clearly very beautiful, with red hair and dark eyes. Jacob felt a deep feeling of déjà vu, like he had seen this girl before.

  “That’s Gwen Berry,” Tabitha said. “She disappeared in the middle of the school year, and was never found. I remember that someone wanted to print In Memoriam under the picture, but we weren’t sure if she was dead or had simply run away, so we ended up just putting her picture on the first page. It was a dedication of sorts.”

  “Yeah,” Jacob said, staring at the image. He knew where he had seen this girl before. In a bunch of dead women’s pictures. She had Kendele’s hair and Tamay’s eyes. She had Skyler’s nose. And she had Tanessa’s smile.

  “Thank you, Ms. Mermenstein,” he said distractedly. “You’ve been a great help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Zoe stared in frustration at the ever-growing mountain of information on her desk. It definitely didn’t help that it was a small folding table, whose original purpose was to stand in a kitchen, or outside during a barbecue. When she had joined the task force, Captain Bailey had thought it best if she sat in the squad room with the rest of the detectives. That had sounded like a good idea to Zoe as well, but then she realized no one was about to provide her with a reasonable workspace. They’d put up the folding table in the corner of the room, just next to the coffee machine, so whenever someone felt like coffee he’d walk over and stand above her, looking over her shoulder. Two times in the past week, coffee had been spilled on her table and pages, to the tune of profound apologies from the careless detective. She really missed her own desk, back in Boston. Where she had the luxury of laying three pages side by side, and still had room for her computer screen, inbox, and a cup of coffee. Occasionally she returned there to work for a day or two, just to regain a shred of sanity.

  Ever since they’d found out Jovan’s name the week before, she’d been constantly provided with things that had something to do with him. Some, like the precious yearbook Jacob had retrieved, were invaluable. Other things, like his birth certificate, a newspaper clip from 1977 mentioning his neighborhood, or the printout of a picture in which he appeared in the background sipping from a red cup, were just noise. Now people kept supplying her with things that related to Gwen Berry, his presumed first victim, as well. Trying to construct a profile from all this info was like trying to construct a thousand-piece puzzle after it had been mixed with twenty other puzzles. It was slow, mistake-prone work, and mostly theoretical.

  It was also the most exciting case she had ever worked on. She felt extremely lucky to be involved with this case, folding table and all.

  She was working on finding connections between Gwen and Jovan. They’d had a math class together, that much Zoe had established. Gwen had been a popular girl, according to her mother, whom Jacob had interviewed the day before. Jovan, from the scarce details Zoe had extracted, was quiet, and so far they hadn’t managed to find anyone who really knew him. The few people they’d managed to find who had gone to high school with him either didn’t remember him, or remembered him as a figure in the background. He had received a scholarship for excellence, so she assumed he was a brilliant student, though they hadn’t acquired the paperwork submitted for the scholarship yet. They needed more people working on this case, and had asked for some assistance from state police and from the FBI. But for some reason the request for more manpower was delayed.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her. She recognized it as Captain Bailey, and turned around. He stood by the entrance to the squad room, three people behind him. For a moment she felt relief. Finally! More people. Then recognition hit. No, damn it, not—

  “Jacob, Zoe, this is Lieutenant Bob Talbot, from the state police.”

  “How do you do,” Jacob nodded from his desk.

  “This is Detective Jacob Cooper, and I believe you know Zoe Bentley,” Captain Bailey said.

  Talbot nodded at Jacob, then grinned at Zoe. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ve met.”

  They had. Zoe had been assigned to help the state police create a profile for a serial rapist who had been terrorizing Hyde Park. Bob Talbot was the lead investigator on the case. When she finally submitted the report, he skimmed it and put it aside, saying he didn’t think it matched the person they were looking for. The arrogance in the way he had said that had enraged her, as had the fact that he kept staring at her breasts.

  She’d said some things. She suggested his pre-frontal cortex failed to regulate the stupid part of his brain. She’d also mentioned cave men mentality. And she had been reprimanded and removed from the case. It later turned out she’d been dead right about the rapist. If they had listened to her, two additional rapes might have been prevented. But that didn’t matter, and Lieutenan
t Talbot hadn’t seemed inclined to admit he had been wrong.

  “The governor and the chief of the state police have decided that further involvement of the state police in this case is necessary, with deeper involvement by the FBI,” Captain Bailey said. The failure of their sting operation must have triggered this, Zoe thought. “From now on we’ll be working with Lieutenant Talbot and his men. He’ll be leading the case, and coordinating with the FBI.”

  Zoe looked at Jacob. The detective’s face was calm and impassive, almost as if he didn’t care.

  “Thank you, Captain Bailey,” Talbot said. “I’m happy to be working with your team.”

  “Detective Cooper will be able to fill you in on our progress,” Captain Bailey said.

  “Absolutely, I’m looking forward to it. I understand that you’ve been investigating Jovan Stokes’s background,” Talbot said, looking dismissively at Jacob. He was almost sneering. Zoe wanted to throw her chair at him.

  “Yes,” Jacob said.

  “What progress have you made tracking his digital signature?”

  “I’m sorry?” Jacob said.

  “Did you try to trace him online? Pinpoint his IP? Maybe find some patterns in his online behavior?” Talbot asked.

  “We only have very minimal information regarding his online activity,” Jacob said.

  “I thought you had a website that he created, and that he had sent an e-mail to a local reporter,” Talbot said. “Additionally, you know for a fact that he has entered the Instagram profiles of all his victims, probably several times each.”

  “That’s true.”

  “It should be enough to start,” Talbot said, and turned to Captain Bailey. “Where can my men and I stay while we’re tracking Jovan?”

  “I’ll find you a room,” Bailey said. He seemed tired.

  “Thanks. For now, I want your men to assemble a detailed list of all the Instagram profiles of the victims, as well as any woman we know has registered on Jovan’s site. I need someone to get me that reporter’s e-mail account. And I would be happy if someone figured out where Jovan bought that sword. I assume it wasn’t sold at Walmart.”

  “Lieutenant,” Zoe said. “They’re understaffed as it is, and their effort is focused on reconstructing Jovan’s first murder. I need all the—”

  “No need,” he interrupted briskly. “We believe our focus should be on tracking him online. This isn’t the 20th century anymore, Bentley. People leave digital traces everywhere. I’m sure, as a consultant in the Bureau, that you’re well aware of it. If you’ve got the right task force, which we do, you can find anyone without leaving your office.”

  “Jovan Stokes was very careful—” she began.

  He interrupted her again. “Thank you. I believe that we won’t be needing your help anymore. You’re off the case. I’ve already discussed this with your superiors”

  She had known it as soon as she’d seen his face. He wasn’t the kind to forgive and forget. He was practically smirking as he dismissed her from the most important case of her career. She took a page from Detective Cooper’s book and made her face blank and calm, pushing down the turmoil she felt. There would be time for anger later.

  “Very well. Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said. She noticed the flicker of irritation on his face. What did he expect? Did he think she would beg him to let her stay? Or did he want her to throw a fit, call her superiors, realize he was telling the truth?

  Captain Bailey led Talbot and his men out. Zoe was left to stare at the mound of useless paperwork on her desk.

  A shadow loomed over her. Jacob. Probably there to make himself a cup of coffee.

  “It’s a shame,” he said. “I was feeling we were getting close.”

  “Yeah,” she said morosely.

  “It’s too bad that all of the detectives in the squad are assigned to work with Talbot,” Jacob said.

  “I know! It really sucks! I think he’s wrong to ignore what we have,” she said angrily, biting her lip.

  “Yes,” Jacob said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “But all of us are working with him now. Me, Hannah, Bernard. All of us.”

  “I know that, Detective. I was here. I heard,” she said sharply. The man was getting on her nerves.

  Jacob cleared his throat. “If only there was someone who could work with you on Jovan Stokes’s past,” he said.

  “There isn’t, so there’s no sense in harping on it,” she said, frustrated.

  He stared at her.

  “It was nice working with you, Detective,” she said after a moment, feeling as if he expected her to say something.

  “For God’s sake,” he said. “Detective Lonnie is available to work with you.”

  She looked at him. “Oh,” she said.

  “That’s what I was trying to hint at.”

  “Right.”

  “I didn’t really want to be the one to tell you to disobey your superior officer,” Jacob elaborated. “So I tried to be subtle. Mitchell is on a sort of forced vacation. I’m betting he’d be happy to assist you.”

  “Uh-huh. I see what you mean now,” Zoe said, feeling her face redden.

  “Let’s hope they won’t ask me about it,” Jacob said. “My plausible deniability is shot to hell. You’ve been extraordinarily unperceptive. My daughter listens better than you do, and she’s a teenager.”

  “Yes. I know. I was thinking of something else.”

  “Do you need anything else? Do you want me to call him for you? Or can I go and act as if I don’t know anything about this now?”

  “I… I think I can take it from here,” she said, standing up. She blinked and smiled. “Thank you, Detective.”

  He smiled back at her and went back to sit at his desk, sipping from his cup of coffee.

  Tanessa seemed pale, Mitchell noticed, with black pouches under her eyes. Though she’d recently been released from the hospital, it was clear his sister was far from well. Nevertheless, she lit up when he appeared on her doorstep, pulling him in and bustling off to the kitchen to make them both cups of coffee while shouting pleasantries at him. He looked around the living room. It was drowning in a flowery flood, splashes of colors everywhere. Bouquets had been sent to Tanessa in droves, and it was obvious his sister had run out of containers long ago. Some of the lucky bouquets were in vases, but the rest were either in various plastic bottles that had been filled with water, or simply discarded on shelves to wither in dry, waterless oblivion. The smell of flowers in the room was overpowering, and Mitchell briefly wondered if there was enough oxygen in the air to sustain human life.

  Tanessa walked in with two mugs, and handed one to him. He sat down on her couch and she sat next to him, her body facing his.

  “I see you got some flowers,” he said dryly.

  “Yeah, crazy, right?” she laughed. “Most are from George—that’s the guy in the flower shop. But there are a lot from the department as well. That one there is from Captain Bailey, the smaller one next to it is from Captain Marrow, and the huge one on the table is from the chief. I guess that’s what happens when you get hurt in the line of duty.”

  Especially if you got hurt because of your department’s colossal mess, Mitchell thought.

  “People should really pay attention to what they’re sending though,” Tanessa carried on. “I mean… That calla lily bouquet? That’s for weddings! And those roses and tulips over there are classic valentine flowers, I don’t know what the person who sent them was thinking. And, seriously, if you send a bouquet made entirely of California poppies it just looks boring! And this bouquet is clearly meant for funerals, which is just kind of creepy.”

  “You’ve become a flower snob,” Mitchell remarked.

  “Yeah, well, you work in a flower shop for a week, see how you turn out,” Tanessa said, punching him lightly in the shoulder and spilling some coffee on the couch. “Aw, shit.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have worked as bait in a flower shop in the first place,” Mitchell muttered.

&n
bsp; “Oh, give it a break, Mitchy,” Tanessa said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Really?” He glanced at the stitches on her neck.

  “Yeah, really!” she said, her voice getting sharper. “Didn’t I graduate the police academy? Didn’t I make several successful arrests already? Didn’t I break Bill—”

  “Dellinger’s nose back in middle school,” Mitchell interrupted her. “I know, you always mention him when we argue about this. You accidentally broke a guy’s nose and—”

  “It wasn’t an accident! I head butted him in the nose on purpose!”

  “Fine, fine,” Mitchell said, tired of the same argument.

  They sat for a second in silence, then Tanessa cleared her throat. “Say, where’s Pauline? She called to make sure I was all right, but she never came to visit.”

  Mitchell took a deep breath. “Pauline and I broke up,” he said.

  “Oh no!” Tanessa’s face crumpled. “What happened?”

  “Apparently, we’re too different from each other,” he said.

  “Oh, Mitchell, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged as if he were over it. This forced vacation was just making it worse. He’d begun to check Pauline’s Instagram and Facebook profiles every day, trying to figure out if she was missing him, or if she was seeing anybody else. Another new hobby he’d recently developed was browsing old Instagram photos in her account, photos in which they both appeared, trying to figure out if her smile was real or fake. When this picture had been taken, had she already decided to leave him? That selfie at the beach, did she take it while thinking they were drifting apart?

  “Well, if that bitch doesn’t realize you’re the catch of a lifetime, she’s not good enough for you anyway,” Tanessa said, her voice angry. Mitchell smiled wanly. He was beginning to suspect he wasn’t really the catch of a lifetime. Pauline was, and he’d blown it.

  “The officer outside your door seems… bored,” Mitchell said, changing the subject. The cop had been half asleep when Mitchell showed up.